By The Toledo Tribune
Update*** (this is in the whimsy and wonder column and should be considered satire)
Recently, the Trump administration made a decision—a bold, confident, chest-thumping sort of decision—the kind that makes headlines and sets the talking heads a-chattering. Then, two days later, they reversed themselves entirely, as if the whole thing had been a passing whim, like a man ordering the lobster and then deciding he’d rather have the steak. Now, these people aren’t fools. They may be many things—some printable, some not—but fools they are not. So what were they up to?
I puzzled over it for a time, as a man puzzles over why his dog insists on barking at an empty chair. Then I read the news, and the pieces fell together. Someone, somewhere, had taken hold of their purse strings and given them a sharp yank. And just like that, the mighty and immovable found themselves both movable and mighty quick about it.
In my many years of observing the curious habits of that peculiar breed known as the politician, I have found him to be a creature of singular focus. He may present himself as a noble statesman, a steadfast servant of the people, a selfless warrior for truth and liberty—but do not be fooled. Beneath the well-oiled mustache and the starched collar beats the heart of a man deeply devoted to one unshakable principle: the inviolable sanctity of your pocketbook.
Now, a great many earnest citizens have attempted to gain the ear of these elusive creatures through the common channels of human communication. They have written letters—long, pleading missives filled with high ideals and urgent concerns—only to have them discarded unread, or worse, answered with a form letter signed by a secretary with a rubber stamp. Others have tried volume, raising their voices to the heavens in public squares, shaking their fists and waving banners, demanding justice, fairness, or the occasional paved road. These efforts, while commendable, produce little beyond hoarseness and sunburn.
Some, in a desperate bid for recognition, have resorted to the art of flattery, heaping upon their chosen officeholder the sort of glowing praise that would embarrass a Roman emperor. This is a slightly more effective strategy, as it feeds the politician’s other great weakness—his vanity—but it seldom produces lasting results. For a politician’s memory is as fleeting as his principles, and once the flattery ceases, so too does his interest in the flatterer.
No, if one truly desires to command the undivided attention of a politician, there is but one sure method: place your hands firmly upon his purse strings and pull. Interrupt the flow of money, and you will find that his hearing, previously so selective, sharpens to a miraculous degree. Suspend a campaign contribution, and he will come knocking at your door like a lost dog. Cut funding to one of his favored projects, and he will move with a swiftness that belies his usual bureaucratic lethargy.
If you wish to see a politician sweat, do not confront him with reason, for he is immune to it. Do not appeal to his conscience, for it is a relic seldom used and easily misplaced. Instead, deprive him of his golden sustenance, and watch as he stammers, blusters, and—miracle of miracles—acts. Nothing concentrates a politician’s mind quite like the sudden realization that his purse is lighter than it was the day before.
So, my friends, the lesson is clear. When next you seek the attention of a politician, do not waste your breath on eloquence or your ink on petitions. Simply find the source of his funds, take it away, and wait. You will find him at your doorstep soon enough—hat in hand, ears wide open, ready to listen. And perhaps, for the first time in his career, to actually do something about it.
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