Welcome to the War of Manufactured Disillusionment

Cafe Locked Out

What happened?
In our naivety or idealism, did we place too much faith in the weight of our beauty?
For in the face of tyranny, we were beautiful.

Travis, a veteran protester Melbourne, image MGG

Did we really believe, before the authorities started educating us, by chasing us with armored cars, that those who wished us ill would be softened by our cardboard signs, with the words "Love" and "Freedom" scrawled upon them?
Do we still believe that if we showed the government one document, where every amendment and clause supported our arguments, that they would order the police to lay down their pepper spray canisters, and perhaps even stand aside as a government, until all the corruption of the past was corrected?
And we’re not dead? Haven’t they noticed that? We didn’t die, and we’re not getting constantly sick .
But they are?
Plus, instead of telling them, "We tried to warn you," or worse, hating them back, we’ve been trying to help, like hands stretching down to the drowning.
Yet they won’t grasp our hands; instead, they chose to protect those who are drowning them, from us?
Why?

There are no weapons in our trenches, just courage and defiance. Just memories of our bravest soldiers, their grandmothers, being brutalized by them.
"Move on," the trolls crow. "It’s all over. Move on."
Time passed, and since most of our ideas and campaigns, and our court cases have failed or stalled, and our protests, which appeared to have achieved little, are thinning, due to our engines run low on the fuel of enthusiasm.
Whilst before us, and all around us, our opponents' defences, those high walls built from apathy, continue to hold. Some of them still yell, "Cookers and Anti-Vaxxers," from the battlements, but most are silent, for the effort it takes them to ignore the numbers of their sick and their dead, has to be heart breaking. Surely?
Then, when we have a brilliant victory, like Dr. William Bay’s, little appears to change. Which leaves many of us here feeling that it is all pointless, hopeless.
A realization that hits home when someone sends you another petition to sign, and in your head, all you can see, in a metaphorical view of no man’s land, are all those other petitions you’ve signed, rolling over the mud left behind by covid’s storm, or floating in an ignored puddle, where your lists of signatures are melting.
But what if this isn’t natural? What if their indifferent reaction is a con, a trick that was long in the planning?
Doesn’t it make sense that they planned for dissent, that they have been rigorously preparing to tackle any resistance with new weapons?
It appears that they have the ability to learn on their feet too.
The violence of the shooting at the shrine was a mistake, for it became the catalyst for Epic.

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But how they covered up the shrine shooting, by marketing us as the pissing villains, was genius.
They then managed to hide the fact that for one weekend, we all came together from all over the country to Canberra, where we chanted prayers for love and freedom, and they injured us with their modern weapons, and after a few other brutal incidents, they successfully managed to convince the Country to ignore us, to the point that many Australians have already, obediently forgotten.
But check your own memories. They’ve been ignoring us since the start. Even now, as they allow us back into the family groups, that we were kicked out of; the price of re-entry is that we don’t talk about such things.
Now too, our groups are constricting, as our weary soldiers, with nothing to show for all their campaigns but questions they can’t answer, have melted back into the greater herd. Shepherded there by poverty and the crows calls to "move on."
Now we stay silent in staff rooms, swiping through messages from our own people and gently smiling at our memes, for we are so good at memes, as the others whisper to each other about how someone else they know suddenly has turbo cancer, then a moment later, they hide this concern from you, under that well-practiced, condescending grin.
Us, who are not dying.
All through history, those who would oppress others have used two mighty weapons. The first is Fear.
But after almost five years, Fear is losing its teeth. Even their own soldiers don’t react to its calls anymore. Their masks stay in the box as the boosters degrade on the pharmacist’s shelves.
It all feels too hard, or is it?

What if that sense of hopelessness isn’t organically yours? What if you are just a victim of their other weapon?
And that powerful and debilitating weapon is "Manufactured Disillusionment."
This has been used all through history, and one of its known side effects is frustration. A frustration that causes infighting, which in turn causes division, and how many of us have watched division douse our campfires , leaving us feeling quietly powerless?
Whereas they, committed to their vision, continue to inch ahead, determined as they are, to drag us quietly toward a future that even for here, we can see is not suitable for our human souls.
And so, here we are now. Quietly studying the evolution of Trump and Kennedy, hoping, secretly, that eventually their apparent revolution will reach our shores and liberate us, as our banners and t-shirts, that we once wore and flew proudly, wait in our cupboards.

Why wait to be saved, maybe, by another country? Better, don’t you think, to liberate ourselves?

We won the Covid War. Only 5% are now taking the boosters. We, along with the jab injuries, that they eventually couldn’t hide, and the deaths, and all the posts we have shared and keep sharing, won that battle. Though it is a hollow victory.
But the war is far from over, and now here, in this country, despite many being awake, they are once again, winning.
For you see, they don’t care if citizens know anymore, they can know everything, as long as they shut up about it and do nothing.
This is why, despite the rising awareness, Australians are not joining our ranks. Why should they? What can we do in the face of such determined change? With AI and robots amassing to replace us, and with so many of our brothers and sisters attempting to adapt to their new rules, which keep changing? And that is on purpose too. Its hard to face off disillusionment, when you’re standing on a virtue signaling water bed.
They have already accepted the lie that they are powerless, and they see us not as their saviours, but like those old homeless men, surrounded by battered suitcases and yelling, "The End is Nigh" from our bus stop homes.
Welcome, veterans, to the battleground of The New War.
The new war where we are still, humanity’s hope.
I feel, or believe, that the first step to halting the advance of disillusionment is to realize that it is not real. It is just another form of propaganda.
One weapon to stall its insidious spread is one we know well, humour. Another is to simply lift your chin up, so they can see how strong you’ve become.
Once you were brave enough to walk their streets without a mask. Well, now the whole country is masked up again, but the new mask is apathy, and its resilient straps are silence. So, do you think you could pull out the old t-shirts and wear them again, proudly?

Or perhaps we could make new ones?
New ones focused on pointing out the fakery of their new weapon, for this weapon hates the spotlight. It prefers to conquer us separately and quietly.
Do you think you could come up with a new plan to remind people that they are not powerless? That they are, instead, if they can only find the courage to be so, the true architects of our Country’s future?
Under their thick layers of corruption and cancerous morality, this country has the promise to be a beacon of hope to the entire world, waiting, like an unwrapped promise, in its DNA.
A country, renovated by the people, for the people, where transparency and common sense will form the new foundation. Where integrity and respect will became our walls, where we will man the battlements, to see off anyone who plans to subjugate our people. A place where our ranks will be full of determined soldiers, who will fight, not just for themselves, but for the liberty of their children and their children’s children.

These are momentous times, and with one hard fought victory under our belt, why not realize that fate is waiting for you to knock on its armoury’s door and answer one question:
“Is what’s happening now, right or wrong?”

One answer will open the door, and inside, far out of the reach of disillusionment and its henchmen, inconsequentiality, is a gift.
But before knocking, I suggest you read this out loud:
“Greatness is not a destiny,
It is a choice,
And even deciding to strive to be great,
Is greatness in itself.
Currently, humanity is under attack,
And the Meek cannot save us.
What we need is an Army of Greatness,
So, choose well.

When you’re ready, look inward, below the entanglement of frustration and un-cried tears, and find that door.
Can you see the warm light streaming out from all around its rim, as though light itself was determined to break free?
What if this is the room God wanted you to find? A storeroom inside you, full of your soul’s inexhaustible fuel. A room where your heart’s illuminated armour awaits, or, in old speak, my weary soldier, a room where the God’s are waiting to give you their holiest of gifts;

Your Destiny.

Michael Gray Griffith