Public Enemy

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I’m tired of an agony that doesn’t belong to me
I’m sitting on a land that doesn’t belong to me

I’ve lived with a name that doesn’t belong to me
I’ve cried from a pain that doesn’t belong to me

In waiting for the bitter taste of McDonald’s
behind the fast food windows I’m in the line-up

Under the Total company’s open tap of petrol
within the Porsche wheels I’m yearning

Stunned from the sparkle of your Rolex
happy from the happiness of your ecstasy tablet

I’m the snow under the ski pole in Shemshak
I melt; I am Kahrizak’s shame

A wet and tired mouse from the gutter’s torment
I’m gratified with the little alms from the good people

I’m a torn gofer under the stock market’s feet
I’m in the race with the universe for misery

Our durability was registered in contradiction
the hell with our words and our message

I’m tired of an agony that doesn’t belong to me
I’m sitting on a land that doesn’t belong to me

I’ve lived with a name that doesn’t belong to me
I’ve cried from a pain that doesn’t belong to me

In the war squashed under the tanks wheels
in peacetime drowned under the banks loans

Spare change in the depth of the pockets
a crumpled cheque in the hands of the dishonest

I’m the profit of the labour, the load and the pulse of the factory
the most marginalized neighbourhood; my nest

Five in the morning on the gallows I become a Kurd
tortured alongside Baluch and Lur, I get shattered

Departure of the Turk departed from mother language
an Urmia, salt on Azari’s wound

Blood and vain under your white skin
the hell with your promises and arrangements

I’m tired of an agony that doesn’t belong to me
I’m sitting on a land that doesn’t belong to me

I’ve lived with a name that doesn’t belong to me
I’ve cried from a pain that doesn’t belong to me

-Shahin Najafi, “Proletariat”

Homo Sacer and other Enemies of the Socialist State

The bearers of middle-class philosophy, who took up their stand as critics of capitalism in the working-class movement at the time when that movement was still in the stage merely of a critical attitude towards capitalism, and who brought in with them a peculiarly lower middle-class outlook, feel disillusioned when the era of decisive battle arrives. Their supremacy in the realm of ideas can continue no longer; while it is beyond their powers to free themselves from the lower middle-class-world-concept.

This is what Marx says in his “Eighteenth Brumaire,” in which he gives a masterly analysis of this lower middle-class outlook, on the subject of these “representatives” of the Labour movement — or, to speak more correctly, of these leeches which have attached themselves to it:

“By their upbringing and individual position, the former can be as far apart from the latter as heaven and earth. What makes them the spokesmen of the lower middle class is the fact that their thoughts do not leave the path in which the latter’s whole life moves, and that therefore they come, by a theoretical road, to the same problems and solutions as the lower middle class reaches in actual life. Such, in general, is the relation between the political and literary representatives of a class and the class itself.”

Marx was merciless in dealing with this kind of poisoners of proletarian class-consciousness. The whole Labour movement ought to be the same. With the weapons of ridicule and hatred he fought against the “heroes” of the French social democracy of the time — the political movement which represented an unlawful union between the lower middle class and the proletariat.

He wished to separate the Labour movement from all lower middle class elements, because the lower middle class attitude — attachment to the idea of private property, more or less open striving to uphold credit, terror of every fundamental social disturbance — is in practice the greatest internal enemy of the proletariat and the proletarian revolution.

– Bela Kun, “Marx and the Middle Classes”