The earth-shaking elections are over. Greg gets worried, because he observes a mystifying modification of politicians’ behaviours – former antagonists start friendly chats, forgiving each other anything ranging from gullible gaffes to grave accusations (which commonly implore criminal investigation). After furious brawls, the performers laze in the armchairs, shake hands, smile affectionately, laugh relaxingly, pat shoulders – a paradise of agreement and synergy. Does lesson number five confirm a famous adage that nothing ever changes? Is the next act of WWE over, so entertainers can proceed to the locker rooms, take showers, count earnings and choreograph the forthcoming game? Is it all about the pleasure of getting to the throne, lounging in the throne, intoxicating oneself by the scent of the throne, glancing with contempt at the subjugated contenders from the height of the throne? Pure power-mania to become a quasi-sovereign, as the job is done by the shadow elites anyway? Disconcerting thoughts…
Tag Archives: politics
Coming back to the American topic… How on Earth did the condemned, ridiculed, belittled, diabolised man with a cheeky fringe emerge victorious, against all bets, prophecies and bedside fables? The solution to that conundrum could be seen in the melodramatic aftermath. Cameras and keyboards of “correspondents” were busy either filming or describing hysterical mortals, especially students, who were crying, swearing, threatening, fainting, convulsing and theatrically exhibiting other expressions of emotional fury. Later on the frustrated troops moved onto more physical techniques to externalise polarity, like breaking windows, demolishing police cars, burning Trump effigies, beating up Trump-connoisseurs. The posttraumatic stress disorder drifted somehow to remote South Africa, where small groups of Clinton-fanatics, with eyeballs weirdly protruded, were sharing horror in creepy whispers: “It can’t be!”; “It’s dreadful!”; “What’s going to happen now?!”; “Oh my God!” Those reviews of events somehow did not enlighten Greg as to the concrete causes of the terror, so he interrogated panic-stricken individuals closer: “What’s wrong?”; “Why do you mourn her?”; “Why is Trump so bad?” Replies were undeniably telling: “Markets will collapse!”; “It’s awful for global economy!”; “Social stability is finished!”; “Peace is history!”; “She was the best suited for the job!”; “He is a racist, misogynist, sexist, homophobe, xenophobe!” Like Clinton-admirers in the USA, they were echoing previously proliferated by the main stream media axioms, without suggesting basic rationalisations.
Was there anything that Greg could learn from recent developments in the USA, namely the election of Mr Trump to be the next president of that mighty land?
Well, a few valuable lessons…
Greg is not an American, which he openly admits, somehow with relief. He cherishes the fact of belonging to the Polish clique – almost uniform, homogeneous, one would say standardized clan of white Catholics speaking an unpronounceable language (considered one of the most difficult languages in the world – our key weapon against intruders, equally effective as walls, alternatively moats, along the borders). As a born non-cosmopolitan, he should refrain from sticking his rural nose into some other nations’ affairs, especially from commenting on voting for this or that sovereign. He cannot resist though, because the country in question is indeed huge, powerful, armed to the teeth, hawkish, uncompromising and omnipresent (in the form of fast-food chains, news channels, drones and marines), affecting therefore the entire globe. Simply speaking, Americans literally beg for attention, so Greg politely fulfils their wishes.
Greg was standing in front of a shopping mall with his head perked and mouth gapping.
He was staring at an impressive – maybe four by eight metres – billboard, which was prettifying one of the building’s walls. It was depicting a sprinter taking off from starting blocks. The sportsman had a decisive, chiselled face, although the rear contour of his body was smudged (the effect of skilful usage of the Photoshop motion blur filter). A string of similarly smeared, bold italic letters was whizzing above the aggressive runner. The zooming caption read: “You Are It!”