It Could Happen Here - CZM Book Club: The Revolutionary Fables of Ricardo Flores Magón
Episode Date: June 1, 2025Margaret reads you several short stories written by the one of the ideological leaders of the Mexican Revolution.See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information....
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Have you ever thought about going voiceover? I'm Hope Woodard, a comedian, creator,
and seeker of male validation. I'm also the girl behind voiceover, the movement that exploded
in 2024. You might hear that term and think it's about celibacy, but to me, voiceover is about understanding
yourself outside of sex and relationships. It's flexible, it's customizable, and it's a personal
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A lot of times, big economic forces show up in our lives in small ways.
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So now I only buy one.
Small but important ways.
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I'm Max Chastain and I'm Stacey Vanik Smith
So listen to everybody's business on the iHeartRadio app, Apple podcast or wherever you get your podcasts
The Medal of Honor is the highest military decoration in the United States
recipients have done the improbable, the unexpected, showing immense bravery and
sacrifice in the name of something much bigger than themselves.
This medal is for the men who went down that day.
On Medal of Honor, Stories of Courage, you'll hear about these heroes and what their stories
tell us about the nature of bravery. Listen to Medal of Honor on the iHeartRadio app,
Apple Podcasts, or wherever
you get your podcasts.
Hey, Drew Scott here letting you know why I recently joined the board of an amazing
nonprofit Ascensive Home. For 10 years, this charity has been creating homes for young
people exiting foster care. It's an incredible organization. Just days into the LA fires,
they moved mountains to launch a new emergency relief program, providing fully functional
home environments for those who lost everything in the fires.
Please get involved.
Sign up to volunteer, donate furniture,
or even donate funds.
You can go to AscensiveHome.org to find out more information.
Together, we can help our LA community rebuild.
It takes all of us.
CoolZone Media
Book club, book club, book club. Hello! And welcome to the CoolZone Media Book Club, Book Club, Book Club.
Hello and welcome to the Cool Zone Media Book Club, the only book club where you don't have
to do the reading because I do it for you.
I'm your host, Marker Killjoy, and every week I bring you kind of whatever I want.
It rules.
I love my job.
But specifically, what I usually want to bring you is fiction.
Because I also bring you history on a different podcast, but you already knew that.
And I want to bring you fiction, and this time it's fiction about history.
Because well, we just ran reruns of the episodes about the maganistas and about the precursors
to the Mexican Revolution. And I thought to myself, well that guy Ricardo Flores Magón, he wrote some fiction.
And I thought to myself, I should read you that fiction.
And so that's what we're going to do this week and possibly next week.
There's a lot of this stuff and it's pretty interesting.
It's interesting both as like, this is an old timey style of radical fiction and it's pretty interesting. It's interesting both as like this is an old-timey
style of radical fiction and it's worth understanding how people conveyed their ideas through fiction.
And they're also really entertaining stories, although very different from how I would write
radical fiction today. But I guess I'll get into some of those differences afterwards when we talk about the
Whole thing that we just read I'm using the royal we I didn't mean to I'm using the proletarian we
That's probably what McGahn would have said and if you're thinking to yourself, but Margaret I don't want to listen to your two-part long episode about the maganistas before I enjoy Cool's
Unmedia Book Club.
I have to say to you, that's reasonable.
The really short version of it is that around the turn of the century, the previous turn
of the century, the early 1900s, there was this group in Mexico called the Liberal Party
of Mexico.
And because political labels are kind of meaningless, they're the anarchist group.
And specifically, they advocate for a non-hierarchical, anti-capitalist society.
And a lot of them come from indigenous backgrounds and are fighting for sort of more traditional
ways of doing things.
And I like them.
They often get called the Magonistas
after the McGon brothers,
but especially after Ricardo Flores McGon.
And the kind of biggest thing that they did
is that they led an uprising
where they tried to make the social revolution
across Mexico, mostly in 1911.
That's why it's called the Magonista Rebellion of 1911.
So that failed partly because the actual liberal, like centrist groups that they were working
with in order to have a revolution turned on them and killed them, which is a thing
that happens a lot in history, is that radicals start getting shit done and centrist come in late and are like,
I'm in charge now and then start shooting the people who got them there.
It's fun. History's fun.
So after that, Ricardo Flores Magón,
he moved around a bunch and I don't have his biography in front of me,
but I should, but I don't. He moved around a bunch and I don't have his biography in front of me, but I should, but
I don't.
He moved around a bunch and he kind of just started writing fiction.
Well, he did a lot of things too in theater and all these other things, but he continued
to publish in the newspaper called Regeneracion, which was the anarchist paper for the Liberal
Party of Mexico.
And so in that, he wrote a bunch of different fiction pieces, and that's what I'm going
to read to you.
This first one is from 1915, and it is called The Frog Coat and the Blouse.
A lot of these are little parables about objects, and they're all really heavy-handed class
metaphors, and I love them so much, and I maybe shouldn't, because they're so heavy-handed,
but I find them so much and I maybe shouldn't because they're so heavy-handed, but I find
them entertaining.
The Frog Coat and the Blouse
The aristocratic frog coat and the plebeian blouse were in the same trash heap.
What an abomination!
What humiliation! said the frog coat, gazing obliquely at its neighbor.
I am next to a blouse?
A gust of wind blew one of the humble blouses arms atop the arrogant frock coat,
as if it intended to reconcile those who were seated equally, to harmonize by means of a fraternal embrace,
the two garments that were situated equally, yet which are normally found so distant from
each other in the social life of humans.
Horror, shrieked the frockcoat.
Your contact assassinates me, filthy rag.
Truly, your audacity is outrageous.
How dare you touch me?
We are not equal.
I am the frockcoat, the noble garment that shelters and gives distinction to gentlemen.
I am the stylish garment that only comes into contact with decent people.
I am the vestiment of the banker and the professional, the legislator, the judge, the industrialist,
and the merchant.
I live in the world of business and talent.
I am the garment of the rich, do you understand?"
Another gust of wind removed the blouse's arm from the frock coat.
As if it were indignant, regretting that it had sheltered that pretentious rag for a few
sentimental fraternal instants, and attempting to contain its rage, the blouse said, You fill me with pity, you haughty rag, sheath of vain and wicked beings.
You should be ashamed for having covered white-gloved scoundrels.
I would have died of horror if I had felt under me the dreadful palpitation of a judge's heart.
I would feel defiled covering the paunch of the merchant or the banker.
I am the garment of the poor. Under me pulsates the generous heart of the worker, of the herdsman who shaved from the
sheep the primary material of which you are composed, of the weaver who converted it into
cloth, of the tailor who made it a frock coat. I am the covering of useful beings, hardworking and noble.
I do not visit palaces.
Rather, I live in the workshop.
I frequent the mine.
I am present in the factory.
I go to the fields.
I am always found in the places where riches are produced.
You do not find me in gilded salons, nor in luxurious boudoirs, where the gold made by
the sweat of the poor is squandered, or where the slavery of the disinherited is agreed
upon.
Rather, I will be discovered in the meetings of freedom fighters, where the prophetic word
of the people's orator announces the advent of a new society.
I will be seen in the bosom of the anarchist group,
inside which good people prepare to transform society.
And while you, conceited coat, wallow in bacchanals and orgies,
I clothe myself with glory in the trench or in the barricade dueling the military officer,
or in the riot during the struggle for liberty and justice. The
moment has come when you and I must fight a duel to the death. You represent
tyranny. I am protest. Face to face, we are the oppressor and the rebel, the
torturer and the victim. In the balance of civilization and progress, I weigh
more than you because I am the force behind everything. I move the machines, I weigh more than you, because I am the force behind everything.
I move the machines, I dig the tunnels, I lay the tracks, I make the revolution, I drive
the world."
A rag man put an end to the conflict, putting the garments in different sacks, which he
carried uphill to his hovel.
That's the end of the first one.
All of them are going to be like super earnest, right?
But I feel like there's a little bit of self-awareness of exactly what's going on when you've got
like, and then someone came and threw them both into the trash.
The next story is called The Rifle.
I serve two factions, the faction that oppresses and the faction that liberates.
I do not have preferences.
With the same fury, with the same crack, I fire the bullet that snatches life away from
the soldier of liberty or the henchman of tyranny.
Workers made me to kill workers.
I am the rifle, the killer of freedom when I serve those on top,
the weapon of emancipation when I serve those below.
Without me, there would not be men who say,
I am more than you.
And without me, there would be not slaves who cry,
Down with tyranny.
The tyrant calls me buttress of institutions.
The free man caresses me tenderly and calls me instrument of redemption.
I am the same thing and yet nevertheless I serve to oppress as well as to liberate.
I am at the same time assassin and vindicator depending on the hands that wield me.
I can also tell in whose hands I am.
Do these hands tremble?
There can be no doubt they are the hands
of a military officer.
Is it a firm pulse?
I say without vacillating,
these are the hands of a liberator.
I do not need to hear cries
to know which faction is using me.
It is enough for me to hear the chattering of teeth
to know that I am in the hands of oppressors.
Evil is cowardly, good is valorous.
When the officer supports my chamber in his bosom to make me vomit out the death nestled in my cartridge,
I feel his heart leap with violence. It is because he is conscious of his crime.
He does not need to know who he will kill.
He has been ordered.
Fire.
And there goes the shot that will perhaps venture through the heart of his father, his
brother, or his child, through someone who has been summoned by the honorable cry, Revolution.
I will exist on this earth as long as there is a stupid humanity that insists on dividing
itself into two classes, the rich and the poor, those who consume and those who suffer.
When the last capitalist disappears and the shadow of authority dissipates, I will disappear
in my turn, consecrating my materials to the construction of plows and the thousand instruments
which men, transformed into brothers,
will wield with enthusiasm."
That's the end of that story.
But do you know what else will exist on this earth as long as there is a stupid humanity
that insists on dividing itself into two classes, the rich and poor, those who consume and those
who suffer?
That's right!
It's advertisements!
They're here, and you can listen to them if you want.
Have you ever thought about going voiceover? I'm Hope Woodard, a comedian, creator, and
seeker of male validation. To most people, I'm the girl behind VoiceOver,
the movement that exploded in 2024.
VoiceOver is about understanding yourself
outside of sex and relationships.
It's more than personal, it's political, it's societal,
and at times, it's far from what
I originally intended it to be.
These days, I'm interested in expanding what it means to be voiceover,
to make it customizable for anyone who feels the need to explore their relationship to relationships.
I'm talking to a lot of people who will help us think about how we love each other.
It's a very, very normal experience to have times where a relationship is prioritizing
other parts of that relationship that are being naked together.
How we love our family.
I've spent a lifetime trying to get my mother to love me,
but the price is too high.
And how we love ourselves.
Singleness is not a waiting room.
You are actually at the party right now.
Let me hear it.
Listen to VoiceOver on the iHeartRadio app, Apple podcasts, or wherever you get your
podcasts.
The Medal of Honor is the highest military decoration in the United States.
Recipients have done the improbable, showing immense bravery and sacrifice in the name
of something much bigger than themselves.
This medal is for the men who went down that day. It's for
the families of those who didn't make it. I'm JR Martinez. I'm a US Army veteran
myself and I'm honored to tell you the stories of these heroes on the new
season of Medal of Honor Stories of Courage from Pushkin Industries and I
Heart podcast. From Robert Blake, the first black sailor to be awarded
the medal, to Daniel Daly, one of only 19 people to have received the Medal of Honor
twice. These are stories about people who have distinguished themselves by acts of valor
going above and beyond the call of duty. You'll hear about what they did, what it meant, and
what their stories tell us about
the nature of courage and sacrifice.
Listen to Medal of Honor on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your
podcast.
A lot of times the big economic forces we hear about on the news show up in our lives
in small ways.
Three or four days a week, I would buy two cups of banana pudding, but the price has
gone up.
So now I only buy one.
The demand curve in action.
And that's just one of the things we'll be covering on everybody's business from Bloomberg
Business Week.
I'm Max Chafkin.
And I'm Stacey Vanek-Smith.
Every Friday, we will be diving into the biggest stories in business, taking a look at what's going on,
why it matters, and how it shows up in our everyday lives.
With guests like Business Week editor Brad Stone,
Sports Reporter Randall Williams,
and consumer spending expert Amanda Mull
will take you inside the boardrooms, the backrooms,
even the signal chats that make our economy tick.
Hey, I wanna learn about VeChain.
I wanna buy some blockchain or whatever it is
that they're doing.
So listen to everybody's business on the iHeartRadio app,
Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.
Hey, Drew Scott here, letting you know why I recently joined
the board of an amazing nonprofit, Ascensive Home.
For 10 years, this charity has been creating homes
for young people exiting foster care.
It's an incredible organization. Just days into the LA fires, they moved mountains to launch a new
emergency relief program, providing fully functional home environments for those who
lost everything in the fires. Please get involved. Sign up to volunteer, donate furniture,
or even donate funds. You can go to AscentsofHome.org to find out more information. Together,
we can help our LA community rebuild. It takes all of us.
to find out more information. Together we can help our LA community rebuild. It takes all of us.
And we're back. Okay, the next story is called The Two Pens. Behind the window of a display case, the gold pen and the steel pen waited for someone to buy them. The gold pen rested indolently in a rich jewel
case that increased its glamour. The steel pen confirmed its modesty at the
base of a cardboard casket. Pedestrians, poor and rich, old and young, passed
again and again by the display case, casting greedy glances towards the gold
pen. Nobody looked at the steel one.
The sun crashed its rays upon the gold pen,
which gleamed with sparkles like glowing embers
in its chenille cushion.
But it was unable to impress even a dim tone of beauty
upon the dark proletarian pen.
Regarding its poor brother with pity, the rich pen said,
poor mangy thing, learn to be admired.
Accustomed to great struggles for the highest ideals, the proletarian pen deemed it unworthy
to answer that foolishness.
Emboldened by the silence of the humble pen, the bourgeois pen said,
Why don't you try, you squalid thing, to look like me, to be a gold pen, and it shone
in its chenille like a star in the satin of the sky?
The proletarian pen could not repress a smile, which angered the bourgeois pen, making it
break out in nonsense like this.
Your smile is the smile of impotence.
It fills me with pity.
Could you be used like I am, to sign banknotes
for millions and millions of dollars? I occupy a place of honor in mahogany and cedar writing
desks. In palaces, the elegant writer signs his articles with me. Using me, the minister
authorizes important documents for the entire nation. The president endorses
his decrees with a signature which only I shall delineate. War is not declared unless
an august hand takes me in its fingers and has me fix its sovereign signature on paper.
Peace cannot be agreed upon with mangy steel pens. They must be golden.
With a gold pen, the young aristocrat composes his verses of love to the genteel lady.
Now, patience has its limits for a steel pen.
Thus, the modest pen from the base of its cardboard casket raised its clear, sincere
voice and, as it was sincere, it was
also handsome and grand.
To say, above all things, the pen is grand because it makes it possible for a great mind
to free itself from the prison of its skull, to go out and shake other minds that sleep
caged in other skulls.
It makes them welcome the great mind with hospitality, granting its entrance.
Doors should be opened and accommodation should be furnished for all who bring light, hope,
valor.
But you, vain pen, you are the disgrace of our species.
I would rather break my tips than lend myself to sketching the signature that endorses a
bank order for thousands of millions of dollars.
An order like this is the result of a pact made between bandits.
My place is not on a mahogany writing desk.
I prefer a pine table,
upon which the people's scribe outlines the robust phrases that announce to the world an era of liberty and justice.
I am the pen of the people, and like them I am strong and sincere.
The minister does not touch me to underwrite documents that sanction exploitation and tyranny.
Neither does the president grasp me to authorize laws that command slavery and the torments
of the humble, nor to humiliating peace treaties.
But when the thinker takes me between his creative fingers, when the poet and the torments of the humble, nor to humiliating peace treaties. But when the thinker takes me between his creative fingers,
when the poet and the sage touches me
with his fecund anarchist hands,
making me engrave in blank notebooks his bright meditations,
like the idea of class struggle,
I feel my molecules tremble with emotion,
an emotion that is pure, strong, sound.
This is my pleasure because, as I am humble, I move in the world of talent, sincerity,
and honor.
My power is immense, my influence is gigantic.
When the proletarian writer takes me in his hands, the tyrant trembles, the priest is
terrified, the capitalist turns pale.
But liberty smiles with the smile of the dawn, the downtrodden dream of a better world, and
the valiant hand nervously caresses the firearm of vengeance and redemption.
In my cardboard casket, I feel grand and noble.
As humble as I may seem to you, I stir people.
I knock down thrones.
I upset cathedrals.
I humble people. I knock down thrones, I upset cathedrals, I humble gods. I am light
for the darkness of the mind. I am the bugle that calls the humble to arms and converts
them to magnificence. I resound for the revolutionary militia, gathering the brave in the trench
and summoning the men to the barricades. You serve to endorse the decrees of the tyrant, I to endorse the proclamations of the rebel.
You oppress, I liberate."
The crash of a car motor, which broke through the front of the shop, prevented the rest
of the proletarian pen's engaging discourse from being heard.
But you know what?
Even the crash of a car motor can't cut through. Because now cars
have radios inside that allow you to listen to its advertisements, like these.
Have you ever thought about going voiceover? I'm Hope Woodard, a comedian,
creator, and seeker of male validation.
To most people, I'm the girl behind voiceover,
the movement that exploded in 2024.
Voiceover is about understanding
yourself outside of sex and relationships.
It's more than personal,
it's political, it's societal,
and at times it's far from what I originally intended it to be. These days
I'm interested in expanding what it means to be voiceover to make it
customizable for anyone who feels the need to explore their relationship to
relationships. I'm talking to a lot of people who will help
us think about how we love each other. It's a very, very normal experience to
have times where a relationship is prioritizing other parts of that
relationship that are being naked together. How we love our family. I've
spent a lifetime trying to get my mother to love me but the price is too high. And
how we love ourselves. Singleness is not a waiting room.
You are actually at the party right now.
Let me hear it.
Listen to VoiceOver on the iHeartRadio app, Apple podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.
The Medal of Honor is the highest military decoration in the United States.
Recipients have done the improbable, showing immense bravery and sacrifice
in the name of something much bigger than themselves.
This medal is for the men who went down that day.
It's for the families of those who didn't make it.
I'm JR Martinez.
I'm a U.S. Army veteran myself,
and I'm honored to tell you the stories of these heroes
on the new season of Medal of Honor,
Stories of Courage from Pushkin Industries
and I Heart Podcast.
From Robert Blake, the first black sailor
to be awarded the medal,
to Daniel Daly, one of only 19 people
to have received the Medal of Honor twice.
These are stories about people
who have distinguished themselves by acts of valor
going above and
beyond the call of duty. You'll hear about what they did, what it meant, and what their
stories tell us about the nature of courage and sacrifice. Listen to Medal of Honor on
the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. A lot of times the big economic forces we hear about on the news show up in our
lives in small ways.
Three or four days a week, I would buy two cups of banana pudding, but the price
has gone up. So now I only buy one.
The demand curve in action.
And that's just one of the things we'll be covering on everybody's business from
Bloomberg Business Week.
I'm Max Chavkin.
And I'm Stacey Vanek-Smith.
Every Friday we will be diving into the biggest stories in business, taking a look at what's
going on, why it matters, and how it shows up in our everyday lives.
With guests like Business Week editor Brad Stone, sports reporter Randall Williams, and
consumer spending expert Amanda Mull, we'll take you inside the board rooms, the back rooms, even the signal chats that make our economy tick.
Hey, I want to learn about VeChain.
I want to buy some blockchain or whatever it is that they're doing.
So listen to everybody's business on the iHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever
you get your podcasts.
Hey, Drew Scott here, letting you know why I recently joined the board of an amazing
nonprofit, Ascense of Home. For 10 years, this charity has been creating homes for young people
exiting foster care. It's an incredible organization. Just days into the LA fires,
they moved mountains to launch a new emergency relief program providing fully functional
home environments for those who lost everything in the fires. Please get involved. Sign up to
volunteer, donate furniture, or even donate funds.
You can go to AscensiveHome.org to find out more information.
Together, we can help our LA community rebuild.
It takes all of us.
["Sense of Home"]
And we're back.
Okay, I have one more story for you today.
This one.
This one makes me kind of sad, and it's interesting. We'll talk about it
afterwards. It's from 1910. It's from immediately before the Maganista uprising. It's called Two
Revolutionaries. The old revolutionary and the modern revolutionary meet each other one afternoon
marching in different directions.
The Sun glowed like an ember above the distant mountain range. The king of the
day was sinking. It sunk down irrevocably as if it were conscious of
its defeat by the evening. It reddened with anger and cast upon the earth and
the sky its most handsome lights. The two
revolutionaries regarded each other face to face.
The old one, ashen, disheveled, his unpolished visage, like a rag tossed into a washbasket,
crossed here and there by ugly scars, his bones insinuating the edges of his body underneath
his shabby garb.
The modern one, erect, filled with life,
his face luminous with a pre-sentiment of glory.
He was clothed in rags as well,
but he carried them with pride,
as if they were the flag of the disinherited,
the symbol of a common meditation,
the password of a humble people
elevated by the zeal for a great idea.
Where are you going?
Asked the old man.
I am going to fight for my ideals, said the modern one.
And you, where are you going?
He asked in his turn.
The old man coughed and spat angrily upon the earth.
He cast a glance at the sun,
whose anger he also felt in this moment, and said,
I am not going.
I am now coming back home.
What happened?
I am disillusioned, said the old man.
You are not going to a revolution.
I also went to the war, and you see how I now return, sad, old,
damaged in body and spirit.
The modern revolutionary cast a glance that encompassed space.
His brow was splendid.
A great hope rose up from the depths of his being and gazed out through his face.
He asked the old man,
Did you know what you were fighting for?
Yes.
A wicked man was dominating the country.
We poor people were suffering from the tyranny of the government and from the tyranny of
people with money.
Our oldest children were locked up in jail.
The families abandoned, prostituted themselves or panhandled to be able to live.
No one could look the lowest policeman in the face.
The least compliment was considered as an act of rebellion.
One day a noble man said to us poor people, fellow citizens, in order to put an end to
the present state of things, we must have a change in the government.
The men who are in power are thieves, assassins, and oppressors.
Let us eliminate those in power.
Elect me president and everything will change."
This is what the noble man said.
After this, he gave us firearms and sent us off to fight.
We triumphed.
The wicked oppressors were dead.
We elected the man who gave us the weapons, making him president while we went to work.
After our triumph, we continued working exactly like before,
like mules and not like men.
Our families continued suffering from need.
Our oldest sons kept on being taken to jail.
The taxes kept on being collected with precision
by the new government.
And rather than decreasing, they grew larger.
We had to abandon the products of our labor
to the hands of our masters. Any time we wanted to declare a strike, they killed us in the most cowardly fashion.
Now you see. I knew what we were fighting for.
The rulers were bad and we were precisely exchanging them for good ones.
And now you see how those who said that they were going to be good turned out to be just as bad as the ones we dethroned.
Do not go to the war.
Do not go.
You are going to risk your life merely to exalt a new master."
So spoke the old revolutionary.
The sun sank down without recourse, as if a gigantic claw had dragged it behind the
mountain.
The modern revolutionary smiled.
He retorted,
Comrade, I am going to war, but not like you and those of your era.
I am going to war not to elevate any man to power, but to emancipate my class.
With the aid of this rifle, I will force our masters to loosen their claws and to release
what they have robbed from the poor for thousands
of years.
You entrusted a man to create your happiness.
My comrades and I are going to create happiness for all by our own efforts.
You entrusted notable lawyers and men of science with the task of making laws.
Naturally, they made them in such a way as to benefit themselves.
Instead of being the instrument of liberty, they were
the instrument of tyranny and infamy. Your entire error, and the error of those who,
like you, have fought, has been this. To give powers to an individual, or to a group of
individuals, surrendering to them, the task of making everybody happy. No, my friend,
we, the modern revolutionaries, do not search for helpers, nor protectors,
nor manufacturers of good fortune.
We are going to conquer liberty and well-being for ourselves.
We are beginning by attacking the root of political tyranny, and that root is called
the right of property.
We are going to seize the lands from the hands of our bosses, to hand it over to the people.
Oppression is a tree, and the root of this tree is called the right of property.
The trunk, the branches, and the leaves are the policemen, the soldiers, and the officials
of all ranks, large and small.
Look here.
The old revolutionaries have surrendered the task of chopping down this tree every time.
They chopped it down, it sprouted, it grew up, and it strengthened.
Again they chopped it down, again it sprouted, and again it grew up, and again it strengthened.
This keeps on happening because they have not attacked the root of the wicked tree.
All have been too frightened to extract the core and pitch it into the fire.
You see, my old friend, you have given your blood for no good reason.
I am disposed to give mine so that it will benefit all my brothers in chains.
I will burn down the tree from its root."
Behind the Blue Mountain something still blazed.
It was the sun, which had finally sunk, perhaps wounded by the gigantic claw which beckoned
it to the abyss, while the sun became red as if it had been tinted by the blood of the
star.
The old revolutionary sighed and said,
Like the sun, I also am setting, and I will disappear into the shadows.
The modern revolutionary continued to the place where his brothers were fighting
for the new ideals. The end. This story breaks my fucking heart. Like, the modern revolutionary is
right. Instead of continuing this, you know, old style of revolution where they replace one master with another.
People need to set out to get rid of all masters.
They need to, as that great parable says, take the ring of power back to the fires of
Mount Doom from whence it was forged and cast it into those fires. And this is so fascinating to me because this was written before the uprising where this
kind of happened anyway.
Even though people went out and tried to be this modern revolutionary, they tried to go
out and say, no, the problem is property.
And the problem, it's not explicitly said in this particular
Piece but it's like, you know, the problem is having someone in power like that and they went out and they did that but still
not only was their revolutionary action recuperated into a
New government that was kind of in many ways same as the old government
I guess there was you know, some things that got better or whatever. But then they were killed by the people who came
and stole that revolution. And then this is also written, you know, before the Russian revolutions
and before the Bolsheviks betrayed the democratic nature of that revolution. And the reason it's heartbreaking is that
these are the same revolutionary, you know?
And I don't know what to do with that
because I want us to be this modern revolutionary.
I want us to say we are fighting power,
not for someone new to be in power.
And maybe the answer is we just need more of us doing that. Or, well, I don't know what the answer is we just need more of us doing that or
well, I don't know what the answer is if I had the answer I'd be making podcasts about that instead of
trying to think it all through alongside of you and
Yeah, that's some fiction by Ricardo Flores McGahn written hundred some years ago
before and after his heart was broken
by the revolution that he helped participate in. And that's book club. I hope you enjoy
it. I'll talk to you all soon.
It could happen here as a production of Cool Zone Media. For more podcasts from Cool Zone
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