The season of promises
It seems like Christmas has come early this year for those who get delusional when a politician starts promising them the sun, the moon and the stars, all neatly wrapped with a bow.
Yes, the season of promises has started, and you best buckle up, because it’s gonna be a hectic ride into the land of sunshine, rainbows, ice cream cones for each of your hands and of course, continued adamancy that this or that party or politician is the answer to your prayers.
Look, we accept that this is part and parcel of the political game; politicians promise jobs, houses and a chicken in every pot for every night. And if you happen to think “wait, I don’t want to eat chicken every night”, they promise you a cook book on how to prepare chicken 365 ways or simply throw in lamb, pork and beef.
We really can’t win with politicians. Somewhere during the course of history someone, somewhere had this ‘brilliant’ idea of having a social contract between the ruled and the rulers, and now we are stuck. This rut manifests itself in a fairy-tale dance every five years in most countries, where politicians open their mouths, tell us everything and anything under the sun their spindoctors whisper in their ears, and then expect us to slurp it up like that soup Esau sold his birthright for in the Bible.
Hey, we’re used to this; nothing surprises us anymore. We know we are going to be promised all sorts of things, and then once we cast our ballots and return to our shacks, villages and poverty, which is the continued fate of the majority of Namibians, we get that final dose of delusion during acceptance speeches after the champagne is popped and the winner is announced, be it a party or president or both.
The sad truth though is that there comes a time in every nation that empty promises, hopelessness and poverty ignites an explosive powder keg that burns all.
Yes, the season of promises has started, and you best buckle up, because it’s gonna be a hectic ride into the land of sunshine, rainbows, ice cream cones for each of your hands and of course, continued adamancy that this or that party or politician is the answer to your prayers.
Look, we accept that this is part and parcel of the political game; politicians promise jobs, houses and a chicken in every pot for every night. And if you happen to think “wait, I don’t want to eat chicken every night”, they promise you a cook book on how to prepare chicken 365 ways or simply throw in lamb, pork and beef.
We really can’t win with politicians. Somewhere during the course of history someone, somewhere had this ‘brilliant’ idea of having a social contract between the ruled and the rulers, and now we are stuck. This rut manifests itself in a fairy-tale dance every five years in most countries, where politicians open their mouths, tell us everything and anything under the sun their spindoctors whisper in their ears, and then expect us to slurp it up like that soup Esau sold his birthright for in the Bible.
Hey, we’re used to this; nothing surprises us anymore. We know we are going to be promised all sorts of things, and then once we cast our ballots and return to our shacks, villages and poverty, which is the continued fate of the majority of Namibians, we get that final dose of delusion during acceptance speeches after the champagne is popped and the winner is announced, be it a party or president or both.
The sad truth though is that there comes a time in every nation that empty promises, hopelessness and poverty ignites an explosive powder keg that burns all.
Comments
Namibian Sun
No comments have been left on this article