BLOOD, ON A SHINY PIECE OF DIRT

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For millennia, children laughed and played while adults hunted and fished and farmed a land where shiny pieces of dirt lay on the ground and in riverbeds washed down from mountains and volcanoes thru aeons of geological activity.

People lived there thru out the ages and decorated themselves with these shiny pieces of dirt. These rocks, stones, minerals and ores lay plentiful across the landscape.

People advanced thru different ages from clans of hunter-gatherers thru to bronze-age tribes who domesticated cattle, on to iron-age nation-builders who raised empires and razed older societies.

Then capitalism arrived from the outside. It enslaved people under the banner of colonialism, which attempted to erase their old ways of life. Capitalism carried off millions to another hemisphere, where the people worked and died in mines and on plantations to enrich masters who broke their backs. They built a new society on their backs, a society which despised them even as it lusted for their labor.

Back home, they were made to tear down their own civilization and use the wealth of their land to export to palaces and mansions far away. They could not even dream of how their back-breaking struggles produced exotic luxuries for the bloodsucking pirates, who invented private property and reduced land and power to deeds and writs on mere pieces of paper.

In the land where paper was invented, it had never before been used to oppress people.

Shiny piece of dirt, a diamond. --Image from Wikipedia

"Shiny piece of dirt, a diamond." --Image from Wikipedia

Suddenly, shiny pieces of dirt, which had little intrinsic value, became priceless. The dirt that people walked upon, the dirt where children played, now became important in ways that people had never before imagined. They became enslaved for shiny pieces of dirt; they died mining it, sifting thru common soil to separate out the shiny green or red or blue or clear pieces. After awhile, they were given paper in exchange for the dirt. But for centuries, they only received a few stripes from the lash.

Now, they are given the gun. They are given bullets and machetes in exchange for the shiny pieces of dirt. In the faraway land where their sisters and brothers were kidnapped and enslaved, people wear the shiny pieces of dirt, paid for in blood by relatives in the Motherland. The lost orphans call it bling. But bling is just a shiny piece of dirt that once lay on the ground and while they pay for it with worthless paper, the hole dug for that shiny rock now becomes the grave for six million precious lives lost for the sake of worthless paper, worthless bling, and worthless power.