Silence Of The Bams

 Professor Glenn Reynolds has rightfully been speaking to this. A few liberals such as Stranahan
of Huffingington have spoken up about the subject. There are many others speaking who are not in the media nor are they part of the “elite” leadership. Those, the major supporters of Obama are now silent. His front line troops in his campaign to be president are shuffling their feet as they look away in
embarrassment. The rank and file is silently fading away. They revolution was televised, but people stopped watching. The revolution was scrapped.

Here in our small hamlet the anti-Bush-war protesters who so proudly were hailed quietly put away their banners and insulting placards ending their weekly protests on Main Street. Windows silently echo no more Hope and Change signs and the bumpers of just right vehicles merely have a shadow where stickers once proclaimed Obama to be the one. The revolution has quietly returned to the normalcy of parties, work and the constant for a cause to bring meaning to life. It’s as if the revolution
was the wayward child who was never really loved and somehow just went away.

If one kept their ear to the wind they knew the revolution had died as faux mini-revolutions arose with ferocity and force to defend wealthier union members who saw their protection racket being challenged. There was no fearless leader to lead, just thousands looking for a cause. There, in state capitols, there were no signs of hope and change, only dredged up signs depicting others as dead Nazis and what remained when the energy waned were the dredges of political action, the fringes of insanity, waging a childish war against somebody and everything.

As the winter winds began to die only a few markers remained. The squares and government building returned to the normalcy of the everyday. The leaders of the once revolution stumbled on with no goals left to conquer for they had no goals. There were no more adoring crowds heralding the next hoped for great achievement. The empty cold public forums witnessed no more new great programs, endeavors and actions. They were empty because their former revolutionary inhabitants had slipped away home to close their eyes. With sealed eyes they no longer had to see the non-revolution. With silent lips they would not have to speak of the sameness they abhorred let alone speak out against it and its sameness to the old. In such a short time the revolution had grown old, died and had blown away like so much dust to never be mentioned again. Failed revolutions make for embarrassing conversation.

Their revolution gone, the classrooms are full again, even with teachers. Job sites, once again, are comfortably filled out with five workers to do a one man job. The populace has quietly gone back to their lives. The parties, the seminars, the business get-togethers go on as before the revolution. The unity that drove the revolution has settled back into the traditional pettiness of squabbles, jealousies and egos over things significant only to the few within their small pond. Tragedies are accepted. New wars are a world away, the methodology suddenly unimportant.  Prices rise as hope declines. Unintended consequences spiral out of control as the revolution dies. All that remains is the quiet desperation of a want for goods, services and money from the non-revolutionary government. Hope and change remains what it always was. Greed...

The ‘I told you so chorus’ quietly hums to fill the void of the silence of the Bams.