Dialectical Conditioning

Ever since you were tapped to join the Party Internal Safety Committee's Combat Unit, you've been under the wing of your mentor. She has been your guide, your source of purpose in the struggle against reaction, and your shining light of clarity. You spend every day at her side, investigating the enemies of the Revolution, leading the soldiers into furious battle against the thugs of reaction. And you're winning. Battle after battle, raid after raid, the revolution passes across the land. The pace of victory quickened with every step forward, with every dead fascist, and with every inch of blood-soaked land as red as the flag you carry into battle. When you heard that the enemy had finally been defeated, their disgusting bourgeoise puppet masters captured, and the final victory over capitalism and reaction at hand, you rejoiced. You thought peace was near. That the bloodshed would finally be over. That the construction of the new, happy world you had all strived for, bled for, and killed for was soon to begin. It was only the beginning of a new struggle. The struggle against opportunism, adventurism, revisionism, anarchism. Against falsifiers, deniers, modernizers, crypto-fascists, social fascists, and the neverending list of criminal distortions of the Immortal Doctrine of the Party. Only she helped you see the sense in it. Only she helped you put on your cap every day you went to interrogate another group of "dissidents". Only she helped you when you couldn't do the job you had to do. And now, she was helping you again. You hesitated to give the order. They were just a group of striking workers! They didn't deserve to be executed! What crimes could they have possibly committed? But orders were orders, and-*click* You felt cold steel pressing into the nape of your head. Your CO leaned in from behind you, and whispered, "The Party is a circle of accountability, my dear. If you won't execute a traitor, then I will." Suddenly, all of your doubts vanish from your mind.

Uniforms are hot. There's no need to prove it, it's pretty much an axiom, honestly. A good chunk of it is that uniforms represent the giving up of individuality, which is perfectly understandable. However, something I feel doesn't get spoken of enough is what exactly one replaces their individual identity with through the uniform. The act of wearing a uniform is inherently connected with the assumption of a group identity.