Here we are in our republic, if we can keep it, struggling to find a place to grab hold. Here we are, in a land increasingly self-conscious, made so in part by a man now in prison – here we are, spin, spin, spinning just the same. Cut the losses, they say, cut them cleanly and say things plainly. Say what we all expect, say what we wish to believe. Say that we are in a land no less great than we thought. Say our best days still are ahead, to the ruined banker, to the Wall Wizards, to those now great and small, but mostly great, and say it less to those whose lives are now under siege, whose future faces foreclosure in nearing days. Say it plainly, say it simply. Say it often and say it with conviction, however feigned, however forced, say it again and again and again. If one should say something, then, that takes another path, take their hand, smile broadly, and offer them a cramped place at the crowded table; if they should reject, then what they say is said in a room filled with darkness anyway; but if light should touch what they say, then swiftly cut them down. At least, then, no one will doubt your strength, even as they doubt your principles.
Ignore those ghost riders in the sky, just keep speaking. If we are a world constructed through language, then we will fill the hull breaches with words. Stuff the stockings of those sitting on fortunes with more fortune, and for those who go without, stuff them with words. In the arena, now, you fight them with your words. You invite, with your words, for us to join you, for us to trust you, for them to help you, even as they beat you, even as they choke you, you beseech them, you plead with them, you give and get nothing. They are leaving you now with nothing but your words. They will not take them anymore. Fewer are taking them. As you stand there in the dusts of the arena, you realize now that the sword you carry, and the spear, are words and nothing more. You cannot build a currency with words after all, nor can you keep empires.
And you say something like, the reason I wear this black is for the poor and downtrodden, for liberty and justice, but you’re wearing nothing. You’re naked and the ship’s sinking and you’re crying out like you’re still in charge. Don’t worry, they say, the road was made before you arrived, but then again, you still had to walk it. We wish, now, for who we thought you were, and you’re saying something about Lincoln, about more desperate times, but all we hear now are violins in the dark, and we wilt from you like scorned lovers. Listen!
They will not stop until Lady Liberty is dead at your feet, and they will put the dagger in your hands before they slip away. Listen, and turn back.
