Class Rage: A Confession

[first part of an indefinite part series outlining my own personal experiences with class conflict]

Most people either hate or love Che Guevara. I don’t do either. I sympathize with him. This isn’t about Che, though, I’m getting to something else.

Che, with all of his good deeds and pure intentions, was a brutal motherfucker. He killed soldiers that went AWOL, delighted in executing bourgeoisie fascists and screamed for blood during the Cuban Missile Crisis. I sometimes fear I might get to that point.

I’ve personally seen many of the things I crusade against. No, I’m not third world worker/slave or anything like that -my problems are 1st world problems- but I was brought up in a very conservative Catholic household, in a town built around a Navy Base, and went to a school that forced patriotism down my throat like crack down a toilet. I was also very poor. For several years my dad worked 7 days a week just to keep my mom, my brother and I fed. We relied on WIC for food, laundromats for laundry, the bus for transportation, etc. etc. Of course, I didn’t know any different; things typical middle class kids got to experience were “for rich kids.” Chuck E. Cheese, for example, was something to fantasize about like visiting Paris or going on a cruise.

I understand, as I understood then, that I was also very lucky. With everything we struggled with I knew families that had it much worse and I watched many of their homes break apart. I watched my Dad work his ass off to “climb the ladder” only to get laid off after having an accident and have his insurance company and its for-hire doctor try to screw him out of workers comp.

I’ve seen the struggles of the working class first hand. I’ve seen first hand the effects of racism among my classmates, I’ve seen first hand the effects of the Military Industrial Complex and of Gentrification in my hometown, I’ve had close relationships with a number of rape victims and I’ve watched loved ones hurt themselves and starve themselves because of corporate beauty standards.

I once identified and agreed with these things. I was “pro life,” anti secularism, anti gay rights; I was even an “anarcho” capitalist for a while. And you know what? I’ve turned away from all of those things because I realized on my own, through thought and experience, that they were wrong.

But enough autobiographical crap. That’s not the point of this.

What I’m getting at is that I’m at a point where a sense of righteousness is turning into hatred. I’m not strong enough to love all humanity. I’d like to, but there are people out there who profit on a daily basis from sickness, there are people who would execute gays just for who they love, there are racists and xenophobes in public office, there are politicians who knowingly fuck over millions of people for their corporate buddies. Think about that for a moment.

I hate them. For some there is ignorance, but for some there is outright malice and greed. Fuck them. How fucking dare them? Sometimes I think about everything that’s fucked up in this world, and I can’t help but fantasize about lining up every homophobic bigot, rapist, insurance executive and war profiteer and burning them alive.

That makes me no better than they are. Their monstrosity has turned me into a monster and that makes me hate them even more. I don’t like feeling that way. So, no, Che was not justified in his executions but I do understand how he got to that point. I know what it feels like when class rage turns into bloodlust.

My fear is that it might turn me into something that can’t actually make any positive changes because my anger makes me ineffectual. My fear is that I might become violent, that I might become like Che or some despotic lunatic.

But I guess being aware of it is the best way to prevent it from getting worse. I’ve always had anger problems anyway. I guess not wanting to become “that” puts me one step ahead; makes me better than “that.”

So here’s my silly little proposal: I want you all to promise me that if I ever become a murderer or if -during some kind of revolution if there ever is one- I become power hungry, no matter how pure my intentions are, I want you to kill me. Put me out of my misery and let me die with my honor intact.

But, you know what? Writing it all down helps. Getting it out there and off my chest helps. An hour ago I felt like I could snap any second, but now I feel like I actually could love all humanity unconditionally. So thanks for listening to me for a few minutes.