Truth, Authenticity and Integrity –

the virtues denied success by the playacting political powers.

I brewed and I brewed as I stormed the characterless corridor. What is the reward for truth? If punishment was the reward then wouldn’t everyone simply lie to survive? All my life I had abided by social rules, paid my tax and contributed to the ‘greater academic knowledge.’ Where was the appreciation for all that study, research and analysis? I was a ‘good girl’ and a ‘model citizen’, a cog in the collapsing fragmented framework. The individual did not matter, nor did they carry any worth. Community, loyalty and society had been sacrificed for a capitalist ideal. Keeping up with the Jones’s had turned to running them down in a black sports car bought on credit. The desire to conform and feel safe replaced the sense of significance and true uniqueness was frowned upon. Corporations preferred ‘yes people’ who would go above and beyond for little or no reward simply to feel safe. It was ‘brown nose’ heaven. The way culture curtailed to the controlling command had not gone unnoticed. The people felt powerless to react when yet another crisis became the opportunity to implement ‘imperative regulations’. The irony was that those brought up in privilege had never suffered financially like the underclasses. They had never gone hungry or witnessed a kid being beaten to death in the playground over three-coins-worth of pocket money or a paper note. They did not understand what it was like to live on the edge of financial agony.

The mental churn gained momentum. I thought about how the rulers ruled without understanding, empathy or identification. They stood on their self-architectured ledges and peered down upon the poverty-rife valley whilst sipping a ruby wine. The acceptance of an elite rulership was part of social conditioning. If we feed our children stories about princes, princesses and kings and queens then they will grow to aspire to an unattainable ideal. The stories provided little girls false ideals about princes and young men desired to achieve wealth for mating rights. It provided the golden carrot for the employment treadmill.

I could feel my nails digging into my palm. I could see the exit, yet the mental rant continued. When one had experienced both sides of the social coin then that was catalyst enough to dedicate one’s academic attention to developing complex socio-financial-behaviour theories. However, there was never any anticipation of academic alienation for developing unpopular research. The truth was not welcome and blinkers became a shield from the building civil unrest. If we ignore it then it does not exist! 

The more I had researched the more I noticed the psychosis. Money-mania was a silent mental disease, one that relied on the belief that an individual’s intrinsic value was based on a metallic or paper symbol. Personal value was nothing to do with ‘being’ or authenticity, instead the gauge amongst peers was commodities. An ape with a stick was worth twice as much as one without. That would be a middle-class ape. An ape with two sticks could be elevated to aristocracy. With that in mind, it was amazing what cruel things people would do to others in pursuit of an illusionary symbol.

In that moment I realised there were defining moments in a person’s life, when the way one reacted usually repeated a pattern. That day was different – enough was enough. I would usually contain my anger but why should I? In an eruption of rage I found a space in the middle of a kinetic art arrangement, at the centre of the university campus. Motion amongst the sculpture triggered a variety of animal cry. The more intense the motion, the louder and more diverse the rumble. I stood silently preparing while bitterness ravished my core. I could feel the rage gaining momentum until bang! I exploded sensationally into an emotional outburst. A frenzy of animal sounds filled the arena. An elephant trumpeted, a gorilla cried and a lion’s roar drowned out my screams. Students and lecturers peered from the windows. I resembled a panicked child batting away a swarm of wasps amongst the downpour. A wild woman.

Contorted and confused expressions gazed down on the frenzied woman whose financial findings had electrified educational and business nerves. The results were not pleasing and unwelcome discoveries filled my research. The figures did not add up, everything had to change; it was time to seek a safe haven. What’s more, the masses had not been privy to the financial truths. They remained oblivious to the escapades taking place behind inaccessible financial fortresses. The rulers were putting out small fires whilst ignoring the briskly building infernos. Sneered-at solutions propelled the financial false economic façade into financial cycles of devastation. Endless assumption and lack of responsibility catalyzed continued crisis. Nevertheless, my research on the growing resistance amongst the public to persuasion techniques had resulted in increased mass disbelief. Without faith in the leaders and without infectious belief in the system – the lack of trust fuelled a recession and perpetuated the failure-fulfilling prophecy – reflexivity. Belief, significance, human value, uniqueness and truth would revive the system after a complete re-organisation and restructure of value. The world desired a speedy solution, not the truth. Without positive mass enthusiasm and hope, the financial system would remain stagnant. The more society financially festered then the longer the recessions would last. I was essentially an academic Cassandra – the profit of financial ruin. Cassandra had answers if someone would willingly listen. In the meantime, a vision of the tower of financial foolishness toppled. There was need for a new system, a new way, one that worked.





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