Denigration afflicted our vaunted ideals long ago, but such inflictions are difficult to measure, to rise up and point a finger to this place, this moment and say: here my friends, this was where our honour, our integrity died.
The infliction was too insipid, to much a product of our surrendering mindful regard and diligence. The meaning of words lost their precision - and no one bothered taking to task those who cynically abused those words to serve their own ambitions, their own evasion of personal responsibility. Lies went unchallenged, lawful pursuit became a sham, vulnerable to graft, and justice itself became a commodity, mutable in imbalance. Truth was lost, a chimera reshaped to match agenda, prejudices, this consigning the entire political process to a mummer's charade of false indignation, hypocritical posturing and a pervasive contempt for the common man.
Once subsumed, ideals and the honour created by their avowal can never be regained, except, alas, by outright, unconstrained rejection, invariable instigated by the common man, at the juncture of one particular moment, one single even, of such brazen injustice that revolution becomes the only reasonable response.
Consider this then a warning. Liars will lie, and continue to do so, even beyond being caught out. They will lie, and in time, such liars will convince themselves, will in all self-righteousness divest the liars of culpability. Until comes a time when one final lie is voiced, the one that can only be answered by rage, by cold murder, and on that day, blood will rain down every wall of this vaunted, weaning society.
Published in Reapers Gale, a book about wizards and epic battles, by Steven Erikson, in 2007.
The man is a genius. Yet he probably had not heard the name Barack Hussein Obama at that time.