Excerpt From Anthem

The following is an excerpt from Ayn Rand's book 'Anthem'.

I am. I think. I will.

My hands . . . My spirit . . . My sky . . . My forest . . .

This earth of mine . . . .

What must I say besides? These are the words. This is the answer.

I stand here on the summit of the mountain. I lift my head

and I spread my arms. This, my body and spirit, this is the end

of the quest. I wished to know the meaning of things. I am the meaning.

I wished to find a warrant for being. I need no warrant for

being, and no word of sanction upon my being. I am the warrant

and the sanction.

It is my eyes which see, and the sight of my eyes grants beauty

to the earth. It is my ears which hear, and the hearing of my

ears gives its song to the world. It is my mind which thinks, and

the judgment of my mind is the only searchlight that can find the

truth. It is my will which chooses, and the choice of my will is

the only edict I must respect.

Many words have been granted me, and some are wise, and some are

false, but only three are holy: "I will it!"

Whatever road I take, the guiding star is within me; the guiding

star and the loadstone which point the way. They point in but one

direction. They point to me.

I know not if this earth on which I stand is the core of the

universe or if it is but a speck of dust lost in eternity. I know

not and I care not. For I know what happiness is possible to me

on earth. And my happiness needs no higher aim to vindicate it.

My happiness is not the means to any end. It is the end. It is

its own goal. It is its own purpose.

Neither am I the means to any end others may wish to accomplish.

I am not a tool for their use. I am not a servant of their needs.

I am not a bandage for their wounds. I am not a sacrifice on

their altars.

I am a man. This miracle of me is mine to own and keep, and mine

to guard, and mine to use, and mine to kneel before!

I do not surrender my treasures, nor do I share them. The fortune

of my spirit is not to be blown into coins of brass and flung to

the winds as alms for the poor of the spirit. I guard my

treasures: my thought, my will, my freedom. And the greatest of

these is freedom.

I owe nothing to my brothers, nor do I gather debts from them. I

ask none to live for me, nor do I live for any others. I covet no

man's soul, nor is my soul theirs to covet.

I am neither foe nor friend to my brothers, but such as each of

them shall deserve of me. And to earn my love, my brothers must

do more than to have been born. I do not grant my love without

reason, nor to any chance passer-by who may wish to claim it. I

honor men with my love. But honor is a thing to be earned.

I shall choose friends among men, but neither slaves nor masters.

And I shall choose only such as please me, and them I shall love

and respect, but neither command nor obey. And we shall join our

hands when we wish, or walk alone when we so desire. For in the

temple of his spirit, each man is alone. Let each man keep his

temple untouched and undefiled. Then let him join hands with

others if he wishes, but only beyond his holy threshold.

For the word "We" must never be spoken, save by one's choice and

as a second thought. This word must never be placed first within

man's soul, else it becomes a monster, the root of all the evils

on earth, the root of man's torture by men, and an unspeakable lie.

The word "We" is as lime poured over men, which sets and hardens

to stone, and crushes all beneath it, and that which is white and

that which is black are lost equally in the grey of it. It is the

word by which the depraved steal the virtue of the good, by which

the weak steal the might of the strong, by which the fools steal

the wisdom of the sages.

What is my joy if all hands, even the unclean, can reach into it?

What is my wisdom, if even the fools can dictate to me? What is

my freedom, if all creatures, even the botched and impotent, are

my masters? What is my life, if I am but to bow, to agree, and to

obey?

But I am done with this creed of corruption.

I am done with the monster of "We," the word of serfdom, of

plunder, of misery, falsehood and shame.

And now I see the face of god, and I raise this god over the

earth, this god whom men have sought since men came into being,

this god who will grant them joy and peace and pride.

This god, this one word:

"I."

Trials and Tribulations of a dictator

I wrote this article in Newsvine back in jan..

Recently, Saddam's execution caused a stir in the media's nest.

He is not the world's only or even the first dictator.. and he will most certainly not be the last! He did manage to find much needed support only after his death... Governments and people protesting his death alike! Not that they resented his rule... Groups expressing concern about the much forgotten human rights! Much forgotten.. just as in Saddam's reign..The righteous mourning the fact that he never got a proper trial! Forget the thousands who died without any trial or for that matter for no fault of theirs but being at the other band of the religion spectrum.


I am not a big supporter of the fast track trial which found him guilty and hanged him... Given some more time I believe that more people would have come forward to claim justice for those wronged under his reign. The trial and the sentencing made it sound as if Saddam's only crime was the massacre of the 120 Shia Muslims.


All those lives unaccounted for in the trial did not even beget the honor of being a part of the statistics. They are those 'scores of men and women slaughtered in Saddam's rule', as the News Agencies have truly reported. Men and women without names, without faces and without a voice, alive or dead. And now without justice. All lives lost and no one officially blamed. Saddam's name would be passed on as the alleged killer but nothing more. The near future would know him as a man hastily hanged in a speedy trial.

Not that I advocate a snail trial.. like that of Pinochet.. The man whom the world accused.. The man who never had to accept any form of punishment for all the atrocities he committed! The man who did not even have to hear himself being indicted as the killer! His death was not just the death of a dictator but also the death of hope! Hope for justice and Hope for retribution...


For those who believed that law would take its right course, Pinochet's trial was a mockery. It stretched their beliefs to the limits of their patience. It certainly made those who plotted his assassination rue themselves for their failure, that is, if they were left alive!


Where does that leave the wronged? At the steps of the courtroom, which filters to its convenience what it wants to consider as right and wrong.. Where the law is not equal.. Where your country's geography mattered than the accused's history.. Whose scales are tilted by the attention the Superpowers bestow upon you...


Justice is never served in haste or in delay... In both the cases justice has been denied.