Once upon a time, there were The Make-Believers. They were always off in a corner huffing and puffing that only might makes right and boy, would this world look different if only someone would listen to them and implement their grand advice.
Then, the unbelievable happened–they slipped into power. Not because they campaigned on their long-trumpeted platform and were rewarded with victory. No, publicizing their modus operandi would have simply scared off and driven away any public support. These puppetmasters had their dream come true when a deity-driven, psychologically-riven scarecrow/tin man/lion found himself elected President of the United States and, like the lead in “The Candidate,” then asked “What do we do now?”
“Make America mighty again. Go to war and kick butt,” The Make-Believers responded. And he grandly and graciously did, responding “When I grow up I want to be just like you.”
The Make-Believers sang their greek chorus songs: “It will be a cakewalk, greetings with open arms and flowers, all costs covered by oil sales,” on and on it went. They had answers for everything. Chaos and looting was untidiness, insurgents were deadenders, a killing field was democracy, civil war was freedom, losing was winning.
The Make-Believers harumphed at any objections with a triumphant: “we are winning” while sotto voice they admitted otherwise.
The Make-Believers pointed fingers at the media, questioning the coverage, saying: ‘it’s their fault.’
The Make-Believers pointed fingers at the naysayers, speaking in not so hushed tones about collaborators, saying ‘it’s their fault’
The Make-Believers pointed fingers and questioned the patriotism and love of country of any who doubted or disagreed, saying ‘it’s their fault’
The Make-Believers pointed fingers and questioned the hearts and minds of the invaded, saying ‘it’s their fault’
Then, the Make-Believers pointed fingers and questioned the hearts, minds and courage of their own generals and soldiers, saying ‘it’s their fault’
The Make-Believers, in an oh-so-fitting final act, accidentally strutted by a mirror and immediately and oh-so-defensively pointed fingers at their likenesses, saying ‘it’s their fault,’ their sole act of reality-creation containing any element of truth.
Then the mirror broke and the Make-Believers didn’t know who to blame.
