KAMALAT

Paul Edwards

Kamala receiving the adulation of the duly primed crowd at her coronation in Chicago.

In Kamalat... I know it sounds a bit bizarre; but, in Kamalat... that’s how conditions are.

Never in the history of Democratic Conventions has there been one built on sheer exuberance and celebration alone.  Even the carnivals of post-racial joy for Obama didn’t come near it.

With Biden metaphorically wheeled away—buried conceptually, if not yet boxed—the Young Pretendress was exalted as the Brat Hope of the Now, and had her gifted nomination ratified.

She was apotheosized by hosts of Party stars and celebs who all struggled to match the wild enthusiasm of the giddy faithful, and basked in reflected glory as minions of The Heiress Apparent.

Summoning of The Elders is a hallowed tradition in these hoary extravaganzas, and it went off as theatrically as any in living memory.  To a man, and woman, they praised her in terms no one in the Party had ever lavished on her in all her political life.

What they truly, so yearningly, earnestly lauded, was the idea of her, as the symbol and cynosure of a unified, terrified opposition to their Darth Vader figure.  To them all, he embodies a mortal threat to the vast, monolithic machine to which every one of them is in thrall for life, and to which each of them owes his or her personal high status and ample fortune.  They’re not wrong.

No, it is something more complicated and harder to comprehend.  A Ruling Class, beginning with the Founders, our slave-holding grandees, has controlled America by teaching, with ever greater efficiency, an ignorant population to identify with itself.  Behind the facade of sham democracy, it has controlled national policy, loading with gold members of what Carlin called “The Big Club”.

The corollary to the scam was not only exclusion of the American People from any benefits who, hoodwinked, felt its cruelty only in deep distress, but also those not born, or otherwise assimilated, into the fraternity of power and privilege. The financial elite, like European nobility before it was trashed, functioned as a closed class, defensive of its own, and hostile to uppity outsiders.

Our sick polity, that so long raped The People for the Capitalist elite, finally alienated the great majority of citizens.  They have long sought a brash, brassy vulgarian to lead an attack on the bastion of prissy, condescending, entitled arrogance and fraud. And they found him: a brute, glad to martial their angers, and a huge part of our hoodled and buggered citizenry is backing this monkey-wrenching, fake outsider against our Nomenklatura.

This, and nothing else, is what has driven their mass embrace of Kamala.  Don’t misunderstand.  She is certainly not worse than any of those Samurai for the Status Quo.  She may possibly be slightly better.  Who could know?  And how would you?

She is, in her national career, a placeholder, a cypher, a nullity.  What does she stand for, if anything?  All we know is she stood for Joe Biden, and it’s all we may ever know.  That’s why the spectacle of the DNC Cosmic Salvation Fest is so preposterous:  it was the ascension and sanctification of an unknown quantity.

Elevated by a Deus Ex Machina of Democrat billionaires, she is packaged and sold as an amalgam of hollow symbols and infantile memes.  Instead of articulate positions on Ukraine and Gaza, she offers laughter, cheers, giggles and fandom.  She replaced independent Press with vacuous, jejeune “influencers” who minced as if on a lark to a rave.  She uses her sex and color to draw adulation from idiots, as if they guaranteed policy.

All this chirpy, fruity, fluffy performance art is cover for the utter vacuity of her candidacy.  She gives us roses and lollipops and Obama’s rotted hope, and vows her America will be just peachy.

That was the charm of the musical that seems the model for her own fairy tale, her fatuous version of this moribund Republic.

The truth is the epiphany of Kamala is far less the emergence of a savioress than it is a rerun of Hubert Humphrey’s shy crawl out from under LBJ’s shadow, and will likely have a similar outcome.

We are an empire in terminal decline, not that it concerns our money elites.  They, too, with their hedge funds and bombproof, underground Nirvanas, are heavy into magical thinking.  We have no genius leadership because Pirate Capitalism destroyed its possibility, and it likely doesn’t matter whether the Democrats’ Voldemort, or their Taylor Swiftian Pollyanna, takes the flag.

Despite its decreed exceptionalism, Camelot died.  Questions?

“Don’t let it be forgot, that once there was a spot, for one, brief, shining moment that was known as Kamalat.”