Isegawade

« Beyond the power of his heredity, what had this man ever created? Had he ever carved his name in diamonds by writing a wonderful book? Had he ever expanded somebody’s moment by composing a song? Had he ever invented a machine or some mathematical formula to increase the world’s knowledge or to relieve its pangs and its wastefulness? Not to my knowledge. He was just a masquerade. As Padlock had not created the uterus, Lageau had not invented money – or knowledge or power, for that matter. Like most of us, he was a scavanger, a user of other people’s remains. His excessive show of arrogance was the guiltridden chicanery of an inheritor. Maybe he had money, maybe he could buy a town, maybe he could own half the land in Uganda, but he was a mere cog in the money wheel, a mere spoke in the power hub, and as for his color and his nuclear-armed-secured prerogatives, what he had added to them? Nothing. Like many intelligent people, he had fallen into the trap of defending an old perspective, exploiting the weakness of others; he had not dicovered a new way of thinking. In other words, he was merely regurgitating hundreds of years of philosophical, social and political vomit. »

Moses Isegawa, Abyssinian Chronicles

Le paragraphe qui te remet à ta place ; à lire régulièrement.

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