Magdha
11-03-2008, 07:20
If there was one thing the Generalissimo loved, it was an election (so long as it was his own, of course). Whether it was a legitimate one (as his first ones had been, early in his rule, before he discovered the enlightening lure of despotism) or a rigged one (as nearly all "elections" had been for the past several years), he carried to the campaign trail an overwhelming sense of gusto and an indomitable spirit of irrepressible, unlimited energy.
He spared no expense, wasted no effort, in putting every iota of his energy into the campaign: Traveling to even the most far-flung and remote constituencies to deliver speeches; shaking hands with millions; conversing with voters of every race, color, creed, religion, and gender; appearing in countless radio and TV ads; and mesmerizing crowds with his oratory, charisma, and statesmanship.
His power of persuasion was such that even the most lackadaisical audiences were soon abuzz with enthusiasm bordering on hysteria. To be sure, an all-pervasive personality cult and an even more pervasive secret police force ensured that not even the slightest reservation about his rule manifested itself publicly, but even without the myriad apparatuses of repression at his disposal, J.L. would still be loved, because of his unique gift to appeal to all people regardless of their views, values, or upbringing. His populist, down-to-earth image, his amusing allegories and metaphorical quotations, and of course, his sense of humor, delighted and enthralled everyone. In spite of his vast power, the nearly god-like qualities the people were convinced he had, he appeared to be just as ordinary as them. It was truly one of the more paradoxical aspects of his regime: The benevolent despot who simultaneously appeared as infallible deity and humble everyday man.
At any rate, the enthusiasm generated by the campaign matched if not exceeded J.L.'s own. Even if voting had not been compulsory (and enforced), there would still be lines miles long of throngs of people eagerly awaiting their chance to vote. Campaign stickers, flags, and posters adorned every wall and vehicle, and nearly everyone had a plastic badge bearing the Generalissimo's portrait pinned to their chest. Compared to an RB election, a Beatles concert seemed like a solemn funeral.
After several days, when all eligible voters had done so, the votes were counted. Even though the result was foreordained - J.L. was the only candidate, and voters were issued ballots with "Yes" and "No" as the only options - election officials took their time counting carefully, as if every vote counted. The charade was so convincing, that many of them believed themselves that this was a real election.
Finally, with every vote tallied, RBNNN anchorman Walter Kraunkheit addressed the billions of taut people poring over their TVs, breaths held with anticipation:
"Ladies and gentleman, hello, and welcome to today's edition of the evening news. The moment we have all been waiting for has finally come. I am pleased to report that our loving Papa, the Generalissimo, has won a landslide victory of 100% and will begin his new seven-year term on March 15. Truly this is an historic event. The people have spoken, and their voices have been heard. Let it never be said that Papa's children don't love him as much as he loves each of us. Here we go live to Papa's palace, where he is set to deliver a speech."
A brief speech followed, in which a tearful J.L. wept with gratitude, humbly accepted his responsibility to fulfill the "mandate of the people," congratulated them all for "exercising their democratic rights," and thanked them for "believing in me and my leadership. You've made Papa so proud."
There was scarcely a dry eye in any Roach-Busterian home.
He spared no expense, wasted no effort, in putting every iota of his energy into the campaign: Traveling to even the most far-flung and remote constituencies to deliver speeches; shaking hands with millions; conversing with voters of every race, color, creed, religion, and gender; appearing in countless radio and TV ads; and mesmerizing crowds with his oratory, charisma, and statesmanship.
His power of persuasion was such that even the most lackadaisical audiences were soon abuzz with enthusiasm bordering on hysteria. To be sure, an all-pervasive personality cult and an even more pervasive secret police force ensured that not even the slightest reservation about his rule manifested itself publicly, but even without the myriad apparatuses of repression at his disposal, J.L. would still be loved, because of his unique gift to appeal to all people regardless of their views, values, or upbringing. His populist, down-to-earth image, his amusing allegories and metaphorical quotations, and of course, his sense of humor, delighted and enthralled everyone. In spite of his vast power, the nearly god-like qualities the people were convinced he had, he appeared to be just as ordinary as them. It was truly one of the more paradoxical aspects of his regime: The benevolent despot who simultaneously appeared as infallible deity and humble everyday man.
At any rate, the enthusiasm generated by the campaign matched if not exceeded J.L.'s own. Even if voting had not been compulsory (and enforced), there would still be lines miles long of throngs of people eagerly awaiting their chance to vote. Campaign stickers, flags, and posters adorned every wall and vehicle, and nearly everyone had a plastic badge bearing the Generalissimo's portrait pinned to their chest. Compared to an RB election, a Beatles concert seemed like a solemn funeral.
After several days, when all eligible voters had done so, the votes were counted. Even though the result was foreordained - J.L. was the only candidate, and voters were issued ballots with "Yes" and "No" as the only options - election officials took their time counting carefully, as if every vote counted. The charade was so convincing, that many of them believed themselves that this was a real election.
Finally, with every vote tallied, RBNNN anchorman Walter Kraunkheit addressed the billions of taut people poring over their TVs, breaths held with anticipation:
"Ladies and gentleman, hello, and welcome to today's edition of the evening news. The moment we have all been waiting for has finally come. I am pleased to report that our loving Papa, the Generalissimo, has won a landslide victory of 100% and will begin his new seven-year term on March 15. Truly this is an historic event. The people have spoken, and their voices have been heard. Let it never be said that Papa's children don't love him as much as he loves each of us. Here we go live to Papa's palace, where he is set to deliver a speech."
A brief speech followed, in which a tearful J.L. wept with gratitude, humbly accepted his responsibility to fulfill the "mandate of the people," congratulated them all for "exercising their democratic rights," and thanked them for "believing in me and my leadership. You've made Papa so proud."
There was scarcely a dry eye in any Roach-Busterian home.