Once upon a time, in the tidy, manicured world of Wall Street, where the power-suited demigods of finance strolled to the tune of money-making symphonies, an unsettling rumble sounded. A discordant note had been struck in this harmonious capitalist symphony and was ready to wreak havoc. It came in the form of the Occupation Strategy, an ensemble of self-entitled bodies that dared to challenge the comfortable, predictable rhythm of the financial district.
Forget about eloquent speeches or spirited debates. This was the schoolyard bully who had grown up and discovered politics. It was, “my way or the highway”, and the highway was blocked by a snarling mob.
Oh, the audacity! With an inflated sense of self-worth, they waltzed into the heart of American capitalism like a bad case of fleas, itching and biting away at the calm veneer of the day-to-day. They did not come with clever economic models, nor with alternative systems that promised greener pastures. No, they came with an unceremonious clamor, intent on disturbing the peace, and, by all means, they were successful.
Like spoiled children who’d been denied their candy, they stomped their feet, disrupting civilized norms. This was not a civil discourse, a negotiation or even a debate. No, this was a privileged tantrum on a societal scale. Their rallying cry? “We are the 99%!” They shouted, as if being part of the majority magically granted them the moral high ground.
The gutsy Wall Street titans, seasoned in the stormy seas of the free market, found themselves rendered helpless. It was akin to a five-star chef attempting to quell a toddler’s hunger tantrum. How does one reason with the unreasonable? The Occupiers refused to budge. They camped, they sat, they made a raucous ruckus, effectively holding Wall Street hostage until their self-serving demands were met.
Their strategy was as brutish as it was effective. The only way out for the beleaguered business folks was to bend to the whims of the Occupiers. Not because their demands were valid or even feasible, but simply to restore order, to exorcise the enfant terrible and return to the sanity of the daily grind.
In this orchestrated circus of chaos, the Occupiers were both ringmasters and performing clowns, all driven by a reckless, self-centered desire for immediate gratification. They threw the proverbial Molotov cocktail into the living rooms of the middle class, into the boardrooms of business, turning harmony into anarchy.
Their demands were voiced by the expendable, sent to the frontline, shouting slogans, sitting-in, beating drums, making a public spectacle of their private frustration. Their objective? Not reform, not negotiation, but disruption. They aimed to choke the life out of normalcy, to turn the orderly humdrum of daily life into a cacophony of demands.
This was not a fight against the system; this was an assault on civilization itself. A civilization that families had built, brick by brick, through hard work and discipline, through respect for others and respect for law and order. An organized mob, under the guise of protest, threatened to undo all of this.
After all, society is not a castle to be sacked, but a home to be nurtured and cherished.
The Occupiers did not build, they broke. They did not create, they destroyed. They championed chaos over order, entitlement over negotiation, and anarchy over law. They sought to bring us back to the Hobbesian world, where life was nasty, brutish, and short.
This Occupation Strategy, my friends, is no strategy at all. It’s a tempest, a storm of unreason, churning in its own wind and tearing through the pillars of civilization, leaving nothing but ruins and regrets in its wake. But don’t be fooled. The victory of the mob is not a triumph of justice or right; it’s merely a testament to the destructive power of numbers.
You see, when the orcs overrun the castle, when the mob occupies the public square, all they’ve proven is that might can, indeed, make right – if “right” is reduced to the basest, most primal display of force. The spoils of their victory? Ruins. The proud edifices of society, the institutions that have been painstakingly built and carefully maintained, are reduced to rubble. The castle is sacked, the commonwealth laid to waste.
And then, the denouement of this grim spectacle unfolds. The orcs turn on themselves. The mob, having exhausted its collective fury on the external enemy, now finds itself bereft of a common purpose. In the ensuing power vacuum, chaos reigns. Mob leaders, erstwhile puppet masters who stoked the fires of discontent, now find themselves in the crosshairs. The beast, unleashed, now devours its own.
The conclusion, my friends, is as unambiguous as it is unsettling. Mobs must be contained. Better yet, they must be prevented from coalescing in the first place. This is not a call for the suppression of dissent, but an appeal to reason. After all, society is not a castle to be sacked, but a home to be nurtured and cherished.
An occupation is an act of war, not a call for change. It’s the ugly cry of those who have forgotten the dignity of discourse, the power of peace, and the value of harmony. Occupiers are not warriors of justice, but agents of chaos, threatening the fabric of our society with their misguided sense of entitlement. If we are to preserve civilization, we must not bend to the brute force of the mob but stand firm on the principles of order, negotiation, and respect.
What’s lost in this chaos is not only peace but also the sacred nature of discourse, compromise, and consensus-building. It’s replaced by a sense of entitlement and a disregard for the rights of others. The Occupation Strategy is less a cry for justice and more an obnoxious temper tantrum that undermines the very principles it claims to uphold. After all, in the name of fighting for the 99%, shouldn’t one also respect the spaces, rights, and sanity of that same 99%?