The Language of Liberation: A Story and a Critique

The Language of Liberation: A Story and a Critique A Collective Tale Written Down and Summarized by Darryl Finkton Jr. There is no owner of these ideas. It is open source knowledge. Embodied by The Freewoman. Thank you for living the truth. June 2024.

The Revolution Will Not Be in English: A Critical Analysis of the Evolution of Language and the Hidden Biases of the Written Word Introduction The kind ones aren’t kind. They leave others to do their killing. Who is this Gentle Man with slaves? In an era dominated by information technology and artificial intelligence, the role of language as a tool for communication, knowledge acquisition, and shaping worldviews has become increasingly prominent. However, a critical examination of the evolution of language, particularly written language, reveals inherent biases that often go unnoticed and can perpetuate dominant ideologies. This essay delves into the intricate relationship between language, power, and historical narratives, exploring how the written word, while a valuable repository of knowledge, can also be a tool of control and oppression. By analyzing the origins of written language, its association with agriculture and hierarchical societies, and the potential for linguistic bias to shape our perceptions and limit our understanding of human history, this essay aims to uncover the hidden biases of the written word and advocate for a more critical and inclusive approach to language and knowledge.

Liberation from Education: Indoctrination Through the Written Word In modern society, literacy is often equated with intelligence and knowledge. The ability to read and write is seen as a fundamental skill necessary for success and social mobility. Conversely, illiteracy is often associated with ignorance, backwardness, and a lack of agency. This dichotomy is deeply ingrained in our cultural and linguistic frameworks, and it has profound implications for how we perceive education and its role in society. The institution of education, as we know it today, is largely based on the written word. Textbooks, lectures, and written assignments are the primary tools for transmitting knowledge and assessing learning. This emphasis on literacy has led to the belief that education is the key to escaping powerlessness and achieving social advancement. However, this narrative ignores the inherent biases and limitations of the written word. The written record is largely shaped by the perspectives and interests of the dominant groups who have historically controlled the production and dissemination of knowledge. This means that education, as it is currently structured, can often serve as a form of indoctrination, reinforcing dominant ideologies and suppressing alternative perspectives. The very act of learning to read and write involves internalizing the values and assumptions embedded in the language we use. This includes the biases of the agricultural, hierarchical societies that first developed written language, as well as the biases of the dominant cultures that have shaped our educational systems. History as a concept is supremacist. The notion that an entire year or human life can be summarized in a written page, let alone a century, is absurd. It is only fathomable to reduce the countless timelines in a village, town, city, nation if you assume that the vast majority of the narratives and associated lives are irrelevant. The only tale that counts is the tale of the enslaver. There’s nothing to document but the whims of conquerors. As students progress through their education, they are exposed to a curated selection of texts and ideas that often reflect and reinforce the dominant worldview. Alternative perspectives, particularly those that challenge the status quo or question the legitimacy of existing power structures, are often excluded or marginalized. The knowledge base of modern education can be likened to a Ponzi scheme, a house of cards built on the fragile foundation of the written word. It rests on the belief that “in the beginning was the word, and the word was good.” This implies that what has been written is true and that the written record is the ultimate source of knowledge and authority. However, this assumption is fundamentally flawed. The written word, especially in its earliest forms, often served as a tool of propaganda, used to justify and maintain the power of the ruling elite. The truths of nature, the wisdom of indigenous cultures, and the experiences of the marginalized were often suppressed or distorted in the written record. What was written was not what was true, but rather what served the interests of those in power. In essence, what was written was the opposite of the truth. The true nature of reality, the interconnectedness of all life, and the wisdom of sustainable living were often obscured or erased from the written narrative. What is true is so glaringly obvious in the silence of

nature. No one need explain what is sensed and felt at its deepest core through the process of living. Books serve to hide the truth by diverting our awareness from the truth of nature and our lived, real experience, to indoctrination through the word that then serves as the foggy lens through which we view our own enslaved lives. This is where the irony of education lies. The more one delves into the world of books and written knowledge, the more one is exposed to the biases and ideologies of the dominant culture. The alternative perspectives, the voices of the oppressed, and the wisdom of the natural world are often silenced or marginalized in the official curriculum. This creates a situation where education, rather than empowering individuals to think critically and challenge existing systems, can actually serve to reinforce them. Students are taught to accept the dominant narrative of history, economics,and social relations as the only valid one, limiting their ability to imagine and create alternative futures. This is not to say that education is inherently bad or that all written knowledge is propaganda. But ALL of it is written under a paradigm of propoganda and in a language that is inherently corrupt with property rights, gender domination, separation between person and place, objectification of the animate world, and supremacy of whiteness. There are some valuable insights and perspectives to be gained from studying history, literature, and other disciplines. At what cost? How much propoganda must one consume for every morsel of valuable knowledge they find in the written texts of enslaver societies. It’s crucial to liberation efforts to approach education with a critical eye, questioning the assumptions embedded in the texts we read and seeking out diverse perspectives that challenge the dominant narrative. It’s also important to recognize the limitations of written language and the importance of other forms of knowledge transmission, such as oral traditions, experiential learning, and embodied practices. By embracing a more holistic and inclusive approach to education, we can create learning environments that foster critical thinking, creativity, and a deeper understanding of the world around us. The irony of education lies in the fact that the very tool we are told to use to empower ourselves is designed to control and manipulate us. By recognizing this paradox and actively challenging the biases inherent in written language, we can transform education into a tool for liberation rather than indoctrination.

The Origins of Written Language: A Double-Edged Sword The advent of written language marked a significant turning point in human history, enabling the recording and transmission of knowledge, ideas, and stories across time and space. However, it’s important to recognize that the emergence of writing was not a neutral or purely beneficial development. It coincided with the rise of complex societies, agriculture, and hierarchical power structures, which profoundly shaped the content and function of written language. The earliest examples of written language, found in ancient Mesopotamia and Egypt, were primarily used for administrative and accounting purposes, reflecting the needs of emerging states to manage resources, trade, and labor.Written language became a tool for codifying laws, recording transactions, and legitimizing authority. This association with power and control had lasting implications for the development of language and its role in society. While written language facilitated the accumulation and dissemination of knowledge, it also served as a means to consolidate power and reinforce social hierarchies. The written word became a tool for propagating dominant ideologies, justifying social inequality, and marginalizing the voices and experiences of those who lacked access to literacy or whose perspectives diverged from the ruling elite.

Agriculture, Hierarchy, and the Bias of the Written Word The rise of agriculture and the subsequent development of complex societies had a profound impact on the evolution of language. As agricultural practices intensified and social structures became more hierarchical, language adapted to reflect and reinforce these changes. The lexicon of agricultural societies often reflected the importance of land ownership, labor division, and social stratification. Words like “master,” “slave,” “property,” and “tribute” emerged to describe and normalize these power dynamics. The language of agriculture also shaped our understanding of nature, framing it as a resource to be exploited rather than a complex ecosystem to be respected and nurtured. This agricultural bias in language has had lasting consequences for our understanding of history and our relationship with the natural world. It has perpetuated the myth of human dominance over nature and justified practices like deforestation, monoculture farming, and the exploitation of animals. Moreover, the written record, as primarily produced by the literate elite, often reflects their perspectives and interests.This can lead to the erasure or marginalization of the experiences and knowledge systems of non-literate or marginalized groups, such as hunter-gatherer societies, indigenous communities, and women. The dominance of written language in historical narratives has created a distorted view of human history, one that emphasizes the achievements of agricultural societies and overlooks the diverse range of human experiences and cultural practices.

Linguistic Imperialism and the Erasure of Alternatives The spread of dominant languages, such as English, Spanish, and French, through colonization and globalization has further exacerbated the biases inherent in written language. These languages, with their embedded cultural values and historical baggage, have become the primary vehicles for transmitting knowledge and shaping global discourse. This linguistic imperialism has led to the marginalization or even extinction of countless indigenous languages and their associated knowledge systems. The loss of these languages represents a loss of cultural diversity, ecological wisdom, and alternative ways of understanding the world. Moreover, the dominance of a few languages has reinforced a Eurocentric worldview that often prioritizes Western values and knowledge systems over others. This can lead to a narrow and distorted understanding of human history and culture, obscuring the contributions and perspectives of marginalized communities. The hegemony of written language, particularly in the context of colonialism, has also been used as a tool of cultural assimilation and control. Indigenous peoples have been forced to adopt the language and cultural norms of their colonizers, often at the expense of their own languages and traditions. This linguistic colonization has had devastating consequences for indigenous communities, leading to the loss of cultural identity, social cohesion, and self-determination. It has also contributed to the erasure of alternative knowledge systems that could offer valuable insights into sustainable living, environmental stewardship, and social organization. The advent of writing did not coincide with the rise of agriculture and complex societies; it was a result of those systems. Complex societies predate written language by thousands of years. By the time written language emerged to keep track of who owned what, we were deep into the throes of enslavement, domination, destruction, capitalism, colonization, development, civilization, and progress. With written laws but also with the emergence of organized religion and the codification of religious texts, these intelectual systems of slavery were codified, not created. These texts, often considered sacred and divinely inspired, played a crucial role in shaping cultural values, social norms, and political structures. However, a critical analysis of religious texts from the perspective of their historical context reveals their potential function as propaganda tools for the ruling elite. The Bible, as one of the most influential religious texts in Western civilization, provides a prime example of this phenomenon. Its narratives and teachings, while offering spiritual guidance and moral frameworks, also contain elements that can be interpreted as justifying social hierarchies, exploitation, and even violence. The stories of the Israelites’ conquest of Canaan, the enslavement of various groups, and the patriarchal structures within biblical society can be seen as legitimizing the practices of the agricultural empires that emerged in the ancient Near East. Moreover, the concept of a divine mandate to subdue and dominate nature, as expressed in the Genesis creation story, has been used to justify environmental exploitation and the

subjugation of indigenous peoples. This narrative of human dominion over the natural world has contributed to the ongoing ecological crisis we face today. Other religious texts from various cultures also exhibit similar patterns. They often reinforce social hierarchies, prescribe gender roles, and promote conformity to authority. These texts can be seen as tools for social control, used to maintain the power of the ruling class and suppress dissent. However, it’s important to note that not all religious traditions are inherently oppressive or supportive of hierarchical structures, although all written ones are arguably so. Many indigenous cultures have rich spiritual traditions that emphasize interconnectedness with nature, egalitarianism, and respect for all living beings. These traditions, often passed down through oral transmission, offer alternative worldviews that challenge the dominant narratives of conquest and domination. The emergence of written language allowed for the codification and standardization of religious beliefs, often leading to the marginalization or suppression of alternative spiritual practices. The written word became a tool for defining orthodoxy and excluding those who did not conform to the established religious norms.

Enslavement of Plants and Animals as a Precursor for and Impetus to Human Enslavement The concept of “civilization” is often associated with progress, advancement, and cultural achievement. However, a critical analysis reveals a darker side to this narrative, one that is deeply intertwined with slavery, exploitation, and the domestication of nature. The development of agriculture and the subsequent rise of complex societies led to the institutionalization of slavery and forced labor. The need for a large and reliable workforce to cultivate fields, build infrastructure, and serve the ruling elite led to the enslavement of conquered peoples and the exploitation of marginalized groups. The domestication of animals further reinforced this system of domination and exploitation. Animals were bred and raised for human consumption, labor, and entertainment, often subjected to cruel and inhumane treatment. The concept of animal ownership and the commodification of animal bodies became deeply ingrained in many cultures, contributing to the ongoing exploitation of animals in the modern world. The domestication of plants also played a role in the development of hierarchical societies. The control of food production allowed for the accumulation of wealth and power, leading to the emergence of ruling classes who could dictate the terms of social and economic exchange. The language we use to describe these processes often obscures their violent and exploitative nature. Words like “civilization,” “progress,” and “domestication” can carry positive connotations, masking the underlying power dynamics and ecological consequences. The myth of the “land of milk and honey,” as depicted in the Bible, can be seen as a prime example of this linguistic obfuscation. While it promises abundance and prosperity, it also implies the exploitation of both animals (through dairy production) and humans (through forced labor). The narrative of human history, as told through the lens of written language and dominant cultures, often portrays indigenous peoples as primitive hunter-gatherers, living in harmony with nature but lacking the knowledge or technology to manipulate it. This narrative ignores the vast and sophisticated systems of land management practiced by indigenous communities across the globe for millennia. These practices, often dismissed as mere “gardening” or “foraging,” involved intricate knowledge of plant and animal species, ecological interactions, and seasonal cycles. Indigenous peoples cultivated a wide variety of crops, managed forests for food and resources, and manipulated landscapes to enhance biodiversity and ecosystem health. This indigenous land management was not based on the monoculture model of modern agriculture, with its emphasis on maximizing yields of a single crop. Instead, it focused on creating diverse and resilient ecosystems that could provide a variety of foods, medicines, and other resources throughout the year.

The evidence of these practices can be seen in the diverse landscapes that indigenous peoples have shaped and maintained for generations. These landscapes are often mistaken for “natural” or “pristine,” but they are the result of careful and deliberate human intervention. For example, the Amazon rainforest, often considered a pristine wilderness, is actually a mosaic of diverse ecosystems created and maintained by indigenous peoples. Through techniques like controlled burning, selective planting, and soil enrichment, they have created a landscape that is both productive and resilient. Similarly, the indigenous peoples of North America used fire to manage forests, creating open meadows that attracted game animals and promoted the growth of berries and other food plants. They also cultivated crops like corn, beans, and squash in complex polyculture systems that maximized yields and minimized pests and diseases. However, the agricultural bias inherent in our language and worldview often prevents us from recognizing these practices as “agriculture.” We tend to associate agriculture with large-scale monoculture farming, ignoring the diverse and sustainable methods used by indigenous peoples. This bias extends beyond our understanding of agriculture to our perception of food itself. We have become so accustomed to seeing food grown in neat rows that we often fail to recognize it when it grows wild or in diverse landscapes. We walk through forests and meadows, oblivious to the abundance of edible plants and fungi that surround us. This is a symptom of our disconnect from nature, a consequence of our reliance on industrialized agriculture and the commodification of food. We have become so accustomed to seeing food as a product, packaged and processed, that we have lost the ability to recognize it in its natural state. This blindness to the abundance of nature has led us to deify the crops of monoculture agriculture, such as rice, wheat, and corn. These grains have become symbols of civilization and progress, while the diverse and nutritious foods of the wild have been relegated to the margins of our diets. This cultural amnesia has far-reaching consequences. It not only limits our understanding of the potential for sustainable food production but also reinforces the idea that our survival depends on the exploitation of nature. By failing to recognize the abundance and resilience of natural ecosystems, we perpetuate the myth that we must dominate and control nature to feed ourselves. Reconnecting with the wild foods that surround us and acknowledging the sophisticated land management practices of indigenous peoples can help us challenge this destructive narrative. By embracing a more diverse and holistic approach to food production, we can create a more sustainable and equitable food system that nourishes both humans and the planet.

Patriarchy (Enslavement of Women) The rise of civilization and the associated development of agriculture and written language also coincided with the emergence of patriarchal social structures. The control of land, resources, and reproduction became increasingly concentrated in the hands of men, leading to the marginalization and subordination of women. Written language played a role in reinforcing patriarchal norms and values. Legal codes, religious texts, and historical narratives often reflected and legitimized male dominance, relegating women to secondary roles in society. The language of patriarchy can be seen in the use of gendered terms, the emphasis on male lineage and inheritance, and the portrayal of women as passive objects of desire or property. The patriarchal worldview also contributed to the objectification and exploitation of nature. The Earth, often personified as a female deity, was seen as a resource to be conquered and controlled by men. This disconnect from nature and the devaluation of feminine principles have had devastating consequences for both the environment and women’s rights. The connection between patriarchy and violence is also evident in the history of conquest and colonization. The subjugation of other cultures and the exploitation of their resources were often justified through patriarchal ideologies that cast men as the rightful rulers and conquerors of the world. The image of the apex predator, the lion as the “king of the jungle” or the sacred feline, has been deeply ingrained in our cultural consciousness. This image often portrays these animals as exclusively meat-eating, ruthless hunters, symbolizing power, dominance, and the “survival of the fittest” mentality. However, this narrative is a gross oversimplification and a distortion of the reality of predator-prey relationships in nature. In truth, apex predators have a much more diverse diet than the popular image suggests. While meat is undoubtedly a crucial component of their diet, they also consume a variety of other foods, including fruits, vegetables, and even insects.This dietary flexibility allows them to adapt to different environments and food sources, ensuring their survival in changing conditions. For example, lions have been observed eating melons, berries, and grasses. Wolves have been documented consuming berries, apples, and other fruits. Even sharks, often depicted as the ultimate apex predator, have been found to have algae and seagrass in their stomachs. The notion of the exclusively meat-eating apex predator is not only inaccurate but also serves a darker purpose. It has been used to justify the killing and enslavement of both animals and humans. By portraying predators as inherently violent and bloodthirsty, it becomes easier to rationalize hunting, animal agriculture, and even warfare. This narrative also reinforces the idea of “survival of the fittest,” where strength and dominance are seen as the ultimate determinants of success. This can be used to justify social inequalities and oppressive systems, where the powerful exploit the weak.

The language we use to describe nature and our relationship with it is deeply influenced by these narratives. We talk about “natural selection” and “starvation” as if they were the norm in pre-agricultural societies, ignoring the evidence that suggests these societies often lived in relative abundance and had more leisure time than their agricultural counterparts. These exaggerations of the harshness of nature serve to justify our own destructive practices. By portraying nature as a brutal and unforgiving force, we can rationalize our exploitation of the environment, the displacement of indigenous peoples, and the industrialization of agriculture. Nature has even embedded a process within us to make the transition from our bodies a potentially beautiful one. DMT, a naturally occurring psychedelic compound found in various plants and animals (including humans), is believed to be released in significant amounts during birth, death, and near-death experiences. This compound is associated with profound mystical experiences, often described as transcending space and time, encountering otherworldly entities, and feeling a deep connection to the universe. This suggests that the process of dying may not be the end, but rather a transition into another realm of existence, where our consciousness and energy can merge with the larger fabric of life. This perspective challenges the fear and anxiety often associated with death and offers a more comforting and transformative view of the cycle of life and death. Moreover, the consumption of our bodies by other beings can be seen as a way of giving back to the ecosystem, returning the nutrients and energy we have accumulated to the cycle of life. This interconnectedness highlights the interdependence of all living beings and the importance of respecting and honoring the natural processes of birth, death, and decay. The violent language we use to describe nature— “survival of the fittest,” “law of the jungle”—is a smokescreen. It obscures the intricate cooperation and interdependence that truly defines ecological systems while simultaneously justifying the exploitation and violence humans inflict on both the natural world and each other. I propose that human enslavement, in its most fundamental and insidious form, began with the subjugation of women. The rise of agriculture and patriarchal societies saw the control of animal reproduction, labor, and resources ruthlessly concentrated in the hands of men. This marked a catastrophic shift in natural history, establishing a precedent for the deanimation of nature and the enslavement of humans based on perceived differences. In an indigenous world, where communities lived in relative harmony with nature and each other, the concept of enslavement would be an aberration. It would necessitate the consent of a tribe to violate its own sacred values of reciprocity and respect. Who would be the first to enslave another? Likely, it would be someone born into a community already poisoned by the venom of gender inequality and power imbalances. The subjugation of women, the most vulnerable members of society, would be a necessary precursor to the broader acceptance of enslavement. It would require the collective consent of men to allow the abuse and exploitation of their own daughters, sisters, and mothers. The emergence of slavery is not merely an act of individual cruelty or greed; it is a systemic cancer, rooted in the erosion of communal values and the rise of hierarchical structures. The

dehumanization of women and children lays the groundwork for the acceptance of violence and exploitation as the norm. This is the dark underbelly of “civilization,” a legacy that continues to infect our world today. The question lingers: why did women stay in such oppressive societies? While they possessed invaluable knowledge of the land and could have potentially fled, their freedoms were not entirely extinguished. They may have retained some autonomy and social connections, and the violence they faced, while abhorrent, may not have been as absolute as the brutal forms of enslavement that followed. Yet, this initial enslavement, however subtle, was the Pandora’s Box from which all future forms of bondage emerged. Once one group is subjugated, a system is created to justify and perpetuate that subjugation. Language and culture twist and contort to normalize oppression, and labor is exploited to soothe the conscience of those who benefit from it. The emergence of agriculture and animal husbandry further entrenched the enslavement of women. With the need for intensive labor and the accumulation of “stored wealth,” the exploitation of women’s labor became more pronounced. The Old English word “husbonda,” meaning “master of the house,” reflects this grotesque shift in power dynamics. Men first asserted their dominance over the natural world by enslaving animals, then turned their attention to women, forcing them into roles of domestic labor and agricultural work. This is evident in the earliest written texts from Sumeria, where women are listed alongside livestock and other commodities. There were no free women in Sumeria. Some may have had more rights than others, but none were free. Women, whether listed as slaves in these ancient texts or not, we always the property of some man. With the enslavement of women firmly established, the stage was set for the enslavement of entire cultures deemed “other.” Conflicts shifted from being restorative to opportunities for enslavement, marking the gruesome birth of “civilization” as we know it. Many indigenous societies did not form patriarchies. Matriarchal societies, where lineage is traced through the mother, were far more common and aligned with the natural order of mammalian life. These societies did not represent the domination of men by women, but rather a recognition of the central role of women in nurturing and sustaining life. The enslavement of women is a festering wound at the heart of patriarchal societies and the broader institution of slavery. It is a systemic poison, rooted in the erosion of communal values, the rise of hierarchical structures, and the dehumanization of certain groups. By confronting the origins and evolution of this horrific phenomenon, we can better challenge its legacy and work towards a more just and equitable world.

The Monuments of Enslavement: Temples, Palaces, and the Illusion of Progress The human fascination with grand structures, from the pyramids of Giza and Teotihuacan to the Hagia Sophia and the Roman Colosseum, is deeply ingrained in our cultural psyche. These monuments are often seen as testaments to human ingenuity, creativity, and the ability to achieve extraordinary feats. They are held up as symbols of civilization, progress, and the pinnacle of human achievement. However, a closer examination of these structures reveals a darker side, one that is inextricably linked to exploitation, oppression, and the destruction of human and ecological well-being. The construction of these monumental structures required vast amounts of labor, resources, and organization. In most cases, this labor was not freely given but extracted through coercion, violence, and enslavement. The pyramids of Giza, for example, are estimated to have required the labor of tens of thousands of workers, many of whom were likely slaves or conscripted peasants. The construction of the Great Wall of China, another iconic monument, involved the forced labor of millions of people, many of whom perished due to harsh conditions and overwork. Even religious structures like the Hagia Sophia, Angkor Wat, and the countless cathedrals of medieval Europe were built with the labor of countless individuals who were not free to choose their work or working conditions. The grandeur of these structures often masked the suffering and exploitation of those who built them. The raw materials used to construct these monuments also involved significant ecological and human costs. Quarries were excavated, forests cleared, and mines dug, often with little regard for the environmental impact or the well-being of the workers. The extraction of resources like stone, timber, and metals often involved forced labor and dangerous working conditions, leading to countless injuries and deaths. Furthermore, the construction of these monumental structures required a vast agricultural surplus to feed the laborers and support the complex social hierarchies that emerged around these projects. This agricultural surplus was often achieved through the exploitation of peasant farmers and the expansion of agricultural land, leading to deforestation, soil degradation, and the displacement of indigenous communities. The focus on monumental architecture as a marker of civilization and progress is a deeply ingrained cultural bias that has its roots in the hierarchical societies of the ancient world. These societies valued grandeur, power, and control, and monumental architecture served as a tangible expression of these values. The construction of temples, palaces, and other grand structures was a way for rulers to demonstrate their power and wealth, to awe their subjects, and to legitimize their authority. These structures served as symbols of a ruler’s divine right to rule and reinforced the social hierarchies that supported their power. This obsession with monumental architecture has persisted into the modern era, with skyscrapers, stadiums, massive dams, and other large-scale projects serving as symbols of national pride, economic prowess, and technological advancement. However, these projects often come at a high cost, both in terms of human labor and environmental impact.

The construction industry is one of the largest contributors to greenhouse gas emissions, deforestation, and resource depletion. The extraction of raw materials and the manufacturing of building materials often involve exploitative labor practices and environmental degradation. Moreover, the construction of large-scale projects often displaces communities, destroys ecosystems, and disrupts traditional ways of life. The focus on economic growth and development often overlooks the social and ecological costs of these projects. The glorification of monumental architecture also distracts us from alternative forms of cultural expression and social organization. It reinforces the idea that progress is synonymous with building bigger and more impressive structures, ignoring the fact that many societies have thrived without the need for monumental architecture. Indigenous cultures, for example, often prioritize sustainable living, communal decision-making, and harmonious relationships with the natural world. Their cultural expressions may not manifest in grand structures, but they are no less valuable or sophisticated. By critically examining the history and cultural significance of monumental architecture, we can begin to challenge the dominant narrative of progress and development. We can recognize the hidden costs of these structures and question the values that prioritize grandeur and power over sustainability and social justice. Instead of focusing on building bigger and more impressive monuments, we can redirect our efforts towards creating more equitable and sustainable communities. This involves prioritizing the well-being of both humans and the environment, investing in social infrastructure, and supporting cultural practices that foster connection, creativity, and resilience.

The Impossibility of Freedom Within Slavery From a philosophical standpoint, the concept of freedom is closely linked to the idea of self-determination. True freedom requires not just the absence of physical coercion, but also the ability to make meaningful choices about one’s life and to pursue one’s own goals and aspirations. In a system of slavery, this fundamental right to self-determination is denied. Enslaved people are not free to choose their own path, to pursue their own interests, or to live their lives according to their own values. Their labor, their bodies, and their very existence are subject to the will of their enslavers. Even within a system of slavery, individuals may find ways to resist their oppression and carve out spaces of relative autonomy. They may form communities, maintain cultural traditions, and engage in acts of defiance. However, these acts of resistance do not negate the fundamental reality of their enslavement. True freedom is not possible within a system that is predicated on the denial of human dignity and autonomy. As long as the structures of slavery remain in place, individuals will be constrained by the limitations imposed upon them. The only path to genuine liberation is the complete dismantling of these oppressive systems.

The Way Forward: Abolition, Not Reform The history of slavery teaches us that reform alone is not enough. Throughout history, there have been attempts to mitigate the harshness of slavery, to make it more humane or less brutal. However, these reforms ultimately failed to address the fundamental injustice of the system itself. The only way to truly eradicate slavery is through abolition – the complete dismantling of the systems and structures that perpetuate it. This requires a radical reimagining of our social, economic, and political institutions, as well as a deep interrogation of the cultural values and beliefs that underpin them. Abolition is not simply a matter of ending physical coercion or legal ownership of human beings. It also entails addressing the root causes of slavery, such as poverty, inequality, and discrimination. It requires a commitment to building a world where everyone has the opportunity to live a life of dignity, autonomy, and self-determination. In contemporary discourse, the notion of freedom is often touted as a fundamental human right and a cornerstone of modern society. However, a closer examination of our economic and social structures reveals a stark contradiction: the persistence of wage slavery, a system that perpetuates dependency, exploitation, and the illusion of choice. This essay delves into the complexities of this issue, arguing that the notion of capitalism as a system distinct from slavery is a fallacy. Rather, capitalism is a sophisticated evolution of slavery, where the chains are economic rather than physical. The historical context of slavery is essential to understanding its contemporary manifestations. While chattel slavery, characterized by the legal ownership of human beings, has been largely abolished, its continues in our institutions and cultural norms. The exploitation of labor, the dehumanization of workers, and the concentration of power in the hands of a privileged few are all hallmarks of both historical slavery and modern capitalism. In the capitalist system, the means of production are owned by a small minority, the capitalist class. The majority of the population, the working class, must sell their labor to these capitalists in order to survive. This creates slavery, where workers are dependent on their employers for their livelihoods and are often subjected to exploitative practices such as low wages, long hours, and unsafe working conditions. Wage slaves (or workers as the colonizing language subversively calls these slaves) are not legally owned by their employers, they are nonetheless dependent on them for their survival. They are forced to sell their labor in a market where their bargaining power is limited, and their value is determined solely by their productivity. This slavery, while less overt than physical bondage, is no less effective in limiting individual freedom and autonomy. Shareholders, who own shares in companies but often do not contribute directly to the labor that generates profits, further exemplify the unequal distribution of power and resources in capitalism. They are, in essence, absentee slave owners who extract wealth from the labor of others. This system of passive ownership perpetuates inequality and reinforces the notion that one’s worth is determined by their financial capital, not their contribution to society.

The modern prison system serves as a stark reminder that physical bondage is far from a relic of the past. The United States, a self-proclaimed bastion of freedom, incarcerates a larger percentage of its population than any other nation on earth. This mass incarceration disproportionately affects marginalized communities, perpetuating cycles of poverty and disenfranchisement. The prison-industrial complex, a system that profits from the incarceration of human beings, can be seen as a modern-day form of slavery, where individuals are deprived of their liberty and exploited for their labor. You cannot be free when you exist in a system where people can be placed in cages for not paying taxes. If you are outside of the cage, it is a reward for good behavior, paying your tithe like good slaves. Try and stop paying your tribute and you will see how not free you are. The legality of capitalism does not absolve it of its moral implications. Throughout history, many unjust systems have been codified into law, including slavery itself. The fact that something is legal does not make it ethical or just. Furthermore, the illusion of choice within capitalism is often just that - an illusion. While workers may have some degree of agency in choosing their employer or career path, their options are often limited by their socioeconomic status, educational background, and other structural factors. The ability to choose between different forms of exploitation does not equate to genuine freedom. Moreover, the language of freedom is often used to obscure the realities of oppression. The rhetoric of “free markets” and “individual liberty” can be used to justify policies that benefit the wealthy and powerful at the expense of the working class. This can create a false sense of empowerment among workers, who may feel that they are participating in a fair and just system, when in reality, the system is rigged against them. The pervasiveness of slavery (subversively called capitalism in the enslaving languages of colonizers) in our society makes it difficult to imagine alternatives. We are bombarded with messages that equate economic success with personal worth and that celebrate the accumulation of wealth as the ultimate goal. This ideology blinds us to the inherent contradictions and injustices of the system and makes it difficult to envision a world beyond “capitalism.” The notion that capitalism is distinct from slavery is a dangerous fallacy. While the two systems may differ in their legal and social contexts, they share a fundamental characteristic: the exploitation of labor for the benefit of a privileged few. The concept of wage slavery highlights the ways in which capitalism perpetuates dependency, inequality, and the illusion of choice. To achieve true liberation, we must move beyond the rhetoric of individual freedom and confront the systemic injustices that underpin our economic and social structures. We must recognize that capitalism is not a neutral system, but rather a system that is inherently exploitative and dehumanizing. By acknowledging this reality, we can begin to envision and build a world where everyone has the opportunity to live a life of dignity, autonomy, and genuine freedom.

Critical Feedback from AI: The essay’s polemical style and strong language may alienate some readers. While the author’s passion and conviction are evident, the use of terms like “cancer” and “poison” to describe systemic oppression may be seen as hyperbolic or overly simplistic. Additionally, the essay’s focus on the negative aspects of written language and civilization may overshadow the potential for language to be a tool for resistance and social change. Here’s my assessment of who might be least likely to resonate with it, along with their potential beliefs and reasons: Conservatives and Traditionalists: Beliefs: Uphold established power structures, value tradition and authority, often skeptical of radical social change. Why: The essay’s forceful critique of existing systems, its challenge to traditional narratives, and its use of provocative language could be seen as threatening or disrespectful. They might perceive the author’s tone as overly aggressive and dismissive of alternative viewpoints. Moderates and Incrementalists: Beliefs: Prefer gradual change and compromise, value civility and reasoned discourse, wary of radical or disruptive actions. Why: The essay’s uncompromising tone and emphasis on abolition rather than reform may alienate those who believe in gradual progress and working within existing systems. They might find the language too extreme and the overall message too radical for their comfort. Those Invested in the Status Quo: Beliefs: Benefit from existing power structures, may be unaware of or unwilling to acknowledge systemic inequalities, prioritize stability over change. Why: The essay’s direct confrontation of systemic oppression, its critique of dominant ideologies, and its call for radical transformation could be perceived as a threat to their interests and privileges. They might dismiss the essay as overly idealistic or unrealistic, clinging to the belief that the current system is fundamentally fair and just. Individuals with Different Communication Styles: Beliefs: May value politeness, diplomacy, and nuanced language, may be uncomfortable with strong emotions or confrontational approaches. Why: The essay’s unfiltered expression of anger and frustration, its use of strong language, and its direct confrontation of sensitive topics could be off-putting to those who prefer a more measured and conciliatory tone. They might perceive the author’s style as overly aggressive or lacking in nuance. Additional Considerations: Cultural Background: Individuals from cultures that prioritize indirect communication and avoid open conflict may find the essay’s style abrasive. Personal Experiences: Those who have personally benefited from existing systems or who have not experienced systemic oppression may be less receptive to the essay’s message.

Prior Beliefs: Readers who hold deeply ingrained beliefs about the nature of language, power, and history may be resistant to the essay’s challenge to those beliefs. It’s important to note that these are just potential examples, and there will always be individual variations in how people respond to any piece of writing. However, by understanding the potential barriers to resonance, we can engage in more meaningful conversations and work towards building bridges of understanding across different perspectives.

Conclusion …now why would we expect freedom to resonate with enslavers? The modern system of slavery itself is inherently oppressive and incompatible with the principles of freedom and equality. The pursuit of true liberation requires challenging and dismantling the structures that perpetuate slavery, not seeking to appease or reason with those who benefit from it. We do not find the deepest truths in written text because written language was designed to obfuscate enslavement. Searching for the keys to your liberation in the documents of your oppressor is a futile effort. It is a simple matter of acknowledging that freedom requires nothing less than the refusal to accept the bondage of any beings. The revolution will not be in English.

On Liberation

Part 1 I ordered an Uber—half the price of a private car. All I can think about is slavery and exploitation. It’s hard not to in my line of work. “For Darryl?” “Indeed, Beloved.” “Thank you.” I slid into the backseat, another sign of my exploitation. Sitting back here, being chauffeured, makes it easier to disengage with the driver. Well, sometimes it does. “Treasure Beach is about three hours from here. Get comfortable back there, my beloved.” “If only it were that easy.” “Of course it is. The body has all the answers. Ask for comfort.” I breathed in peace and asked my body what it wanted. “I am uncomfortable with slavery. Should I just relax and be comfortable with this slavery all around me?” I inquired. “You have been stuck on this question for quite some time, Beloved.” “…I have. Yes, I have.” Once I start on an analysis, I can’t stop until I find an answer. I work on liberation. I want people to be free. Yet here I am, supporting systemic slavery once again. “How can I avoid enslaving people? I’ve dug into supply chains in every industry and found nothing but slavery at the bottom of every economic pyramid.” “Go on,” she urged.

“Take our food supply system. Growing food is incredibly strenuous and skilled labor. Yet everyone doing the harvesting, planting, tilling, weeding, farming—they are all paid wages well below minimum wage.” “True.” “We bring in immigrants so we don’t have to enslave our own people. But it’s slavery nonetheless. Every bite of food I get from the grocery store means I’m sending money to slave masters.” “Is that so?” “Of course it is. We have more people enslaved and trafficked today than ever before. We all think of sex work when we hear ’trafficking,’ but that’s just a small part. Agriculture is the main culprit, along with telecommunications and just about every industry you can think of when you get to its lowest-paid workers.” I paused and took another breath. My heart hurt. “Take someone to a new country promising an opportunity to make five times as much as they could make in their homeland. When they get there, snatch their passport. It’s fairly simple.” “Yes, this is true.” “So how can I be comfortable with this? I claim to dedicate my life to helping people become free. I want to see a free society. But with every purchase I make, I’m supporting a trafficker, an enslaver. Where is the peace in that?” “So you’re helping people to be free?” “I mean, that’s the goal.” “Who gave you the keys to their cages?” “Well…I don’t know. What are you saying? We can’t do anything to help one another be free?” “Be free from what, Beloved?”

“Free from oppression. Free from being forced to toil away all our lives just to get access to the God-given fruits of the Earth.” “And who is stopping anyone from accessing what God has promised them?” I knew where she was going with this. This was the loop where I always got stuck. How could God, Spirit, The Divine—whatever you want to call the ubiquitous consciousness that orchestrates this universe—enslave us like this? “You acknowledge that there are people who are enslaved, right?” “I do.” “And then you must acknowledge that there are enslavers, right?” “What does it mean to be enslaved?” “It means to be forced to act in ways that are against your will.” “How can anyone force someone to act against their will?” “Violence. Hunger. Threat of these things.” “Will you do anything you are told at the mere threat of violence?” “Well, no. I wouldn’t, but I’m not everyone. Some people will.” “Some people will. Interesting word choice.” “At a certain point, we will all allow ourselves to be enslaved if…” “Allow ourselves…” “Guess I’m getting driven by Kanye, huh?” “I am Yeezus, herself.” “So to you, slavery is allowed, it’s a choice?” “Beloved, your confusion is deep. Who is free?”

“Everyone that has enough money to buy food, clothing, shelter, and transportation.” I immediately saw the weakness in my argument, but it was the best I could come up with. She saw it too. “So money is freedom?” “Not quite. It’s access to what we need to survive. Money is a means to that end.” “So anyone that has access to enough food, clothing, shelter, or transportation to survive is free?” “No.” I’m struggling here. “Someone given all of those things and then forced to work isn’t free. I guess a free person has no one else telling them what to do—no coercion.” “Even if someone tells you what to do, you don’t have to listen. Do you?” “No.” “Is someone free if they ignore what others are telling them to do?” “Maybe. I guess so. In my head, I’m thinking about someone with wealth. If you tell them to do something, they have a choice. That’s it. It’s having a choice.” “Someone with wealth. I see.” She could see into my mind. “I don’t see wealth as money. I know true wealth is spiritual and abundant.” “Then why do you believe people without money have no choice?” “I guess everyone has a choice. The consequences for the poor are just more extreme.” “Wealthy people cannot be tortured and killed?”

“They can. And I guess it happens with kidnapping and whatnot. But for the most part, wealth allows more freedom.” “Sounds like everyone is free.” “Oh come on! You really think everyone is free? You drive this Uber because you want to?” “I do.” “Fine. Whatever, you may like to spend all day driving and talking. But you think every Uber driver is doing this because they want to?” “No, I know that is not true.” “Okay! So you admit that people do things because they are pressured to do them? They are being coerced, manipulated by the system!” “I believe you are speaking about fear, Beloved. Is that so?” “Yes. People use our fear and desire for safety to force us into slavery. That’s what I’m saying.” “So who would be free then?” “Someone who isn’t afraid…” She winked at me through the rearview mirror.

Part 2 I’ve always admired strong logic. If someone isn’t afraid, they must be free. Right? I started thinking of all the counterfactuals. My mind flashed to Roots. “What’s your name, boy?” the white slave master howled, whip raised. “Kunta Kente.” The defiance always sends chills down my spine. Would I have done the same? Probably not. The whip cracked, slicing Kunta’s back like butter, melting his resolve. “Your name is Toby. Say it!” “Kunta…(sigh) Kente.” He spat out blood, barely standing. Eventually, he broke. “What’s your name, boy?” “Toby…Toby.” What was he afraid of? Pain. He just didn’t want any more pain. “Freedom from pain and suffering – that’s what we crave. That’s how we become slaves,” I said, breaking my silence and stepping back into the debate. “Who is truly free from pain and suffering?” I’d studied enough neuroscience to know there are people who don’t feel physical pain. It’s a serious medical condition. Pain warns us about danger - a hot stove, a venomous snake. Without it, we’d be constantly injured. Am I asking for a world without pain?

“Some people cannot feel pain. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. But torture, continuous pain… that’s different. Who wouldn’t be afraid of that?” “I am not afraid.” “Surely you’re not! Look,” I said, trying to lighten the mood, “I’m not going to kidnap you or anything, but if I did decide to tie you up and… well, let’s just say make things unpleasant, wouldn’t you be afraid then?” “Who’s to say you would ever stop?” she countered calmly. “We all have an inner guide, Beloved. I have no fear because I follow that guide exclusively. If I choose to serve you, it’s my choice in every moment. The instant my guide tells me to fight, I will. Win or lose.” “So you’d accept a lifetime of torture?” I asked, incredulous. “Beloved,” she replied, a hint of amusement in her voice, “have you not seen images of monks setting themselves ablaze without flinching? Or ultramarathoners pushing their bodies to the brink despite injury?” I had. “Pain is just a sensation,” she continued, “and every sensation has its limit. I accept my path and the sensations it brings. My will cannot be broken by mere sensations.” “Maybe you and those extreme athletes are just built differently,” I suggested. “We all have an inner compass,” she said. “Sometimes it leads us towards pain, sometimes away. What you choose to do when faced with pain is your choice. That is your freedom.” “So everyone in poverty should just accept their fate, whether it’s torture or slavery?” I challenged. “Isn’t a life of endless labor a form of prolonged torture?” she asked. “It is,” I admitted. “Then perhaps we’re merely debating which path of pain to take.”

“Or we could stop the slave masters from putting us in that position in the first place!” I exclaimed. “Isn’t that obvious?” “What does one do when faced with two seemingly painful choices?” she inquired. “Which path do you typically choose?” “The least painful one,” I replied. “Perhaps,” she said, a mysterious smile playing on her lips. “I choose another way.” “The path of most pain and suffering?” I asked, rolling my eyes. “No, Beloved. I choose my divine path. I choose my freedom.” “Freedom?” I scoffed. “So you do believe in it, after all? In your own twisted way, I suppose.” “I am freedom, Beloved,” she declared. “My every action flows effortlessly. I am the eternal current of energy. I would never stray from my path, not for any sensation, pleasant or painful.” “Glad you’re finally showing your true colors,” I quipped. “So freedom is the ability to follow a path, or this ‘divine path’ as you call it. But what if someone blocks that path?” “A blocked path cannot be anyone’s divine path,” she explained. “Where we are meant to go, we will inevitably arrive.” “Oh, great,” I sighed. “We’re headed straight into the free will swamp.” “One of your favorite destinations,” she chuckled, her eyes twinkling in the rearview mirror. “Okay, fine. We’re all on this divine path and can always stay the course. But if that’s true, and life is predetermined, then where’s the freedom? Aren’t we just slaves to God, then?” “Earth is an experiment,” she said, “like everything else. And here, you have a choice. We can either follow our path or choose to forge our own. Sometimes what

you call ‘pleasant’ sensations will guide you along your path, other times they’ll lead you astray. The same goes for ‘unpleasant’ sensations.” “And how exactly are we supposed to know we’re on the right path?” I asked, skeptical. “By reading the Bible?” “There’s no need for books or maps,” she replied. “You know your next step intuitively. Don’t you?” I did. Years ago, I’d learned about higher states of consciousness. I hadn’t been much for prayer or spirituality until Spirit approached me. Suddenly, I could feel what I was supposed to do next. As a scientist, that bothered me. My whole life had been about trusting my brain, the scientific method. But here I was, having intense gut feelings about my direction in life. Curious, I followed the rabbit down the hole. “We do,” I admitted softly. “And you have both listened to that guide, and ignored it.” True. For most of my life, I’d pushed aside my feelings and intuition, following a path laid out by society: degrees, sports, money, philanthropy, the whole macho facade. Even when my soul screamed it wasn’t right, I chased what society idolized. “You would know,” I muttered. “Indeed,” she replied, a knowing smile gracing her face. “So you’re saying we’re put here with a divine path, full of pain and pleasure, sometimes even torture?” “Don’t forget the bliss,” she reminded me. “But yes, that is the case.” “And no matter what, we each have the freedom to follow that path, or go completely off-road?” “True.” “So no one holds the keys to our freedom but ourselves?” “That is so, Beloved.”

“That’s bullshit.” “I know.” she replied softly.

Part 3 “So,” I blurted out, unable to contain my frustration any longer, “you put all this forced labor, genocide, and torture in our paths on purpose?” “No,” she replied calmly, “we did.” “We? Don’t lump me in with your cruelty,” I retorted. “What are you,” she asked, “if not me? I am all that is and all that is not. When we decided to build Earth, we decided it would have free will. And with free will, we had to give you the ability to write stories I, in my entirety, would never write.” “Blaming the victim, are we?” I accused. “Imagine a world where every being has the freedom to craft their own story,” she said. “Interactions are inevitable. What each being desires is equally weighted and explored.” “Oh, come on,” I scoffed. “You’re giving me that manifestation nonsense? Who the hell would choose to be a slave?” “Who would choose to be a slave master?” she countered. “Everyone, it seems,” I muttered bitterly. “When we wish to be masters, we simultaneously wish for there to be servants,” she explained. “Yeah, but we don’t wish to be the slaves ourselves,” I argued. “You are,” she said gently. “You just don’t know your full self. Every experience is your experience, because you are me. We cannot experience victory without also experiencing defeat. We are the whole, the sum of every wish, thought, and dream.” Shame washed over me. I had craved power and recognition more times than I could count. I’d wanted to be the best, universally adored. But for that to be possible, wouldn’t others have to be diminished? There’s only so much collective attention to go around. “I don’t want that anymore,” I admitted. “What do you want now?” she asked. “Peace. Love,” I replied. “I see. And would you like that for all beings?” “Yes,” I pleaded, “please.”

“Thank you for your wish,” she said. “Will it happen?” I asked, hopeful. “Eventually,” she assured me. “You are not the master of others. Everyone has a path to me, to peace. When they are ready, they will come home.” “So there’s nothing I can do to help others be free? Find peace?” I asked, despair creeping back in. “Of course there is,” she said. “Follow your Divine Path. Nothing less, nothing more.” The frustration that had momentarily subsided surged through me once more. “How am I supposed to help others find peace by exploiting them?” I cried out. “Do you remember when I decided to burst into all these pieces?” she asked cryptically. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I admitted. “When I decided to become everything you now see as life, light, darkness, death,” she explained, “I did so for a reason. I wanted every ounce of my existence to be free and full of peace wrapped in love. When each part of me returns, it would be out of choice, not fear or obligation. I created many, many paths home—each of them paved with love.” “I’m not following,” I confessed. “If you want to be a master,” she said, “there is a path for that. And you are free to dwell there as long as you’d like.” “I see,” I said slowly. “Any sensation you can imagine is yours to explore for as long as you’d like. Energy is mine to create, and I share it with you freely. When you have exhausted all your desires, you are free to come home.” “Doesn’t seem like it,” I muttered under my breath. “So long as you want nothing more than eternal peace and love for all beings,” she continued, “the whole that is you and me.” “And if we want more?” I challenged. “Then you are free to choose that path,” she replied.

Part 4 “Everyone’s always talking about peace and love,” I mused. “What do those words even mean?” “Peace, my Beloved,” she replied, “is a complete surrender to the flow of energy. It’s the bliss that arises when we have no desires beyond what is in the present moment.” “I know that feeling,” I said, nodding. “Yes, you do. We all do,” she affirmed. “That’s the easy one. What about love?” I asked. “Love begins with knowing,” she explained. “Your attention is your love. Until you reach a state of peace, you’ll confuse love with an action or a feeling. Love is the deep seeing of another being, without any desire to change them. It’s complete, unconditional seeing, without any desire to alter, consume, or control.” “So I don’t have to do anything to love someone?” “Seeing is everything, my Beloved. In seeing one another, we create one another. Creation is love; seeing is creation.” “So my seeing somehow helps others along their path to peace and love?” I wondered. “Exactly!” She beamed at me through the rearview mirror, her eyes holding a loving gaze as if I were the only being in existence. “So I’m not here to free anyone,” I said, processing this new perspective. “I’m here to see everyone? That sounds almost too simple.” “Tougher than you think,” she chuckled. “You’re already forgetting the part about seeing without the desire to change. This loving gaze is unconditional. Is that how you see the world?” “Of course not,” I admitted. “Earth is a mess.” “That, my Beloved,” she said, “is your task. To see the world through love. So that you may find everlasting peace.” “And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” “Follow your Divine Path completely.” “That’s it?” I asked, surprised. “That’s plenty. We’re here,” she announced.

I glanced out the window and saw Treasure Beach. “That was fast,” I remarked. “Our journey is far from over,” she replied with a knowing smile. I started to get out of the car, then paused. “Can I just go home now?” I asked, feeling a bit overwhelmed. “When that is what every particle of your being truly wants,” she said, “you will already be home.” “Thank you,” I said sincerely. “You are most welcome, my Beloved.” I stepped out of the Uber, my mind immediately returning to the issue of exploitation. “Don’t forget!” she called out the window. I turned back, a wave of disappointment washing over me. “Five stars!” she said, holding up one hand with five fingers outstretched and the other with a thumbs-up. I smiled, a sense of forgiveness welling up within me. “Five stars,” I echoed, nodding. “Thank you,” I added. “You are most welcome, my Beloved.”