‘The river, that runs through this land: we have a belief that the Great in Britain will not exploit the many for the few …’

The Great Exploitation

Lisa Loudon
Inexpertly Applied
Published in
2 min readMar 14, 2019

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There’s a museum, in middle England, next door to the river than runs through this land. Brown and treacly, the river muds, meanders and floods its way, the ebbs and the flows of the water echoing the seasons of plenty and famine. In this museum, in this town, the Roman installation features a video of two academics discussing the impactfulness of the invaders on the landscape and people. Nothing, and nobody, could be more British: tweeds, proverbial raincoats and views pulled up around ears; eccentricity of dress and intellect brought into focus around disagreement filmed within the overcast ruins of Wroxeter. The Romans, said the Marxist amongst the two, only built their greedy temples to their Gods with help from the precariat: the people, that worked the land, who paid the taxes, who dealt with the lack, rather than the plenty, to feed the monster that had become the outpost of the Roman Empire, were silent. The Empire, was supported by exploitation of the many, for the few.

There’s a Parliament, in southern England, next door to the river that runs from this land. Brown and treacly, the river muds are inundated by the flow of the sea from the estuary, overtaking the headstreams in opposition. The water, here, echoes more the seasons of plenty than of famine: yet, follow the underground streams in the compass directions to smell the urine: the reek of hopelessness, and homelessness, hidden, in plain sight. Nothing is more British. The disagreement, in Parliament, is either muted: the algorithms of news driving opinion in directions scattered and unsure, or shrill: angered, pointed, polarised. Greediness overturns good sense: but who, in fact, is rich here? Meanwhile, the precariat: the people, that work the land, that pay the taxes, that deal with the lack, rather than the plenty, to feed the monster that has become the outpost of Democracy, are still: silent: they ebb and flow under the control of the invading algorithms that determine their fate: the belief that the Great in Britain will not exploit the many, for the few.

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