I take pride in being a grandfather like curmudgeon, so much so that I went three years, leading up the COVID pandemic, without buying a single thing on Amazon. My girlfriend at the time was an avid online shopper, so much so that part of my “job” nearly everyday was to ensure all recently delivered packages were procured from the various locations around the perimeter of the house where the unassuming delivery driver may have dropped them. I never judged her for this, by the way, but without giving it much thought, I knew that my preference was to go to a store and purchase whatever I needed. In the off-event what I was looking for couldn’t be reasonably located, I would begrudgingly give into the online consumer train. It was a rarity of sorts.
Then March of 2020 happened, and I, an asthmatic who had just gotten over the flu and pneumonia a month earlier that led to 24 pounds of weight loss, was terrified about but what this new virus would do to my body. Suddenly, out of sheer survival, I became an online shopper. The packages started coming in troves, and I would let them sit by the front door for a couple weeks, heavily disinfecting the things I needed with immediacy, and letting the items purchased out of boredom and excess fester until my inquisitive mind decided it was time to play.
Some five years later, I realized the ridiculousness of the habits I had built out of a once-in-a-century pandemic. It was appropriate to utilize these services during the height of lockdown, as they were still reasonably priced, and were, ultimately, in service of the preservation of my health. Not too long ago, however, I thought about the rhythms of my life, and the outsized role and influence unnecessary convenience had created, and I made a conscious decision to shed the dead weight of internal poor and working class faux imperialism wherever I could.
Lots of things about our daily habits changed six years ago, and as the parasitic fascist oligarchs realized the extent to which American freedom is truly just a vein veneer for homicidal selfishness, the predators swooped to cash in. Food prices soared to incomprehensible levels, under the guise of global supply chain shortages. Streaming services hooked us on their platforms, then jacked the price up and inundated us with ads. Tech billionaires who lied through their teeth pretending to want to make the world a better place implemented scientifically tested strategies to reel us onto their advertising platforms, hooking us to the dopamine hits of endless scrolling not unlike a heroin addict searching for the euphoria of the first high. Frustrated by the minor inconvenience of having a package stolen, many of us made the obtuse decision to outfit our homes with personal surveillance equipment, equipping our police state and increasingly authoritarian military regime with access to our activities and whereabouts 24/7. We have not a slither of privacy protections anymore, but that lingerie set from Rihanna’s billion-dollar sweatshop isn’t stolen from your front porch, so fair trade, ya know?
I realized that any attempt towards exalting my friends, neighbors, or family to a greater sense of communal living and one less reliant on the tools of a violent and oppressive empire is by modeling it. No, it’s not realistic at the moment for me to buy up acres of land near a fresh water supply and begin growing our own food and raising and producing animals. It will be one day, but not yet. For the time being, the small choices I am in control of won’t dismantle the empire or change our current climate and economic catastrophe, but they can help convince people within my sphere of influence that enough individual actions can be the catalyst for far-reaching change.
This is not to say that individuals should bear the brunt of reversing irreparable damage caused by billionaires, corporations and governments. The idea that you can’t get a plastic straw at Starbucks or a pin-top to prevent coffee from staining your crisp white shirt out of some off base fight to climate change is hysterical. The forthcoming super El Niño is the fault of president’s and prime ministers, Exxon’s and British Petroleum’s, U.S./Israeli bombs and private jets owned by athletes and entertainers. They’re the real culprits, and there is blood on their hands, and they will, in my belief, give an account for their murderous deeds someday.
