The People On The Edge Of The Night

Monday, 21st April 1997

Where one man can stand in defence of his right to be free, there can a country be founded. Where one voice can soar on eagle's wings without fear of impediment, there can be freedom found. And where one nation can march with pride to exercise their right in the future of their country's government, there, is democracy.

So here we are, less than three weeks from the single-most important democratic and political event in the country's recent history, and I couldn't be less excited. I can't remember if I voted in the last election (I'd like to think I did, but 1992 was a blur), and I know I'm going to this year, but who could you possibly want to vote for? They're all politicians. Career power dilletantes and wannabees, polished figureheads, echoing promises, raising expectations, depressing hope. A system which lacks faith in itself that has lost the faith of those for whom it was set up.

There seems to be no choice any more. Change is dressed as a turn for the worse, a waltzing rawbones in rags, cackling, waiting to fade as we plod on into another inevitable four years. And we are the lucky ones, fortunate that we are not in the grip of revolutionary fervour, either our own or someone else's, that robs us of the right to chose for ourselves. But what choice?
Well, it won't stop me from voting. Think I'll vote for myself.

B