WAR DRUMS IN THE COUNCIL

Listen to the war drums pounding, the dance around the fire, and the honing of weapons ready for the kill. The city county council is now in session, complete with eligible members that will vote on the foregone outcome that serves as the death knoll of their tribe, despite the fact that the chief is absent. As tribal members verbally spar with each other in mock warfare, the reality behind the posturing for onlookers is very real. The tribe is split. Some hunters; some gatherers; each expected to tow the line as he is prompted to do. A new member takes his seat in the council, unfamiliar with tribal ways, but tows the line. Never mind if he has not examined the results of what the war dance will bring; he just likes to dance for ‘who’ he is; not what partisan peace making would make it. It not the time for peace; the war drums are drumming. With little time to research how to divvy up the spoils of war, he tows the party line, helping to consign his tribe leaders to a bountiful winter at the expense of the rest of his tribe. He does not excuse his participation as a new member; he revels in it. He is new, privileged, and will strike a blow on behalf of tribal leaders as expected, regardless of a suicide mission.

This is the way it has always been, unless those rare voices of conscience can be heard above the war drums. The rules of the game are not fair. Once you drink the firewater, herd instinct overtakes intellectual honesty, and it’s just the dance that counts; never mind the outcome.

Seventeen tribal members and an absentee chief will take us on a long march through winter, filled with warriors selling their tepees, moving into another tribe or into the woods to forage for themselves as best they can. The Chief doesn’t speak to anyone except his special council members, who still continue to beat the war drums and dance around the fire. After all, it’s the dance that counts. Heap big trouble!

Contributed by Patriot Paul Wheeler