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The framers of the United States Constitution expected conflict. They expected ambition. They expected rivalry between the executive, legislative and judicial branches of government.
You arrive at a government office because you need a service. You have your documents. You have paid the required fees. You have probably taken three days off work and spent half your morning fighting traffic.
First, the Palestine Action episode. These were people who did not bother with balaclavas or the theatrical anonymity so beloved of the modern political cosplay set. They targeted warehouses and facilities linked to the supply of arms to the Israeli military. The Labour government, with the practised solemnity of a government discovering its inner authoritarian, reached for the terrorism laws. Proscription followed. Arrests followed. Jail terms followed. Even the barristers who dared to represent them found themselves in the crosshairs. The message was clear: damage property in the service of a cause the government finds inconvenient, and you will be treated as the domestic equivalent of Al-Qaeda, complete with the full legal theatre that accompanies such a designation.
There is a brutally efficient African proverb that cuts through political spin faster than a devaluation memo: When the wind blows, the chicken’s anus is exposed.
There was a time when nations had the decency to wait until a leader was safely six feet under or at the very least, out of office before plastering their name across state infrastructure. The unspoken rule of public memorials used to be simple: let history render its verdict first. If your legacy survived the passage of time without decaying into scandal, perhaps the state would name a secondary school or a modest bypass after you.
