Uncivil Obedience

Pointless Gestures, again

Civil disobedience. It's all very nice, isn't it? Face the facts, nobody ever changed the world in the slightest by being nice to others. Except for that Jesus fella taking the sins of the world on his shoulders, obviously. And the emancipation of a quarter of the world's population from British colonial rule by Gandhi, now that I come to think of it.

But apart from these two isolated examples in a sea of festering billions, it's fair to say that campaigns of civil disobedience are more than a little bit crap. You might as well pass round tofu sandwiches at a candlelit vigil while you're at it, if the other two fellow losers present can tear themselves away from their stirring rendition of "We shall overcome".

While you're standing there being nice and refusing to cough up the 0.05% of your council tax that pays for the provision of a slattern to the mayor, he's up there in his chambers, getting a damn fine servicing and genital herpes into the bargain. Every now and then he'll look out of the window and laugh. At you. Then he'll go back to his little game with the flying helmet and the egg whisk. And that's realpolitik at work, and you might as well pack up and go home.

There has to be a better way. And there is.

Uncivil Obedience.

A simple concept of grudging compliance that leaves The Man in no doubt what you think of him. An end to all that whining and beating about the bush, this is direct action at the very heart of the uncaring machine of institutional power.

"Mr Duck, would you mind awfully paying the 0.05% of your council tax that goes towards providing the mayor with a slattern?"
"Keep you hair on, fuckwad - cash or cheque?"

"Ah Scary, could you make sure these classified security arrangements for Mr Bush's forthcoming state visit are carried out to the letter?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'll fuckin' do it. Just give me five minutes on the shitter first."

"Mr Gandhi, there's a chap. Would you kindly inform your people to bow down before British rule?"
"Can't you see I'm balls-deep in Lady Mountbatten here? Do us a favour and get us a suit from Top Man, and I'll do anything you want. Savvy?"

They'll get the message soon enough, and the world will then be the shellfish of your choice. Take a look at these genuine endorsements from satisfied customers:

"Wow! I called the Viceroy a goatshagger, and now I own India! Standing round on street corners wearing a sheet and John Lennon's glasses was the worst idea ever - what was I thinking?" - Gandhi

"Jesus H Christ! Pontius Pilate and the former Roman Empire can kiss my fat, hairy arse! Now to take over the world or something." - Our Lord and Saviour, Jesus of Nazareth

"I turned my other cheek to the man - MY ARSE CHEEK! - and we now live in a fairer, happier world. It's all thanks to you, Uncivil Obedience!" - Nelson Mandela

Proof positive, then, that being a miserable bastard pays. Give it a couple of weeks, and The Man will soon stop asking you to do anything, and soon enough you'll have him under your thumb.

What are you waiting for? The class war is there to be won. Get out there and scowl for a better world. You know it makes sense.