Politics and Protests -- the flaccid theatrics of power
If left to their own devices, without the secret service, speech-writers, and public relations agents, politicians would be found dehydrated, on the side interstates along their campaign trail, flailing desperately at the buzzing power lines overhead.
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The political slop have taken their positions at center stage. Like addicts, they scratch and steal, using the backs of friends and enemies alike as storage for freshly sharpened knives. Coercive at best — theatrics at its worse. The nation watches, embittered, or enthusiastic, because we’re told that this is our duty.
When did it become the duty of the people to support, financially, emotionally, aggressively, the fattest of the vermin offered up by a poorly disguised corporate lobby? Double the median age of the constituents, career politicians, billionaires, opportunists who have spent their lives clamoring at power in any form. Tragedy and crisis, pandemics and war — anything that elicits FEAR is an opportunity for a power grab.
If left to their own devices, without the secret service, speech-writers, and public relations agents, politicians would be found dehydrated, on the side interstates along their campaign trail, flailing desperately at the buzzing power lines overhead. Out of touch with the day-to-day squeezing realities of most Americans, and plagued with sticky fingers, these are the white-collar criminals demanding our allegiance. A toxic ultimatum with no decent alternative.
In the shadows of the predators who drool over control, the working class revert to protests. They take to the streets in mass and shout their objections at the def brick walls of courthouses, at the armor of apathetic law enforcement, into thin air. They shout and stomp and are generally met with intimidation and tear gas.
Millions of mutually aggravated stompers and shouters parading down a metropolitan street is a spectacle. It reverberates and irritates, and when standing among them, harboring the same disapproval, it feels powerful. When peaceful, it’s a team. It seems magnificent, undeniable. When ignored, confronted with violence, or corralled, the mentality of the mob switches to chaos.
To oppose the pageantry of power-fattened politicians, governmental corruption, and brutality, the people, especially young people, respond by mirroring their enemy. A noisy march, a peaceful protest, a ceremonial display of the only remaining power they retain — power of numbers.
Protest, like the spectacle of national politics, is an ineffective tactic for communication. The heavily insulated and narcissistic politician has as much a chance of expressing his life-long lust for power, as the mob does in delivering a clear message to their saviors. The conundrum of protest prose — oversimplification of complex issues in order to fit on a poster board — is the equivalent of objecting to a judge in a courtroom with a hashtag.
The talking points of an amoral campaign are vague and dumbed down. The rally cries and protest signage are no different. In both instances, the symptoms of non-specific complaints are treated with token gestures.
This is exactly the case of recent protests. Millions of people took to the streets, after a fatal televised act of police brutality. The signage was vague and somewhat dull; “Black Lives Matter,” “No justice, No peace.” Few specific demands. An open call for the heads of…someone, anyone. The vaguer the better. Black lives matter, defund the police, systemic racism — allies and enemies without faces.
Brilliant. To appease a herd, disorganize them with rubber bullets and offer them meaningless gestures. Remove Aunt Jemima from the syrup bottle, change the name of a popular football team, tear down an old confederate statue in a town no one ever visited on purpose. Bland demands met with vacant offerings.
The theatrics are predictable on both sides. Protesters are treated like screaming children, pacified by menial acknowledgment, allowed to grow tired and fade away. Presidential campaigns arrive with the same illustrious backstabbing, void promises, with never any intention to deliver — the current candidate no different than the sty of corrupt hogs before him.
Rather than trying new tactics, the nation falls into the same perverse bickering, bisecting themselves into tribal political parties, more desperate for enemies than solutions, ultimately beaten back into the same, old, socio-economic cast systems from which they emerged.
But get out there and vote. Cheer on your pig. React with hopeful outrage, as you always have. Join arms in the street and chant until you receive the consolation prizes and head pats you so desperately seek.