Pissing into the ocean.

O, that moment of spreading warmth, of near union with the elements. the squeeze of release, the pleasure of pressure abating, the discharge of personal intensity.

It feels wonderful. and, as everyone knows, rapidly dissipates into nothing.

Protesting without a clear objective — the very same. The hallmark of transformative movements isn’t the beauty or fury of their expression on the streets, however well earned. It’s the clarity and specificity of their demands, the singularity of their focus.

Our collective quiver may be packed with arrows, but they mean nothing if we don’t let fly at the heart.

Time in the late anthropocene is perilously short. for a dozen years now we’ve been protesting, telling world leaders we’ve only a dozen years left. The world is on fire, motherfuckers — do something.

Those of us who take to the streets are usually clear on the why. but no time remains for haziness around our ultimate aims — the what. It’s time to sharpen focus.

What do we want? Greta Thunberg to conclude flights of impassioned invective with a clear and cogent demand: “We the youth of the world demand that world leaders implement a 1% Robin Hood Tax on all stock market transactions and currency trades.”

What do we want? Bill Mckibben to say to his 350.org followers: “Let’s fight for a true-cost global marketplace in which the price of every product tells the truth.”

What do we want? Tax havens eliminated. Three strikes and you’re out laws for corporate criminals. And, fuck it — a referendum before any war, large or small, can begin.

This is our solemn pledge. From now on, our every protest, every action must have behind it a transformative idea and an achievable goal.

Otherwise, we’re just pissing in the ocean.

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