A book on etymologies explains inauguratio— a ritual ceremony by which a college of ancient diviners and high priests of government obtained, or endeavoured to obtain, the sanction of the gods to something which had been decreed by man. The day would have to be auspicious; augurs scanned the skies for stars, starved the birds in the royal coop or fed them to the fire as sacrifice—which could possibly be another word for bribe. From antiquity, there are countless stories of collusion and betrayal; and of orators delivering impassioned speeches against tyranny and corruption in the state—the enemies they made rose up with force, not hesitating when they set assassins loose. Unsatisfied with plain old slaying, they cut off the head and right hand of Cicero, which were displayed on the podium from where he'd spoken. More, the wife of his enemy took his head into her lap and turned the dead man's tongue into her personal pincushion. There's no end to public commentary in the fevered anxiety of our own days, on the violent mob advancing with intent to threaten and destroy. But when they shake their heads and declare America, this is not who we are—I have to pause. History overflows with euphemisms: substituting decency for self-interest, pacification for war.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.