Win One, Lose Two
I'm pissed off. You know why? Jonestown.
Remember Jonestown, November 18th, 1978.
I'm listening to an audio recording of the final speech of Reverend Jim Jones, the leader of the People's Temple, advocating mass suicide of the members of Jonestown. 913 dead, including 276 children.
An audio recorder was under Jones' chair in the Jonestown compound, and the tape was running on that fateful day.
Listen to it Here.
"You'll regret this very day if you don't die. The best testimony I can make is to leave this goddamned world."
Jones slams a woman for expressing her feelings of independence. Jones utilizes the hatred and pride of the crowd. Jones calls attention to an invisible, ultimate enemy, "parachuting in" to massacre everyone. Jones utilizes folk Marxism, creating the duality of the oppressors and oppressed. He utilizes racism. He orders the killing of a congressman visiting there and pretends he saw the killing prophetically.
"Do you know who walked out of here today? Mostly white people."
He utilizes people's fear for their children.
"If we give them our children, our children will suffer forever."
It is successful.
"If you're telling us we need to give our lives now, we're ready."
913 dead. I hear, on the tape, the buckets of Flavor Aid clanging as they bring it out.
"Please get the medication, it's simple, there's no convulsions, the GDF is coming."
I want to say, "this can't be". I can hear the children in the background. Did people do this? Did they sit there listening to this madman? They did.
"Can we hasten it up with this medication? They're not crying out of pain, there's just a little bitter taste."
Just a little bitter taste. This is madness. How can we go on listening to madmen - how long do we fool ourselves into thinking that what we want to see appears in front of us?
There's coughing on the tape. Crying. Fifteen minutes of tape left. There's gospel music run at slow speed in the background. It sounds demonic.
"I'm sure they'll pay for it, they'll pay for it, they brought this upon us."
Sure they will. He told people everything they wanted to hear. And people bought it. And people buy it every day from every type of con artist imaginable.
The kids are dying from the cyanide poison on the tape. They're crying. Just a little bitter taste. Everyone's listening to the madman, telling them everything they want to hear, and now everyone's drinking cyanide and killing themselves.
This can't be, but it is. I hear a little more of what people are capable of.
"If you knew what was ahead of you, you would be glad to be stepping over tonight."
The fear of the future. The world is so much worse, they say. We'd rather kill ourselves than face it? Pardon my French, but fuck these people. Fuck these con artists that tell us what the easy answer is.
"Who has the vat, the vat with the green C. Bring it here so the adults can begin."
There's just music now, slowed down to valium-speed. Everyone's dead. Why can't we understand ourselves to know when we're being fed this garbage? Why are we so hopeless as to need it?
When are we going to accept reality for what it is and stop being upset and hurt by it so much that we decide to give in at the sugar-coated killing orders of a psychotic?
If I can ask for one thing, I ask for your skepticism. It has kept us all alive, and I hope that it ticks on in your mind, the unwavering timekeeper that asserts that you are your own individual, free to view the world as interactions based in a reality, sovereign, subservient to none, and owned by nobody.
BY NOBODY.
YOU'RE ALIVE. THAT'S ALL THERE IS.
STOP HOPING AND FIGHT, GODDAMNIT.
Learn more about Jonestown here.









