There’s a vid below by Bill Whittle which you may or may not wish to watch – it’s U.S. specific, it’s tea partyish and yet it also touches on a universal truth:
The elite in any society cannot oppress without an army of small people who are wannabee big people and who imagine themselves special.
Two immediate examples spring to mind, one stemming from the other. First is that old Christie quote concerning German quislings in WW2 Britain:
“Incredible!” said Tommy.
[Inspector] Grant shook his head.
“You do not know the force of German propaganda. It appeals to something in man, some desire or lust for power. These people were ready to betray their country, not for money, but in a kind of megalomaniacal pride in what they – they themselves – were going to achieve for that country.
In every land it has always been the same. It is the Cult of Lucifer — Lucifer, Son of the Morning. Pride and a desire for personal glory.”
Second is the Common Purpose tagline: “leading beyond authority”. Little people with egos built up to be something much bigger by a clandestine state machine whose NLP groupthink programmes turn them into vital cogs in the New World Order.
And the names of jobs these days – Chief Sanitary Officer or toilet cleaner. Or on the station platform, emblazoned across their backs – Revenue Enforcement Officer or ticket checker.
Some of you might recall, years ago when British Rail started getting above itself, the wag who wrote a humorous essay on it, part of which ran:
Now the railways are modern. The new look trains all want to be aeroplanes. The big terminii have been redesigned to look like airports; with departure lounges with huge flat empty spaces surrounded by Burger Kings and Sock Shops and Ben and Jerry’s kiosks. Porters’ uniforms have been redesigned to look like air hostesses. You get a sort of in-flight magazine.
The little man who used to stand at the end of the platform and blow his little whistle, chuff, chuff and off we go, no longer has a flag to jiggle.
He now has one of those plastic objects looking like a table tennis bat. I cannot believe a table tennis bat is easier to jiggle than a flag. But it makes us think that he is an air traffic controller.
Trains also think they are businesses; it is an object of faith that things are better value for money if they adopt the language of a corporation. Virgin Trains no longer have guards.
A man comes over the tannoy at the beginning of the journey to announce that he is Gareth, our train manager. Not guard anymore: train manager. Seconds later Kevin, the senior steward seizes the microphone and warns us of the existence of burgers, hot and cold snacks and a wide variety of teas and coffees.
This is also the mentality of the parachutee, especially the female variety who had previously been disempowered but was now going to show she was really someone.
And so back to Bill Whittle. His beef was about an unmarked gunmetal grey car with dark windows and no licence plates, cruising down an LA highway. Whittle asks who gave that car permission to be above the law, if even the CHPs had to have plates? Who gave him permission to be above other people?
And James Bond – who gave him the moral legitimacy to murder? The CIA in Three Days of the Condor – ditto. Whittle goes on to mention the LAPD traffic cop done out in full combat gear, pouches on belts, weaponry, the full outfit. To direct traffic?
He shows two photos – one of this LAPD cop and the other of Don Knox as a small town policeman who is occasionally given higher authority and it goes to his head, turning him into a tyrannical tin god.
Contrast this with a fellow teacher sitting next to me at a conference some decades ago. His nametag was just like mine. I asked him where he worked and he told me – a prestigious top ten school. Wow, I thought. Later it transpired he was actually the head.
Of course, there are people who really do impress – engineers of the old school spring to mind, cabinet makers and other tradesmen – and one speaks to these people with great respect, based on something they can actually do and have done for donkeys’ years.
Returning to our wannabe – you might recall some time back that policeman who smashed in the window of a pensioner driving a car because he suspected something was going on.
It doesn’t even have to be the police. My doctor referred me to a specialist for my skin issue and no one got in touch to give me the date and time to come, which was what was meant to happen. Instead, I received a page of instructions whereby I could “apply” to the authorities for an appointment but it had to be done online, i.e. I had to give my personal information online to an unsecured government agency.
What about the little council officer who delights in putting red tape in your way? What about the officiousness of traffic wardens, no doubt euphemized into something else now? There used to be the phenomenon of the jobsworth but this has now metamorphosed, it seems, into the tin god, each feeding off his five minutes of power over you.
And of course, even the tradesman does that now.