This piece was reprinted by OpEd News with permission or license. It may not be reproduced in any form without permission or license from the source.
You actually like it, don't you? Admit you do. Let's have it all in the open. And many citizens in the West like it as well - new titillating experiences, free 'entertainment', and a welcome break from the dire and empty, grey, loveless and meaningless routine of daily life in both North America and Europe. Hundreds of millions glued to their TV screens. Your popularity is going down, lately, isn't it? The more missiles you shoot, the more bombs you drop, and the more countries you intimidate and confront, the broader your 'support base' gets.
You are a businessman, after all. The trade, the deal is simple, easy to grasp: you give to the majority of your people what they desire, and they give you support and admiration. True, isn't it, if stripped of all that 'political correctness'.
The psychologist Jung called this culture 'pathological'. It has already destroyed basically all continents on Earth. It is now, perhaps, attempting to finish what is left of the world.
Still, you ought to know and understand and should be fully aware of the following: you might now get some generous endorsement from your fellow mentally ill citizens, but if you blow up the DPRK or any other country on Earth, sky-high, and if we as the planet Earth still somehow manage to survive, you and your 'culture' will be cursed for centuries and millennia to come! Think about it. Is it really worth it?
Perhaps you don't give a damn. Most likely you don't. Still, give it a try, try to think, and try to imagine: you will go down in history as a degenerate mass murderer and a bigot!
Three years ago, this is how I described the 60th anniversary of the Victory Day in the DPRK:
"The brass band begins to play yet another military tune. I zoom on an old lady, her chest decorated with medals. As I get ready to press the shutter, two large tears begin rolling down her cheeks. And suddenly I realize that I cannot photograph her. I really cannot. Her face is all wrinkled, and yet it is both youthful and endlessly tender. Here is my face, I think, the face I was looking for all those days. And yet I cannot even press the shutter of my Leica.
Then something squeezes my throat and I have to search in my equipment bag for some tissue, as my glasses get foggy, and for a short time I cannot see anything at all. I sob loudly, just once. Nobody can hear, because of the loud playing of the band.
Next Page 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
(Note: You can view every article as one long page if you sign up as an Advocate Member, or higher).