Navigating snowbanks and slush eerily recalls the good old Buffalo—once the snow capital of the nation. Standing erect, the William McKinley Monument looms as a testament to patriotism and permanence. As I stroll past this captivating stone artistry, I am somberly reminded of the weight of the decisions made here.
If the limestone could speak, if the shadows could reveal the gravity of the policies passed within these walls, perhaps each step through these hallowed halls would give us pause. “The good work will go on. It cannot be stopped.” A statement so coincidentally, and ironically, fitting for these times.
For this is the day the council of elders ignores pleas for legality and fairness, choosing instead to cower in the bosom of convenience.
For this is the day the administration performs—dancing obediently to the orchestra of the status quo, business as usual.
The politricks. The favors. The bullying. And the audience.
Yes, the audience—those who clap now so they may be clapped for later.
Those who boo only when the harm finally reaches their own doorstep.
The unmitigated lies. The painfully thin cover-ups.
A compound that should embody the resolve of a righteous man and the solidity of governance is instead reduced to granite farce—a stone phallus and a frozen Digitus Medius raised to the people it was meant to serve.
