The fascist face of capitalism: In memory of Pavlos Fyssas

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The death of one at the hand of fascists is the death of all.  It testifies to a failure, the failure of our ability to resist, and possibly to understand how to resist.  Fascism is not a simple political irrationality; it is born in the very entrails of the violence that is capitalism.  It is a permanent possibility of a politics that reduces us all to mere existence, to the struggle of self-interested survival, where all of those around us are either feared or envied, and used whenever possible.  The politics of sovereignty is that of war, sometimes restrained within a semblance of legality, at other times, unleashed upon those who would refuse it.  Fascism is simply its ugliest face.  The barbarism of our time, that yesterday took the life of musician and poet Pavlos Fyssas, in Athens, at the hands of Golden Dawn thugs, will not be addressed by appeals to law, for the law in this instance protects the violence, the violence of poverty, humiliation, despair, racism, oppression.  Fascism can only be combated when the state of exception under which we find ourselves is taken as the condition for a politics of exception, a rebellious, revolutionary politics of human freedom and equality.

In memory of Pavlos Fyssas and all of those who die so wastefully … ¡No Pasaran!

The websites, Occupied London: From the Greek Streets, Roarmag, libcom.org, Indymedia Athens carry information on the events in Greece around this assassination.

Pavlov Fyssas, “I won’t cry, I won’t fear”

The world has become a big prison
and I 'm looking for a way to break the chains.
There is a place waiting for me,
there at a high mountain peak for me to arrive.
That's why I stretch again my two hands very high,
to steal some light from the bright stars.
I cannot take it down here and I’m about to choke from
this human misery, as much as sorrow.
I cannot stand it anymore and all these people were not from me,
so I followed another path and not the one they forced me to.
It was rough, tough and with many pitfalls,
bad love and friends like venomous vipers.
It had monsters with strange uniforms
always secretly lurking in the shadows.
Don’t stop if you decide to follow it,
tighten your teeth firmly and do not cry.
I took it myself and reached its end
and as the old wise people write in books
when the sun reaches its end,
eagles will light a fire from above.

To those who betrayed me by back stabbing me I want them to know that
I will not bother to cry.
And to all my old loves I want them to know that
I will not bother to cry.
And to those that threatened me burning chains I want them to know that
I will not bother with fear.
Let them come and find me at the mountain top, I’m waiting for them and
I will not bother with fear.

They told me not to have “crazy” dreams,
not dare to look at the stars,
but I 've never took them seriously,
I took the whole world in my arms.
They want nowadays to build me a nest,
where there 's more fear, ugliness
and a moaning cry and a heavy chain ,
carrying the curse of the gods and blasphemy.
I will not shed a tear and I will not be afraid.
I will not let them steal my dreams.
I fly free, high, very high
while they are jealous of my proud unbound wings.
And I’m waiting for other brothers to come here
in this mountain peak waiting for them all,
as long as they don’t cry and fear
living in this well thought fraud.

To those who betrayed me by back stabbing me I want them to know that
I will not bother to cry.
And to all my old loves I want them to know that
I will not bother to cry.
And to those that threatened me burning chains I want them to know that
I will not bother with fear.
Let them come and find me at the mountain top, I’m waiting for them and
I will not bother with fear.

To those who betrayed me by back stabbing me I want them to know that
I will not bother to cry.
And to all my old loves I want them to know that
I will not bother to cry.
And to those that threatened me burning chains I want them to know that
I will not bother with fear.
Let them come and find me at the mountain top, I’m waiting for them and…

(from libcom.org)

 

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