The Foot Soldiers (Dispensables)

by Mathiba Len Molefe

The Foot Soldiers (Dispensables)

Every movement has it’s leader, one who stands at its helm and delegates to his underlings or subordinates. Be it a ship on the ocean or a platoon on the plains, we all have leaders. Leaders whose lives are at little risk when they opt to stay back and let those whose lives are but mere statistics face the heat of the incendiary thrown into the fray.

Battle scarred these men return to their superiors carrying on their backs the spoils of war so that they may be enjoyed by those who lay in the lap of luxury and pay little mind to those who meet their ends in the chaos and anarchy of war. Theirs are the names that are remembered by none other than their widowed wives and children fatherless.

Serve us well they say, lay your lives down so that we, the rich and pampered may progress into the new world, and we shall pay homage to thee. Go face the angel of death, and those of you who survive will be granted the chance to face him again and exact vengeance on him in the name of your fallen brothers. Bring us glory and we shall give you nothing in return, nothing but the scraps that fall from our tables as we dine on the delights that are fit only for those with titles that demand acknowledgement.

These are our leaders, men who walk through squalor in disgust and turn a blind eye to the sufferings of the people that they pledged to protect with their lives. The smell turns my stomach, who can live in such appalling conditions but the people we serve and protect, the people who gave us the power we abuse.

This description fits none other than the people who lead us, lead us into ruin so that their own pockets can swell with notes tainted by the blood of those sacrificed for the good of the no good. This is my country and I shall use it as I see fit.