V for Ven-Stupid

The V mask. The new Rage and Revolution icon. For those not comic versed, V for Vendetta was a 1980’s work crafted by writer Alan Moore and artist David Lloyd. The unnamed protagonist, referred to only as V, was victim and product of a fascist, post-nuclear war England who drew thematic manna from the real life person of Guy Fawkes. V gave his life opposing the abusive English regime (and by proxy all fascist/socialist/communist governments) all the while draping himself in the freeing embrace of anarchy. V’s most salient thought, to me, was his observation that anarchy is not the same as chaos. Pure anarchy is a society of mutual agreements without the necessity of a government. Pure anarchy requires maturity, thought, and the love of free existence.

 

So why am I dissing V? 

 

V, I don’t have a problem with. I like him. What bothers me is seeing his visage on the recent wave of protestors. Hypocritical? Stick with me. V, as a fictional character is, pro-individual. V, in my opinion, would FIGHT socialism. FIGHT collectivism. FIGHT the swinging fist of a mob as swiftly as fighting the swinging baton of a government thug. Swapping one collective for another is not progress or social justice. Most revolutions can be summarized as a violent cry of “We should be in charge.” and these Days of Rage strike me as nothing less. Also, can anyone guess where these social justice, freedom conscious defenders of the common man are getting their V masks? What paradise, what bastion of free thought, produces these plastic battle cries? Yup. CHINA. A country that rolls tanks to clear protestors, controls procreation, censors most everything, and runs “re-education” camps. Camps much like the one V was experimented/tortured in. Do you see my problem here? Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe not. I just can’t help wonder What Would V Do?

It’s the End of the World. Again.

The first time most in my generation experienced a media frenzy about the And of All Things was back in 1983. The planets were “aligning” guaranteeing all manner of havoc , terror, and death. Gravity fields were poised to rip my world apart just as I was learning to talk to (preferably older) girls. What a rip off! Turns out I had years of rejection in my future. This was also the first time I and many of my friends realized the news usually isn’t just that. We picked apart the facts afterward (such as the very minor tidbit that such movements of the planets happens on a regular basis, always had, and always will until our sun pops) kicking ourselves for not seeing all the inherent flaws in the logic.

Fast forward past multiple predictions of comet strikes, another “alignment” in 2000, religious raptures, nuclear war, alien invasion to May 2011. My children, nine and six, are living through their first taste of media-hyped Armageddon. This sucks. Not because the world will end their short lives, but because we never told them about it! They learned of it through friends at school. The schoolyard grapevine is an ancient device of rapid information distribution, and always will be like the aforementioned planets, but of all the questions my wife and I braced ourselves against we didn’t expect this one. Seeing fear in the face of your child is a pain that activates the deepest, most violent of protection instincts. Fortunately, we’ve both been down this road before and knew facts and truth, not simple, shallow reassurances is the best way to go. We told our children about all the times the world was supposed to end as far back in our lives as we could remember. And yet, there we were, still alive, still making sure they cleaned their rooms, still making sure they got up for school. Their fear of its likelihood dropped significantly, though the concept, like so many others to come, will now walk with them through their lives and perhaps help them talk to their own children. Could the end of the world has a silver lining?

People over the world have always predicted the end, and again like those planets in the void, they always will.

Or at least until the Sun goes pop, finally making them right.