Not understanding history, one can’t know where one is. Not deeply. Thus one is – in a very real sense – lost. Lost to the real. Lost in the superficial understanding, intellectual laziness and blithe regard of dreamstate consumerism chewing cud somewhere between now and a gluey intermediate utopia – nowhere – as a planetary collapse orchestrated, choreographed and enabled by the language of trade policy unfolds before the sleepy wet eyes of herdstock that can no longer see. That’s not hyperbole; its a warning. This is no time to be lost or asleep.

If you are, then Yash Tandon’s scrupulous work is the cure. Buy it, read it, hi-lite it and make it an essential part of your personal reference library. And then buy a copy for a friend.

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