Theaters of War: Closer to Home

It historically has been easier to detect the arenas of war.  Signposts were evident: crosses burning, shrapnel flying, molotov cocktails exploding, wounded victims howling, boots thumping out rhythm antithetical to heartbeat.
No longer so, as technology and bureaucracy fuse to assail us surreptitiously from a distance.  White paper is signed, slashing government health and medical assistance.  A coda raising the retirement age is added to the dirge, as if it were really needed; we'll have to work until the bury us under the pile of bills incurred in the inevitable crush to hold onto our wellbeing and the American dream home. Of course, the military industrial complex will not be spared, but rather cut back to pre-Haliburton levels.  No more ergonomic design experts; one helmet per head. What will we have to defend but a broken people, its middle-class backbone twisted in its writhing to survive. 
What are the outcomes?  Revolution?  Civil war?  I predict that the 60% who did not vote will continue plodding along, hypnotized by the mantra "this is the best country in the world". They will still consume what they can, blinded by official fairy tales of "farmfresh" food and images of  smirking  politicos joking about their wives' "domestic policy". After all, we're not irate Brits or those fanatic French. Individuality is cherished here in the U.S.A.; we can become whatever we can be...without that government interference.  The terrorists brought trouble to our doorstep, and we wove ourselves closer together under that blanket of smoke and ash.  We're Americans, dammit, and we will do what it takes to keep the corporations cranking out jobs. We counted pennies in the Great Depression; we stood in lines for work and food.  We can do it!
They often  forget that today we search online to connect with jobs that don't exist, to consume things that can't possibly fill the void.  Televised media provides little relief; a news bit of a dire scenario or scandal in the cult of celebrity inserted  between ads for discount flooring and holiday gifts. The most popular show in America involves dancing with stars; local yokels rehearse their versions of American idols.  Our plateau of normalcy is founded on fantasy and escapism.
Of course, there is always the snap, the moment when the sleeper awakens, the dangerous moment when these subjects become aware that they are only objects in the elite's machinery. These many oppressed can turn against the poor, victim against mirrored victim, or finally confront the oppressor by taking hold of the reins of power alongside the former "other" with whom they now have so much in common.
Imagine a theater of war populated by middle class families, gays, blacks, latinos, native americans, youth and all the disdained masses vs. the bastions of power, the pillars of society.  It needn't be bloody; it's a question of numbers exercising their constitutional right to shape their own destiny in a preemptive strike.
That is a visualization worth manifesting.  It may become real, if we're lucky, before the next Katrina leaves us gasping for breath, wading through the effect of shoddy practice and misappropriation, cowardly lack of leadership and neglected responsibility to our very human condition.