Life under despotic rule

Life under despotic rule

A man is walking on what passes for a street in his village.  The ground rocks are jagged and the surface uneven.  The rats aren’t as bad as they usually are, but the smell of human waste and decay still hang in the air. He knows that the odor will be more pungent when the sun rises to heat the day once more.

But the man knows that bad smells are the least of his worries as he tries to go about his business finding bread or flour or rice for his family so they do not starve.  The regional warlord holds an iron grip on the food supply for the mans village and all the neighboring ones.  The warlord chooses who is allowed to eat what, he doles out the amounts yet for him and those who are willing and able to pay him off, they are above his edicts.

In this place, as in many places where tyrants rule, money softens the tyrants grip while it strangles those who cannot pay the rate.  To the poor and destitute he denies them food donations.  To new born babies he denies them formula.

He takes and takes and takes from his people, their choices, their money by adding new “taxes” time and again, and he will not let anyone pry the grip of power from his hands.  When a natural disaster hits his soldiers deny access to outside aid so that another group will not pose a threat to his power, yet his people die from the raiding by bandits in the aftermath.

The man has found some food and drink, it is small yet in this village you do not have a choice for the warlord does not care who goes hungry.

The man must hurry home now as it is late and he is of a different tribe than the warlord, his skin darker than he who rules.  The man hurries because of two threats he faces.  One is from the bandits that roam around his village looking to prey upon the hapless traveler.  He lives in a poor village and these bandits reap what others sow.

The other threat is worse for at least you can try and fight the bandits.  The warlords men swoop in like wraiths and what little freedom others in the land may have are denied those who live in the warlords region.  If he is caught by them he will be a victim of their oppression.  They will take his dignity by force.  The only hope is that they tire quickly of their sport and do not choose to punish him out of turn.

Tonight the man is not lucky.  A little ways from his hovel and his family the warlords reavers descend upon the man.  They demand to see his papers, demand he explain himself as to why he is there at that hour.  The man says he was simply getting food for his family.  The reavers are unconvinced.  They knock his parcels from his hand and throw him against a wall.  They tell him that if he moves he will be a dead man.

Their hands grope him and grab him.  They tear at pockets and pull at laces.  From the surrounding hovels the people watch.  Some hide quickly lest the reavers turn their wrath on them, others who believe and follow the warlord unquestioningly assume the man’s guilt and are happy to see the reavers stop at nothing in proving it.

The man hangs his head, sorrowful that he is treated in such a way.  He is thankful that he no longer has his gun.  The warlord decreed that they were to be illegal and that anyone other than his reavers or his gilded elite found having one would be tossed in his pits, not to see the light of day until decades pass.

After the reavers have had their fill of crushing the mans spirit and taking his pride, they give him a warning not to cause trouble and let him go.  The man picks up the little food he was carrying and continues on his way.

“Almost home” the man said to himself…almost.

The other kind of danger comes from the darkness.  A group of bandits armed with sticks and pipe, ooze from the shadows.  They demand the mans money and his food.  The man, thinking of his hungry family thinks to call the warlords men back but knows they would not make it in time and that the bandits would beat him all the more severe.

The man tries to rush past and almost makes it until he is knocked down and beaten.  His bones begin to break, blood begins to pour.  There are others who see this as well, but what can they do.  They are like the man, they have no way to stop the beating of these big numerous bandits.

When it is over, the food is gone and all his money.  The man continues his crawl home and hopes for luckier days.  That is all he can do because this is like under despotic rule.  This is life in New York City.


As you can tell I changed some words like calling the outer boroughs a village and the city of New York a region.  I made Bloomberg’s title warlord and his police, reavers.  But this was to help you have an open mind about what life in New York is like.

Bloomberg’s war on food.  He limits the serving size of food even though that targets poorer people the most. Going so far as denying food donations to homeless shelters.

He has ordered hospitals to lock up baby formula and not to offer it to new mothers.

He did not allow the National Guard in the city after Hurricane Sandy to help quell the looting.

He fully supports “Stop and Frisk” which eliminates the 4th Amendment when walking in New York City.

He has all but eliminated the 2nd Amendment in the city, save for those with enough money or connections to circumvent his ban.  This leaves the law abiding defenseless against criminals.

This is life in New York.  You are not free to eat what you want, not free from unreasonable search and seizures, not free to have due process, not free to defend yourself with firearms and not free from tyranny.

I tell you this story because now that New York State has hopped on the Bloomberg crazy train with their draconian gun control, it is important to realize what the future of this country would look like if New York City was made the norm.

The line must be drawn there…no further.

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