Time, a curious thing, whether marching or creeping it waits for no one. So it has staggered past the era of hope. Those who suspected him from the beginning proudly stand on their clairvoyance. Those who endorsed and supported him, cautiously retreat in the crowd. All feel a bit of vindication, petty emotions are best left to children anticipating a holiday surprise.
What was it we were expecting anyway? I am finding it hard to remember. There was the promise to end war, or maybe it was just one. There was an assurance that the wealthy would no longer reap all of the rewards, but it is hard to expect them to disadvantage themselves in this way. There was the pledge to end the mistreatment of prisoners in American custody, but of course that has been a longstanding policy, only recently receiving the people's attention. Oh yes, and then there was that most important of all good intentions, the desire for a transparent, democratic government, that would not be inscrutable for the average citizen. It was silly for us to expect these things, how easy that is to see now.
We are deceived into believing that among the elites are those who retain the capacity to act on behalf of others despite their own plain advantage. Simply put, this is not possible for the human animal, at least not without the profound development within them of a will to their own destruction. What has become clear in the age of Obama, is that it is never enough for a messiah to travel half the distance, or even the better part of it. No, unless they have gone all the way to martyrdom, their effort is insufficient. Similarly, once they have departed, and the exodus has begun, they cannot escape being consumed. Whether this comes as a consequence of cowardice, or courage is all that they are left to decide.
This is an unpleasant maxim, no doubt, but it is no less true for that. What will come of Obama? The only thing that can be said for certain is that he will be consumed. This will come as a result of his cowardice or his courage, but either way, this man will emerge from office damaged, battered and quite possibly far worse than that. We will all play our role; the stones must be hurled. It was not only the enemies of the man from Galilee that berated him. In fact his followers’ condemnation became so severe, that his enemies felt his suffering more acutely. The father of India too did not meet his final moment facing an adversary, at least not a foreign one. But both of these men allowed courage to guide them, and that would appear to be different this time. In this case let it only be a figurative demise, the world simply does not have room for that event.
President Obama, who held so much promise for a nation in desperate need of a hero, simply could not have succeeded. No matter the effort, the problems facing the nation are just too great for the measly federal government to solve. If we are fortunate our states will survive, or maybe the Balkanization will leave regional governments behind. The burgeoning Union of European states will likely disassemble first, but the Union of these American States is beginning to appear fragile in these times. When I have these thoughts it occurs to me I should write science fiction stories about them, advance a narrative into the future and imagine that world as it is. Maybe it is better, or worse, or another much preferred, but time travel is best left to fiction.
A greedy devil born of cynicism has irrevocably damaged this earth, and the demon lies concealed in every one of us today, threatening to consume the planet in fire. Perched gargoyles cast a glance from above, as we file into the modern temple, bent on possessing one more cheap trinket to outlast our pitiable existence. Bereft of meaning and bent on our own demise we ingest what is left of the living, breathing, sun loving earth. The grim faces in towers on high, driven by mysterious powers, will own the terrain at any expense, no matter the cost to the inhabitants, and without regard to the fact that to own it they must first kill it.
The real enemies; ourselves. We sell them our souls with every purchase we make. Until we throw off entirely the yolk of capitalism, we part with a little bit of the divine every day of our lives, until at our death we are soulless caverns inhabited by a greedy demon. When we turn to face our assassin, he will be the closest associate, the nearest friend, the warmest family member. Yes, the ones who come in the night will be very familiar indeed, we will have known them since the moment of our birth, they will of course be none but ourselves.