The 90-something %
So there we go, In Belgium too have the calculations been made: Some small percentage owns some large percentage of the country’s income. I don’t remember exact percentages and you know why that is? It’s because I couldn’t give a good god motherfucking damn about any of it.
I make an average of €1,000 per month- not calculating in the winter months, where my income often dips below €600. This submerges me entirely under the poverty line and proves the sneaking suspicion I might have had before: I am not only part of that percentage, but probably the bottom part. Other people have a lot more than me.
When I heard about this research on the radio, ironically on my way to work, they were going on about how much the wealthiest Belgians accumulated each month and I heard myself from the back seat, “Let them have it!”
You know what this really boils down to? Plain old fucking jealousy. They make lots of money and we make so little, it is so unfair. Cry me a river, this whole attitude of “more is better” nauseates me. Whatever Calimero complex the working class might have these days, I want no part of it and who ever believes he represents “the 99%” while bitching to uncaring politicians, sure as fuck isn’t representing me.
Yes, I am very aware that some need fighting for. Mothers, families, individuals who literally have a hard time collecting the income to eat all month round. They need a voice and should be supported. But you’re not them. And they’re not 99% of our society. And kicking the shins of the super rich won’t accomplish anything close to that.
Between the two world wars, the Belgian working class literally made scraps by working in factories with total disregard for safety or working conditions. They united into socialist unions and political parties and organized mass purchase of cheap food and clothing. In short, they stood up for themselves and prospered through collaboration. On a small, basic scale at first, but pretty much everything we have today, we have to thank those who fought for it. We were a people back then, with a voice.
This solidarity has all but faded from existence and society seems to have transformed into a global circle jerk, each autistically trying to fill his own piggy bank and screaming bloody murder when numbers show others are better at it.
Let them keep their fucking money. Let them swim in it, see what good it does them. All the rich people in the world won’t change my happiness, because I won’t allow it. With the scraps that I make, I find ways to accomplish what I want to, cheaply, because there is a way, because others too have a need for one. The undergrowth is there and it flourishes. There is so much to discover, so much to be found, if you’ll only stop looking up. If we could unite like our forefathers did, we could transcend this whole “money” installation and again form a society thriving on mutual exchange and benefit.
I travel the world, I live in a “hidden pearl inside Europe” (Globetrotter), I have an expensive hobby. And every once in a blue moon, I am the happiest, luckiest person alive, when I climb walls and buildings, when I’m on a mountaintop embracing my friends, when my shutter snaps and I know I got the shot. Swimming in poverty, I am happy with what I have and I don’t care about the pigs.
With all their basic needs provided, how much time do you think those who scream the loudest, invest in looking around what other things they can do with the options they are given? Do you think they have a clue as to what systems are in place to let them accomplish a happy life? They can take welding classes, they can travel, they can party to their little heart’s desire. There’s social loans, crowd funding, hundreds, thousands of amazing people and non-profit organizations looking to exchange goods and thoughts.
All it takes is for us to swallow our god-awful misplaced pride in the things others accomplished for us, to see that all things considered, we are very well off. Taking into account how little time and effort we invest in those less fortunate than ours, we are in no position to ask for more.
The day we realize how lucky we are, is the day the rich lose their power over us. Their money will become worthless and their precious economy will collapse while we substitute our own. The day our jealousy is swallowed, is when roles are reversed, when less becomes more and wealth will be measured in people around us. Those grotesque mansions now so greedily wanted, will be meaningless husks, like the people inside them. Sitting on a pile of green paper without value.
That’ll be the day.