The walls of our home are crumbling. It started slowly, one brick at a time, winter winds piercing through the holes. Suddenly, huge chunks began to fall off and the winds turned into threatening gales.
They’re creating “the generation of 400 euros,” protesters are screaming on the street. Everyday people, beside themselves, trying to break past the police to get into the parliament building, not caring about anything, blinded by anger, despair, hunger.
IMF, ECB, Eurozone, EC, PSI, Merkel, Sarkozy, Juncker, Lagarde. What are these things, who are these people? What do they know about us? We’re done caring, done trying to figure out what the numbers mean. We don’t even care anymore that we’re just pawns in some greater capitalist scheme.
Unemployment is above one million. That’s over 20 percent of the population.
The number of homeless on the streets would shock the most hard-core New Yorker.
So yes, the walls of our home are crumbling. I fear that we no longer care how to rebuild them either. We have more immediate, primal problems. We’re looking for shelter.
I’m one of the lucky ones, I’m going to make it no matter what. But oh so many are not.