Genocidal momentum is enabled by a conquest of the fear of killing; perhaps deeper – a cultural erasure of the fear of suicide.
Genocide is a desire to rest, to find a stable place – a critique of changes in which one has participated but which have now metastasized in unexpected ways. A desire to go back to a time prior to one’s own complicity in change – a place of privilege. The desire to go backwards against time is suicidal. The desire to restrict change – the impulse against diversity – is suicidal. A system cannot survive without diversity – it cannot evolve; evolution isn’t necessarily improvement – it is adaptation; without it, the least variation in rainfall, say, could ultimately wipe out a crop.
The perpetration of genocide is consent to die from lack of diversity. Are we trying to script narratives that end? Are we looking for closure?
We show great courtesy to those who swear falsely; the falsest oath of Force: that we will be able to stop somewhere, that it’s all ours when we stop, and that, though stopped, we may enjoy what’s ours (not acknowledging that joy is a motion in the soul; it evolves). Selling stopping ( a philosophy; genocidal theory evolves) as a stop, as if our will is decisive (and not alive; as if we have already killed ourselves, and operate on perfected property).