Sacrifice On The Bayou

Liberte’! Egalite’! Fraternite’! The people’s battle cry was heard (or is that herd?) resonating in the streets of La Porte du Shreve, or as we call it Shreveport. The masses are the people stumbling around trying to figure out what happened at the Republican State Convention this past weekend. The battle cry should be the same as stated but more correctly ended with: “for me and mine and not yours and thine!”

Some see Bastille Day. I suspect something more akin to Aztec Sacrifice.

The thing appearing to be most unbelievable is the disbelief of some of the people involved in this melodrama. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls those still blinded by the light of political endeavor: lend me your ears!

This is politics. It’s a blood sport. It’s the lowest form of human endeavor short of killing puppies and canning dolphins for human consumption. This is reality.

To the aggrieved: welcome to Louisiana Poll-itics. This is the place where candidates’ stances on any particular issues are decided by what the governor says from his one-legged, lame duck but still powerful perch. It’s the place where legislative process (read behind the scenes, physically displaced locations not made privy to the opposition) is conducted so the opposition can be hit from the blind-side. Or so they say. It’s the reality of a two-party system exercising its well-oiled musculature to execute a stranglehold on its conservative base.

People who claim political intrigue do so with the doe-eyed innocence of those believing Bambi’s mom was sacrificed for the greater good of the community. It’s nowhere near reality. Bambi’s mom was shot, killed and butchered because that’s what hunters do. This isn’t anything new people. It’s the way politics and sausages are made.

As I always try to mix as many metaphors as I can; it reminds me of Aztec Sacrificial Rites. The Priests believe their efforts are for the greater good of the people. The guest of honor, the sacrificial schmuck chosen for the “honor” initially sees it as it’s presented to him over time. He thinks it’s all pretty cool from the cheap seats. It’s on getting closer to the action he’s now personally involved in he becomes unsure as the process unfolding.

The first sacrifice is the conscience. The people involved with the backroom machinations are aware they alone can save the political process. They’re the ones in charge and they alone know best. Or is it they “NO” best, as in they’ll allow NO dissent to interfere with the outcome they desire and expect.

Delegates were meant to be chosen based on votes counted, but it was seen by some those chosen wouldn’t represent the candidates the hierarchy wanted represented. There was a rules change initiated before the convention to assure the “control” of the proceedings. Security, in the form of Police Officers, was acquired to assure the sacrifice was conducted and the priests remained unmolested.

When the “sacrificial lamb” tried taking control of the show, the priests ordered the security team to quell the feared disturbance. The centurions stepped forward and physically removed the alleged malcontents. They did their job as it was defined by this program’s priests. A man with a hip-replacement was injured as the control team executed their duties. Delegates were shouted (?) down in their protests allegedly too strident to allow the continuation of the program. The “elected” chair was replaced by a vice chair pressed into service as the dispossessed were allegedly abused by authority figures allegedly overreacting to the moment. (This “alleged” stuff is tedious but dramatic so let’s continue with it shall we?)

Now we have allegations of police brutality and refusal to lend aid to an afflicted/injured person.

The plot sickens.

We want to believe politics is conducted for the benefit of the people. Some dedicated and ardent supporters of the status quo have been disillusioned by the new reality. Their eyes are opened to the horror of the process. The process serves the parties.

The blood covering the stone altar erected in Shreveport is the lifeblood of our political naiveté’.

Thanks for listening.

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