So that you are not confused, I couldn’t care less about watching two men argue over the virtues of their spouses, the size of their appendages, their abilities as hunters. Tweeting-it, snapping-it, looking directly in the camera, proclaiming, expounding – allowing us to become digital participants – is their world. Their invitation and reality-show induced views matter not. On this one, I need not digress. My mind has cleared, the fog has abated.
The source of the phrase, “the show must go on” is disputed; some assigning the quote to the circus, others to the stage. I now believe the phrase is now fermenting, accelerating, rising, proofing in secretive laboratories, think tanks, political campaigns, monastic and invitation only meetings, purposed with inciting the populace to join the show.
This past week Ted Cruz, one of the leading candidates for the Republican nomination for the presidency stood in the middle of the arena and ordered the mythical dog to mount the equally mythical horse, snapping, snapping, snapping his male-whip, commanding our attention. We listened, applauded, and debated his words. “We need to empower law enforcement to patrol and secure Muslim neighborhoods before they become radicalized.” He had barely finished his sentence before his not at all mythical running buddy ran as fast as he could, from the digital edge, head aloft, baton extended, appendages erect, elbowing for center stage, shouting, shouting, “I suggested it first.”
Cheering, laughing, applauding we did, agreeing our freedoms are the ones at stake, not those they have singled out, ignoring our messengers’ insanity. Holding back the protestors, gleefully laughing, pretending they didn’t mean what they said; permitting the show to continue. Our invitation did read, didn’t it, that we were being invited to revisit the good old days? “Making us great again”, fills the air, heard from the loud speakers overhead.
But none of this is a laughing matter, no matter how phrased, no matter how packaged. Please stand in the middle of the crowd, interrupt the show, tweet the tweets, delete the posts; shouting with such force the dog dismounts, scurrying into the corner, tail tucked, whining, whimpering – nothing like Lassie, surely not like Rin Tin Tin – causing the horse’s gallop to increase, a fast, furious gallop, constrained by the defined and confined circle – circus, circus.
Tell me I am dreaming and I need not be concerned. Tell me we remember when we cordoned off the Japanese to internment camps. Tell me we remember when law enforcement failed to act as police in our communities, acting instead as militia, condoning, dividing us from us; activities documented in the large cities, and even in places like Texas City, Texas (trust me on the Texas City one, I will explain at another time). A declared war on drugs, while hiding the real reason for the war; shipping drugs into our communities, justifying the invasion of both beds, caressing, holding, soiling, ultimately molesting us all. Holding press conferences proclaiming they are protecting us from them, like now, like before, while continuing to destroy our communities, our families, our children. We do remember don’t we?
When the horse tires, slowing his gallop, walking, stopping, please Mister Ringmaster pull Messieurs Cruz and Trump from the center of the ring, remove the silencers from their ears so that they may hear our screams, “the show must stop; the show need not go on.”