Until the lion learns to write, every story will glorify the hunter
For centuries, the White man was the hunter. He sailed across oceans in search of prey, he conned and swindled his way to the top. He dazzled with the bonfire, and then he burnt the lands to ashes. He decimated forests, massacred millions, divided up continents with the simple flick of a pen and a ruler. He mastered the art of deception through capitalism. A magician, the power of his tricks relied on what the audience did not see and did not understand. He was a master strategist who would do all the above without leaving a trace behind.
But now, the curtain is gone. People are privy to the techniques and tricks. The annals of this hunter is engraved in the scar tissue of the decimated forests, on the headstones of mass graves, at the borders of colonized countries. Oppression, ironically, released the people. The internet taught them the language of the hunter. Social networking gave the sheets over to the lions.
And now, the hunter is aghast. The roars are not simply noise anymore. The ground has been leveled, the curtains drawn, the darkness banished. The hunter tries to weasel his way out of the incomprehensible violence and manipulation, he tries to reason that it’s unfortunate human nature. He tries to equate the lion’s hunt for food with his hunt for extravagance. He tries to deflect blame by pointing to what others have done to destroy the earth and its inhabitants.
No amount of gunpowder can mask the stench of the blood of millions, and no smoke and mirrors can mask the soul from God.