We continue – Dijoncter.info – Site of information in fight on Dijon
The verb keep on riding high. Whether one is dying or in the midst of a social movement, on “ Continue “. The corollary of “ on continue ” is “ we don’t give up “.
After decades of continuing not to let go, you may on the contrary want to stop.
Who still responds to the injunctions of the big trade union centers which encourage “ the base to the forward movement and at the same time come to a standstill around the negotiating table, not without having “ bang the door » two or three times before, just to show an undeniable pugnacity ? What about unions outside the system that struggle to make themselves heard beyond a restricted circle of invisible active but too few ? Virtuous but inaudible.
In national education, the system is run in, postures and figures known in advance are linked. the SNES, majority union writes texts and does not hesitate to stage its legitimate anger on the Matamore mode, retain me or I make a misfortune. All that I could undertake, mazette, if the circumstances lent themselves to it but that pragmatism unfortunately prevents me from implementing. Realpolitik tik tik.
So let’s pretend to believe that the day after the mobilization “ historical “of January 13, progress” significant ” have been obtained but which are not sufficient, hence the “ on continue ” from the start. A date for a new day of action is even scheduled for January 27 » which leaves time to turn around, to do the shopping and lessons, from Monday 17 and to wait for the surgical masks which, according to the Ministry of National Education, will arrive by the end of January when the Omicron ice pick has passed. Rumors are swirling about how Minister Blanquer intends to postpone the final year specialty tests from March to June with arrangements worthy of a maker or a pheasant.
Yes, I am skeptical and the irony does not help me better understand the situation. That said, as a manifesto historical », rather atrabilaire, I wonder about the recent social futures, about the declarations of some, some and others.
What is my place ? Where do I want to land, to be ? Less and less under a balloon that never takes off, under a sad flag like all flags or behind an inefficient sound system, motivated, motivated, you have to motivate yourself. I have nostalgia for roundabouts (without having ever set foot there, a shame !) even if I know that their time has passed, that I did not dare, by a stupid class reflex, to join them and that we must therefore find other places to live, far from the uberization of the demonstrations .
On the other hand, I like the heterogeneous general meetings, reflections of the real country (have we sufficiently blamed the Yellow Vests for it, treated with all the names of birds, accused of uncontrolled slippages), the demands that have their feet in earth, not those of principle that are recited like mantras to justify the monthly contribution of members and which are scattered in leaflets that no one has the courage to read to the end (immediate hiring of…, increase polyvalent de…, revaluation, overhaul, abolition, no, no, no then finally yes but, etc.), I have an affection for speech when it is embodied, gets angry, swells, materializes in concrete objectives, not soluble in a distant horizon, out of reach. How to ensure that everyone has enough to eat, find accommodation, move around without breaking the bank and without ruining the planet, have access to education and not be ostracized and chased away as foreigners ? How can we stop thinking that salvation will come from a political class used up to the rope or from unions paralyzed by their apparatuses, divided into tendencies which are torn apart during national events as exhilarating as a cattle fair in the Bas-Limousine? . When a professional trade unionist starts to look like a horse dealer who puts garlic in a horse’s ass to sell it at the best price, it’s time to take the tangent.
Listening to the people around me, I’m not the only one in this place, this unnamed place, not circumscribed, not subservient, crazy but alive, ready to launch into battle without a walker. The world I want is the opposite of a dystopia since it is anchored in reality, in the capacity to abstract oneself from a capitalist net shaped and imposed by the State. I don’t care about institutionalized benevolence, living together / draw me a Macron sheep which is anything but adapted to the human beings that we are and is the most filthy imposture.
When you are a child, you spend an endless amount of time standing up and then walking without stepping back. As an adult, we take the path backwards, once again fearful, frightened. If that happens, in April, we will even go and vote in the second round because all the same we have fought, throughout the world and throughout history, for the right to vote and then the danger of a changeover to the extreme right is too big. Some left-wing activists, nicer and more disinterested than their leaders, are even ready to go on a hunger strike to “ The union in order to avoid the extinction of their clan.
Great people, all social classes combined, there are many. My friends, what do we give a damn about the extinction of left-wing parties (aren’t we “the left ?), the remnants of which have been in the process of putrefaction for a long time, of the trade unions’ loss of momentum, of the so-called zemmourisation of French society sold out at length from antennas and columns by tired journalists, if we manage to no longer doubt ourselves, our ability to regain control, to overturn the table (negotiations ?) to overcome our exhaustion of very civilized but very abandoned women and men ?
So after the 13th, I was a bit sad. To make the day truly historical “, she had to be follow-up 14 and not dissolve in an inter-union meeting” Friday 5:00 p.m. » (to note in his diary, the protest at the time of tea-time and scones). Wear does not make strength. However, the processions were composed of demonstrators content to find themselves but used.
I hope that by spring, we will be able to walk the streets with uncovered faces, without looking at our feet, me first. The proximity of an over-announced disaster, the re-election of Macron, will perhaps be the spark that will revive our bodies and our heads rolled by the epidemic and 15 years of Sarkolandacron. Or not.
In this case, I would be delighted to find my fellow men who do not resemble me in a “ somewhere to occupy. Make sure that after the 13th, there are only 14s, 15s and 16s that belong to us.
France, Zad and Zac, zone to defend and zone to build.
See you soon who knows.