The Parade of Illusions
The Wild Card
The road to power has become a grand carnival where each move is a dazzling show. We’ve become worshippers of appearances, cheering for any face that isn’t just another weathered old oak. As if a rare blossom, exotic and bright, could lead us to a promised land.
The trumpets blare, confetti rains, and we clap with fervor, convinced that this parade is history in the making. But beneath the surface, we know it’s all a ruse, the same old circus, now with extra glitter to distract our eyes. “Diversity!” we cry, as if the right colors alone could heal our wounds and make us whole. We marvel at the ornate robes our leaders wear, spun not from wisdom, but from our craving for change, too mesmerized by the dazzling threads to see there’s nothing underneath. The parade marches on, and we are entranced. We’re so dazzled by the promise of something new, that we’ve forgotten to ask what kind of change we’re really getting.
In our rush to cast aside the old, we’ve stopped searching for substance, content with fresh faces draped in empty robes, as if the mere act of replacing could ever be called progress. We cheer for the spectacle but never pause to wonder if the change we’re chasing is little more than glitter on the same hollow crown. It doesn’t matter if our new leader stumbles, as clueless as a fish at a spelling bee. As long as it’s not an old oak, we will survive. We’ve convinced ourselves this is progress; swapping one empty suit for another, calling it a revolution, while the real issues stand naked, shivering in the cold, ignored and forgotten.
And yet, we praise the leader, draped in the latest fashion, their policies as clear as glass, their vision as hollow as the crown they wear. “But look how inclusive they are!” we chant, as if inclusivity alone could guide us through the storm. It’s a game we’ve agreed to play, where winning means looking good while failing grandly.
Those who dare to point out the truth are quickly silenced, their whispers lost in the roar. “Don’t you see the beautiful fabric of progress?” they ask- as if we’re the ones who can’t see the nakedness beneath.
So here we are, marching along, laughing and cheering at the spectacle, too caught up in the pageantry to realize we’re celebrating our own delusions. The leader may be as competent as a banana in a math test, but hey, at least they’re not another weathered old oak, right?
Competence is overrated anyway—what matters is the show. After all, it’s easier to applaud the banana than admit we’re still stuck with the same empty solutions, wrapped in flashier packaging.
Very nice article