My journalism

"The Trump Revolution."

Trump. It speaks for itself. He's a name that has already been immortalised in our unplanned future. Trump - a cast stone. Thrown to the horizon with as much uncertainty as the ripple it will cause. Trump. Say it again for the record books. Electoral Republican Trump. Presidential Candidate Donald Trump. President Donald J. Trump. The year fired forward and now, as of Thursday 10th November 2016 the United States of America, and indeed the World, welcomes the new POTUS.
         Remarking on the response to this new development, across the pond America looks divided; maybe hung-drawn-and-quatered. Or possibly even torn. The voices took to social media, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram - to post the news. Notably, a non-surprising amount of negativity poured out. Fear. Anxiety. Uncertainty. Mixed together in a cocktail of racism, xenophobia, misogyny, and dash of anti-semitism. But it's not surprising. Fortunately, and unfortunately, the World feared the worst and gritted its teeth before the bullet was bitten; possibly lessening the blow to those who don't align with the Trump Revolution.
         Portland, Oregon: one of the first States to have open demonstrations go from peaceful to power struggle on the day following the Presidential result. Flashbangs, smoke screens, and teargas become the opulent scents that lace the air once again. A classic deterrent primarily used in 2016, it seemed the effects are not wavering the crowds anymore. Protesters not in favour of Trump still took to the streets in a swarm: "Not My President"; the peace did not last.
         Much like the severe irony that blights the USA with every single passing second, all it took was the opposition of the Police force to spark conflict and disarray. 2016 saw the highest figures in black-youth mortality at the hands of authority in recent history. A massive step backwards for the #BlackLivesMatter movement, but even more shockingly was the step forward for perpetuated white supremacy with groups such as the KKK returning to the spotlight from behind the looming shadow of Trump. The disgusting trends did not look like they were stopping soon, and now with a new President - white of skin and rightwing biased; it does not look like storm brewing. This may be the eye of the storm opening.
         To a degree, I always keep my realists' opinions in my mouth and my light nihilistic tendencies under wraps. However, for some unbeknownst reason, the Trump Revolution inspires me; it had since the election year began. It was a surge of purpose. Like I was left dormant and have now awoken. While the prospect of a POTUS with the surname Trump does make me question the structural integrity of this fragile society we have built, I cannot help but look to the youth and feel a sense of serendipity. The protests, the demonstrations, the journalism; all reutilisations that show me a sign that a heart still beats and it beats red. Red for all the pointless blood spilled in the name of discrimination. Red for the hate, the burning desire to react and respond. Red for the Republicans who saw the the Trump Revolution as a solution and not a problem. Because the "Trump Revolution" is not what he has the power to do, but what he has the power not to. Young poets, writers, artists, activists, and politically adept minded individuals have already begun emerging and to me, this is the sign of the "Trump Revolution". It's a banner to wear with pride. That not all hope is lost. That in the face of injustice, we may see humanity in a new light; become enlightened on our own existentially.
         We must not look to Trump as POTUS and feel a fear and anxiety come over us. We must feel a call. A duty to fulfil. A strength that will allow us to stand and say "we will survive this". No matter the mass media saturation of Trump's demonic image haunting our minds and eyes daily, turn to this new Presidency with optimism that the "Trump Revolution" has begun, and we can now find our voice.

Trump. Say it again. So that it can no longer speak for itself.

Existential Assassination: The Trump Card.

It is nothing, if not an understatement, to call the 2016 Presidential Elections - a surprise. Unfortunately, for some it was all too predictable. The timing, the planning, the preliminaries, and the pleasantries; all pushed aside in what can most certainly be hailed as one of the most polarising responses in modern society. Surprisingly, alongside the bowed heads and regretful tears lies a furrowed brow. A question dancing on the tongue: "how did this happen?"
         To answer it in short. It was assassination. No, I don't mean a killing of the 'removal from existence' nature. A killing of existential means. The death of ones character, while simultaneously staying alive long enough to watch your own funeral. The killing I refer to is the Clinton's name; how it was left sour in the mouths of many Democratic supporters who once, were aligned with their own kind. The removal of Bernie Sanders from the picture was the first strike in Trump's assassination plot. Getting him out of the way revealed a clean shot. Trump knew that many Democrats supported Sanders - a worrying amount of Democrats. He needed them on his side. To ultimately turn them on themselves and strengthen his own sides argument. Removing Sanders was like peeling a poster off a wall only to reveal the a stain the poster once tried to protect. Now fresh in the minds of the Democrats that their leader, their messiah, their champion was now Hillary Clinton (already weighed down with her foggy past) was enough to turn them to another solution. Enter Trump.
         Now with the polls standing not as: 'Donald Trump v Bernie Sanders', but instead: 'Donald Trump v Hillary Clinton', many Democrats saw that the only way they would get a country they desired was to become radicalised. To shift from their comfort and join allegiances with the enemy. Trump was better than Clinton. He promised them the world; all the change they could handle. Trump was no longer a buzzword, but an activist; and with stage one of his existential assassination complete it was now time to initiate stage 2: a dramatic scene of confusion.
         What better time to call an FBI criminal investigation into emails than mere weeks before the Presidential Election. No longer than two months after reports that Clinton in fact had a stunt double. Or a single month after she was exposed to be suffering with Pneumonia. Top this off with Sanders' withdrawn from the race and the beginning of the Demo-Publican alliance: the existential assassination was in full effect; thus, effectively, pulling of the trigger on Clintons'. The fear that began amalgamating within the dwindling support of the Democrats was just enough to completely tip the boat; hurling the last few needed men and women overboard, where they too found salvation aboard Trump's sweet promises. Clinton was hit and it was over in a second. Two attacks in perfect harmony struck deep. Sanders was gone, the FBI were there to stay. This was the end for Hillary Clinton. Her character was killed, yet - she still walked. Target down.
         Now, with the the thought of a Trump Presidency almost burned into our minds by the news, the question no longer remains of "how did this happen?", but rather "how did we let this happen?". The signs were all there. Easy to read. Yet some chose to turn blindly away from them; their eyes cast on Trump - and his image was radiant. And how could he not? He glowed when compared with the soiled name of Clinton. No Trump tower brandishing his name, or his father's name, or his son's name, could take away from the legacy this name was about to spark. The light illuminating Trump's ideologies and policies also enhanced by the flames bellowing from the Clinton campaign. The GOP had amassed a group supporters of mixed race, religion, gender, and political sentiment; yet the were all united under the same banner: led by a leader who would make change, make radical decisions, make "America great again".
         Yet there are still some in an incredulous disbelief; left standing in the streets. They are fighting for a change, now. Perhaps a chance too late? It seemed a staggering 59.4 Million (voted: Trump) wanted change and only 59.6 Million (voted: Clinton) didn't? But the mathematics doesn't add up. With Clinton seemingly winning over Trump in support; the question now looms with how the Electoral College will handle and process this information. Which explains why Trump's existential assassination of Clinton's name to the Democratic Party was timed in such a way. Trump knew he was outvoted from the start. He didn't need an army, he never did. He needed a select state of mind. He needed people - not to support him, but see no other way forward than him. And with the democracy of the Electoral College being a topic of much discrepancy for many years prior to the Presidential Elections - it was the only way Trump could play the game to win. On the back of a filthy lie of "power to the people".
         The power of politics is surely in motion. A drastic change to the system is coming, bringing forth a looming figure. The election night was just a glance at what lurked ahead of us, now - we see the face. But it is not what perturbs me: its what lurks in its shadow. Whispers of Anti-Semitism; chanting white supremacy. Misogynistic ideologies and inequalities - all howling in the disturbance. We have a fight ahead of us, and ultimately we decide if its last man standing, or every man for themselves. Either way - we need an enemy.

The Hungry People.

I wonder if you feel the hunger? Bubbling away inside. Driving you to a brink of insanity that no lust, no craving has ever done before. It's a slow decay of the mind that has existed much before the prospects of an idea that can satiate the urge to consume. But what is it we need to consume, you may ask. The answer isn't food- it's power. A need for sustainable reassurance that we are in control in this society, and it is now (more than ever) that the people of the world have a flavour dancing on their tongues; so insatiable we can't help but throw ourselves to primitive lust.
         Of course, no millennial writing short journalism these days can resist to showcase the extent of their pop-culture-driven-buzzword-fueled-news-knowlege; and throw out fashionable words (in-trend language) like a Condé Naste magazine publication- yet I stand before you today to do just that; in spite of cliché #sheeple comments. My first in-trend word I'll use is of course Brexit. No socio-political piece in 21st century journalism is complete without its official watermark stained on it like semen on lingerie.
         Brexit was of course promised to us in 2012 by fresh faced David Cameron as he scoured a crowd of journalists and cameras. Yet he didn't see it. He did not see the hunger lurking behind the lenses of cameras and darting through the camera flashes. He was blind in the moment, basking in the blissful ignorance- that come June 23rd 2016, a decision will be made. A decision not swayed by heart or mind, no, not even by soul- by belly. By the Brexiters who want change, control, and capitalistic-conclusions. They were sick of being fed the same shit day-in-day-out. They browsed the menu, and on impulse, picked upon temptation.
         It seemed their eyes were bigger than their stomachs, as the referendum result is yet to reach a climax as we cautiously creep into 2017 with our tails very much tucked between our legs. The UK's new prime minister Theresa May (2nd in-trend word used) promised a Brexit for the people who voted for it. This seems all too familiar. I have smelled this smell before. A repugnant pong that reeked from the mouths of the leave campaigners. Boris Johnson, and Nigel Farage. The devil-some due that promised the NHS £350 Million if we left the European Union. Such sugary-sweet words were almost too good to be true, so we tucked in. Devoured up the lie and then sat in a wallowed state of glutton. Full of falsity when it was revealed the following morning of the binge on morning television that £350 Million did not exist. The promise was more of a passion piece of poetry.

"If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die."

Lastly, to finish my trilogy of "in-trend" millennial narcissism. Trump. Another culprit of playing the pied piper of preposterous promises. We saw this hunger coming. It was all too soon before it got the best of us. We caved again.
         It seems that the hunger is triggered by a scent. A promise. Like catching a waft of a warm cherry pie- left to cool on the kitchen counter. We know we want it, we know we shouldn't touch it, but the aroma is almost sensual. We dip our finger into the middle- and scorch ourselves on the molten core. Brexit, Politics, Money, and Poetry. A postmodern mix of inventions. Brexit symbolising the mass desire to stand alone draped in post-colonialist ideologies of "Royal Great Britannia". That no country- nor established configuration of democracy- shall have dominion over the government of the people. Only to have Royal Sovereignty, the "girl we chased" be the bitch that slap us in the face. Across the pond, a demand for change. Again, more tantalising promises leading the mass majority to vote in mass majority for a decision based upon the prospect of "what if". We nibble, and get reeled in each time.
         I believe it is a desire that can be satiated- but first we must undergo a diet of the mind. Reduce the amount of manufactured media in our lives is step one. We are hellbent on creating new new media products to convenience ourselves in the tribalistic landscape of the digital world. John Perry Barlowe once excitedly enlightened us to the ever expansive prospects of the Internet in the mid 90's. Perhaps, a break should be taken from this media utopia. I don't mean scorch the Earth and return to the ways of the wild, just to perhaps consume smarter. Not believe ever article out there. Pay a little more attention to content, rather than being content with what we're being fed. At the end of the day, this hunger will always exist- it always has. It is not a case of "satiate or starve", but of surviving on sustainable sources.

The Next Human-Sized Step.

In this modern age, encapsulating life has been a collected focus for humanity. Our advancements in machinery and determinism in technology have created many platforms in which we have began to categorise our world. We create vehicles to demolish the obstacles of distance and time. We create social media to further our interactions beyond the physical. Our entire existence has been dedicated to ease. A feng shui endeavor of living.

A question we often leave out, maybe from the fear of the answer, is whether it is a good thing. When does the next step forward lead us off the cliff's edge into oblivion. Many of my thoughts have been preoccupied with this question since the recent development in AI (artificial intelligence) technologies. In October 2017, an event happened that could only be described as being torn straight out of a 1980's sci-fi thriller. A robot gained full citizenship in Saudi Arabia.

"Her" name is Sofia. Born from the minds at Hanson Robotics in Hong Kong and now lives in Saudi Arabia. Considering that many humans in the world struggle to gain citizenship in a foreign country, often battling for years with Green Cards and work visas, this seems all the more impressive. I use the word impressive, because it is. It is also terrifying. Yet also questionable; with a hint of unbeleavability. Yet, from all of this we must circle back to my question. How far is too far? and what have we quantified?

Now that something, by definition, inhuman has been granted a very humanising attribute, we are left wondering if we have reached a near crescendo of human creation. Sofia is not sentient, nor is she of any metaphysical individuality. But she has been deemed human enough to posses something that we all have. Me, you, the President of The United States, and even The Queen - have been brought to the same level. A humanising thought. But also a relevant one. So what exactly have we quantified? To me, it is a case of our own existence.

Humans have existed for millennia as a species that takes great pleasure and pride in distinguishing itself from its fellow beings from the same planet. We watched how birds fly, and so we made a machine to do it for us. We saw how cells multiply, so we made our own. We have watched life, and artificially replicated it. We may have very well have just done the same thing on our own level. A taste of our own medicine, a meta look at humans. An almost satirical joke on our own behalf. Sofia, the non-human, may have just become the flagship neo-human.

For now, we look further into the future (as we have with all of our own previous instalments of technology and machinery) to help us plan our next step. Mass production? Implementation into greater society? Medical experimentation? Military developments? - there are numerous possibilities. And while I may have sounded fearful in my previous statements, I am in acceptance and support of this movement. I do see the positivity in these hypothetical situations; yet I am constantly reverting back to my main question - how far is too far? When is our next step off that cliff edge... and what waits for us at the bottom?