-By Ayushman Sinha
Oh dear teenaged intellectuals, so full of pride,
With intellectuality you try to hide,
But alas, your intelligence is quite a ride,
Yet here I am, with nothing to hide.
Your hate, I do not fear nor dread,
For your words fall flat, like lead,
So go ahead,
fill the internet with your thread,
But remember, it's me who's one step ahead.
(I admit that my poetry may not be excellent, despite my best efforts. Please ignore it. However, I did make an attempt unlike the intellectuals mentioned above.)
Ah, Generation Z, the final element in a long chain of humanity's attempts at self-transformation, at standing upright as something different and enlightened to find a new social order. But irony does not lie in the substance of this rebellion; it rather lies in its vacuity. Their battle cry rings out across social media platforms, a great echo chamber of self-righteousness, reverberating with hashtags and "hot takes," and their war is waged against anything—anything—that smells faintly of tradition, capitalism, or God forbid, prosperity. But alas, it seems that in the hassle to tear down the world as it is, they forgot to make sure they believe in the future they claim to be building.
These torchbearers of modern rebellion, our beloved Gen Z, often look askance at the herd, sneering with an air of superiority and faux intellectualism. "Oh, the masses! " they exclaim, while sipping overpriced iced lattes from a Starbucks owned by the very capitalist machine they claim to loathe. But don't let that small irony distract you, dear reader. You see, to be fully revolutionist, one must look the part. And what better way to do that than in Marxism worn in the consummate nonchalance of someone donning a vintage sweater?
Nothing says "cool" like anti-establishment when your closet is overrun with designer brands bought with the very blood money they claim to hate. It is perhaps only the intensification of that desire to be special, to be beyond the plebeians that has driven Gen Z to war against the things that feed it. One must refuse not only the system but also conjure increasingly fantastical reasons for refusing it in order to really be "woke.". Take, for instance, the bizarre phenomenon that arises post-Ratan Tata's passing away (God rest old titans). A man whose whole life has spent contributing towards the Indian economy and upgrading living standards for thousands would be a subject of posthumous respect. But no!
That would be far too mainstream, far too "capitalist". Instead, it was decided by the enlightened few of this brave new generation that their greatest act of rebellion would be to fling unfounded accusations around. Was Tata a titan of industry, a philanthropist, a visionary? No, no, to the Twitterati, he was no more than a vile capitalist overlord, amassing his wealth on the backs of displaced tribal communities and allegedly wielding his power for sinister ends. Pedophilia? Blood money?
Oh, how they weft that tapestry, children playing with shadows, and convinced they contain some hidden truth of which the rest of us fools cannot see. You see, to these noble warriors of social justice, nothing says "revolution" like defaming the dead. Never mind whether evidence is lacking or their claims so preposterous they are laughable-what matters is the performance. What makes this new brave world of digital activism so absorbing is that the accusations themselves need not be true-the simple requirement is that they have to feel true. This is because, in this new world, feeling is reality.
Reality, after all, is merely a social construct to be twisted and molded to suit their predisposed political proclivities; but they do not, in their glorious project of the destruction of capitalism, assail it with reasoned argument or thoughtful debate. No, they rip at it with the savage claws of sulky children, striking at icons such as Tata, merely for the reason that he personifies all that which they would like to abhor but aspire to in private.
They despise him because his lucre was earned, because his charity was tangible, because his life's work stands as testament to the very ethos they profess to detest. How they proclaim their detestation of capitalism! They abhor its "oppression," its "inequality." Yet the very system they verbally assail finances their revolution. Their smartphones, their fast fashion, their avocado toasts-all fruit from the tree of capitalism.
It's almost quaint, really, how they preen their abhorrence of capitalism while enjoying all the comforts that system affords, like a child nipping at the hand that feeds him, unaware that without it, he would not feel nearly as comfortable. And what, for God's sake, is their alternative? Some murky vision of Marxism, apparently embraced less out of comprehension than because it "sounds" revolutionary, because it carries with it the weight of rebellion and the siren song of righteousness. They quote Marx like they quote their favorite Netflix shows—not in context, and without any actual comprehension of the words they're spewing. Not about ideology but the aesthetic.
It is about appearances; not to be kept awake, anymore, by the ills of society but to appear woke, to seem socially conscious, to be the one who sees through the lies while the rest continues making headway in blissful ignorance.
But here's the kicker, dear reader: they aren't revolutionaries. They aren't even rebels. Just children playing dress-up in revolutionary clothes, borrowing words and attitudes from revolutionary thought while forgetting to take any of it to heart. When the going gets tough, when the revolution starts to demand real sacrifice, they run back into the comfort of a capitalist world they hate with something like a whimper, unwilling to give up their privilegia for the sake of their convictions.
Here, we find ourselves in this strange, almost absurd situation. This is the generation that says, "We stand for that." They stand for nothing. Their beliefs change almost as quickly as their filters on TikTok-change because of the whims of popular discourse, shaped by whatever is trending that particular week. They don leather jackets with " Marxist" emblazoned on them not because they understand what the word means but because it is fashionable. And what of morality? What of standing for something real, something concrete? Oh, no, that's far too passé. Having real convictions requires effort, after all. It requires study, debate, the willingness to be wrong and learn. But in the world of Gen Z, where the only battle worth fighting is the one that garners likes and retweets, morality is as fluid as their politics. They stand against capitalism because it's fashionable.
They call out great men like Ratan Tata for unspeakable crimes, not because they think so but because it's trendy, because it makes them seem more radical, more daring. And therefore, dear reader, I ask you: what happens when the rebellion of a generation is hollow? When their causes are chosen not for righteousness but for setting them apart from the herd they so despise? The answer is simple: nothing. They will fade into the background, their hashtags and hot takes lost in the noise of the next trending topic. For the truth, inconvenient as it may be, is that a rebellion without substance is no rebellion at all.
It's a tantrum, a noisy moment that lasts only briefly and leaves nothing changed. And when the dust finally settles, when their iced lattes have grown cold and the last of the scattered hashtags have been tweeted, they will seek refuge back in the warmth of the world they claim to despise. They will revert to embracing the very capitalism they talk about as if it is evil, yet they can't help coveting; and their shoddy little revolution will be forgotten, a footnote in the endless scroll of social media history.
THANK YOU FOR READING THROUGH MY RANT!!
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