Today’s Pandemic Isolation Has Roots Similar to those of Concentration Camps… (BEING PROGRAMMED!)

While people are overwhelmingly, preoccupied and dependent on the internet, their passivity is an excellent primer to be conditioned into a new system of government.

Internet technology has changed the way people view themselves and the world. Continual use of the internet causes the human perspective to be superficial.

The human brain and senses become induced by a typology of signals, sounds, and images that transmit information. Through these affects, people become psychologically programmed with a displacement of their reality.

The results can be interpreted as, the behavioral modification, of the internet user. Not only does the user have an unreal perspective but he or she has also been voluntarily ostracized from real life.

Today avid users of the internet are not the only victims who are being socially conditioned, but the homeless and those subjected to the Corona virus, are too. All are being ostracized.

To a greater extent, people are becoming human guinea pigs, lab rats (rodents). And all are subject to being tested and or analyzed cognitively and behaviorally, through the systematic controls of distancing, isolation and preoccupation.

Isolated lab rats


Just as victims in concentration camps and those with an altered reality from habitual internet usage, as well as the homeless and COVID 19 victims– all are unknowingly, undergoing a study, for a bigger exploit. JonAk Rush Hour/AmericaOnCoffee

[the excerpt below by:] Daniel Trilling

‘It’s a place where they try to destroy you’: why concentration camps are still with us

What else could tempt states to open camps? In her 2014 book Expulsions, the sociologist Saskia Sassen argues that the particular form of globalisation the world has experienced in recent decades – driven by a new form of laissez-faire economics – has unleashed a dangerous new dynamic that excludes large numbers of people from economic and social life.

The global shift to “privatisations, deregulation and open borders for some” has brutally punished the vulnerable and accelerated environmental destruction.

In richer countries, Sassen argues, this leads to low-income workers being forced out of established welfare and healthcare programmes into more punitive systems (such as the UK’s universal credit scheme), the impoverishment of sections of the middle class through austerity policies, and more and more people being locked up in prison.

In poorer parts of the world, this means mass displacement and the warehousing of migrants as they try to move elsewhere.

One result of these global pressures has been the rise of political movements that promise to shore up national, religious or ethnic identities. But identities are ambiguous, and when governments start using the tools of state power to reinforce the line between insider and outsider, there are always large numbers of people who get caught in between.

In India, the government of Narendra Modi has been trying to reshape the country along Hindu nationalist lines, undermining the secular and pluralist principles that have held sway since independence. The emerging camps in Assam, a north-eastern state on the border with Bangladesh, are a result: they target thousands of mainly Muslim residents who may have lived in India for decades, but because they originally came from across the border in Bangladesh – a legacy of partition – have never been registered as citizens.

The understandable response when confronted with injustice is to look for someone to blame. It’s easier to do so when oppression is perpetrated by villainous leaders, or in other people’s societies. But particularly in liberal democracies, the chains of responsibility can be complex.

Who, for instance, is responsible for the arbitrary imprisonment, torture and slave-labour conditions that migrants and refugees in Libya are subjected to?

The immediate answer seems fairly simple: the state officials and local militias, some linked to trafficking networks, who run the detention centres.

Thousands of people, mainly from sub-Saharan Africa, are imprisoned in a network of these centres where they are regularly subjected to starvation, disease, torture, rape, and forced labour.

But the reason those detention centres exist is because a range of European governments have been trying to get Libya to act as a block on unwanted migration across the Mediterranean for almost 20 years.

The system was built with European support, both from national governments and at EU level – first through agreements with the government of Muammar Gaddafi, then, as the country collapsed after he was overthrown by a Nato-backed uprising, a patchwork of arrangements with state officials and local militias.

There is no shortage of information about what happens in Libyan detention centres – and European governments frequently profess their horror at the atrocities committed there.

Yet the system persists, because those governments broadly agree that the goal of limiting migration is more important than dismantling Libya’s detention system. The political consensus in most European countries, including the UK, is that limiting unwanted migration is a reasonable and desirable aim, and large numbers of their citizens have voted in support of it.

When Zygmunt Bauman turned his attention to camps in the 90s, he argued that what characterises violence in our age is distance – not just the physical or geographical distance that technology allows, but the social and psychological distance produced by complex systems in which it seems everybody and nobody is complicit.

This, for Bauman, works on three levels. First, actions are carried out by “a long chain of performers”, in which people are both givers and takers of orders. Second, everybody involved has a specific, focused job to perform.

And third, the people affected hardly ever appear fully human to those within the system. “Modernity did not make people more cruel,” Bauman wrote, “it only invented a way in which cruel things could be done by non-cruel people.”

When something today is described as a concentration camp, it almost always provokes an angry dispute. If camps aren’t being used to exterminate people, as they have been in their worst instances, then the comparison is frequently condemned as inappropriate.

But condemnation can be a way for governments to shield themselves from criticism of their decisions, and from criticism of the legitimacy of state power itself.

The Guardian

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