Today, I got an email from a colleague of mine in Mexico City. He’s a political strategist for the PRI party. He was quite shocked when I shared with him the news that “our house”, the people’s parliament , was shut down by our great ruler. It is hard for those living in emerging democracies to imagine closure of the legislature. In a Latin American country such moves, recall an era of brutal dictatorships. Even the most callous power hungry demagogue would think twice about doing such a thing. But up here it’s become commonplace. A habitual annual occurrence; a bit brutal, a bit obscene, a bit ruthless, but in the end a boring eventuality.

 

It would be lovely, if we could all prorogue and close down the open pit mines, the tar pits for a month or two, bring the troops back from overseas on extended “home leave” and also give them a much needed winter holiday. Yes, it would be great fun, if the whole country, like the legislators, would get a free paid vacation too.  But no extended break for the mere mortals or commoners like us is envisioned. The working days, the wars, grind on endlessly at a relentless pace. They pass by without pause, without prorogation without stopping.

 

It seems whenever the government gets deeper into the dung heap, its immediate remedy is to prorogue parliament. There should be a "prorogue button" in the PMO’s office in a glass case on his desk, with a sign in red inscribed on it: “In case your leadership is threatened break glass and press red button”. Doing so closes down the house within three minutes' warning, bills are killed instantly and all document shredding machines are turned on and we the electorate are automatically turned off like a light switch. How splendid this would be!

 

 Who cares if there’s a war or two going on elsewhere, with our troops getting blown up and blowing up other over there.? Who cares if the economy is sinking into a deep black hole of Calcutta? Who cares is my city is run by the mob and its city core is crumbling away each day, its roads, bridges, underpasses, and tunnels falling apart piece by piece? Who cares if the sovereignty of the country becomes increasingly a fictional notion for fairy tales or cartoons books? Who cares if the supremacy and dignity of parliament is shamelessly and systematically defiled and undermined?  

 

Thank goodness the games are approaching so we can all cheer the exploits of the curling and bob sled teams. A roused patriotic fervour, an Olympic fever, will warm all the frozen and prorogued hearts of the nation from coast to coast. The trumpets will blare. The redcoats in their royal regalia will march and parade through the coliseum and then His imperial majesty will mount the throne and declare to his loyal subjects: “Let the games begin!”  The thrilled throngs of spectators will bask in the aura of gold -medal glory. Millions watching at home, will exult in the sportive festivities and express boundless adulation for their great and enlightened leader. A teardrop comes to my eye just thinking about such heady rapture. But in Ottawa, the doors to parliament will remain closed. The House of Commons and its corridors will stay empty, deserted, abandoned to passing time and the whimsical dictates of an aspiring tyrant. And our democracy will be silently and unceremoniously laid to rest.