Radical This!

The Pathology of Dissent

Morning Comrades.

For over thirty years I’ve been called a “radical.” Not only by fascists in uniform or bible-thumpers foaming at the mouth, but mostly by the so-called liberal center. By bosses in meetings, by professors behind closed doors, by journalists who smile and nod while sharpening their knives, by spineless NGO bureaucrats clinging to crumbs of relevance. I’ve been “too radical” for asking that no one sleep on the street. “Too radical” for demanding healthcare without a price tag. “Too radical” for naming genocide when Israel bombs children. “Too radical” for organising youths, for feeding the poor, for resisting police in riot gear. And every time I’m labeled such, I know exactly what they mean: not that my ideas are wrong, but that they are dangerous, to them. They say “radical” like they say “infected.” Like we are a virus to their systems of control.

But this label is not just a word. It is a warning shot. It precedes every exclusion, every censorship, every targeting. It marks the moment you are cast out from the realm of the “reasonable” and into the realm of the disposable. The point is not that the ruling class disagrees with radicals, it is that they do not believe radicals deserve to speak, to exist, to be seen as full human beings. “Radical” is the first word they use to justify your dehumanization. It is the slur that comes before the surveillance, before the violence, before the prison, before the grave.

Let’s be clear: they fear radicals not because we are irrational or extreme, but because we are clear-eyed. Because we expose the rot at the centre of their beautiful lies. Because we don’t want a better capitalism, but a world without billionaires, landlords, border cops, or imperial militaries. Because we see their civility for what it is: the velvet glove over a boot on the neck.

This system, this global machine of wage slavery, ecocide, war, and racialized violence needs to make us seem like the crazy ones. Because if the people understood that we’re simply fighting for the bare minimum of life, dignity, and liberation, they’d join us. So they twist the language. They bend it to fit their fears. And for decades, I have watched the word radical turned into a muzzle for the truth. No more.

This dispatch is a declaration of war against that lie. Against the smug liberal chorus that treats genocide as diplomacy, poverty as policy, and revolt as pathology. Against every petty tyrant who dares to frame liberation as “too radical.” You want radical? I’ll show you radical. Radical is love under capitalism. Radical is survival. Radical is the refusal to die quietly. Radical is what we need, and what we must become.