Merry Christmas

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In the midst of some pain, we may forget pleasure. In a sea of red, we might not see green, nor yellow. What could be, in both extremes, blinds us to what is, or even to what is likely.

Yet this year has been miraculous, in all forms, within our space and beyond. And on this day, when angels descend upon our shores, what pinnacle of achievement than these words: there is peace on earth.

Or so we hope, this generation. Guns no longer sound in that ravaged Syria. Hopefully, they no longer do so in those Paris offices, London streets, or Washington discos.

The calls for peace have gotten weak. Under siege, we and them, walls have come up, fear ruling our land. To escape, an American public is treated to what can be called dark comedy, an almost sneering at ambition for empathy, an all encompassing cynicism that there can even be such a thing as peace.

A stoic approach that reminds us of just how far things have descended since the 90s, but perhaps, as a new generation takes over, after the drums of war, may we sound the drums of peace this Christmas day.

We have been denied joy for two decades, but dancing everywhere was on display this year. The artists came, and those students who in 2008 wondered what is the solution, might now think they have found it.

For the people revolted against the war games by the elites, in ballot boxes and in code. And though now Manning might be an unmentionable name, he was a hero once. As was Wikileaks, as was Snowden. Kimdotcom, Swartz.

They had no choice, the genes compelled them, channeling the feeling of the time, leading the anti-war protest movement, and while the mainstream media previously asked whether this is 1914, a better question might be whether this is a glorious British revolution or of the French kind.

With code we choose the former, but this is an angry generation. They feel they were stolen peace and they see children watching the news. They feel they were stolen trillions and they see bankers laughing at congressmen or women, asking them so what, after breaking some law, slap us with a fine, we can easily afford it, the elite tells our elected.

Regulated, they say, when they are all untouchable. Jail them the system might crash, we are told, yet they are regulated, we are told too. One law, or no law, for money printers, dark comedy for us.

But as they age and give way to a new generation, we are slowly becoming them, and eventually, our generation will rule the world. From China to Arabia, Africa, Russia, Germany, England and America.

And in this miraculous year we can begin to dream of what we might wish our world to become, of what we will improve and do better, of what has been learned and shall be avoided, of what has been invented and shall be incorporated.

For this is a space of ambition, a place of new inventions, a land of future leaders, as code extends intellect itself, and unlike a book, it can act too on its own.

Continuing that relentless march towards better, with incremental improvements, not much different than the printing press brought the exploration of the seas, paper money, and the industrial revolution.

And like then, this digital revolution is of a British kind too, of a British people who quickly saw their replacement of their king was far worse than keeping him or her as a symbol of ancient tradition.

And just like Elizabeth the first ruled over a time of great change, so does our aged queen who has presided over a long time of peace, and history might even call it a golden age if this generation enters this year re-invigorated.

For like the sun tonight reaches the lowest point, and gives way to light, so too the pendulum of time.

 

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