08-23-2023, 07:42 AM
Levensky
God I hate press conferences.
You’d think after all my years of public speaking and politics, I could wrap up a press conference. You’d think with my seemingly tightly woven handle on everything going on in this country would make this easier. It doesn’t and at some point I’ve stopped trying to believe it ever will.
There’s a certain fear of god instilled in the man who stands in front of a crowd of people he represents and lies. And that’s all press conferences are, targeted lying. Politics are a lie, religion is a lie, everything is a lie, sure. But not even the reporters ever fully believe what comes out of the mouth of the man behind the stand. Even morally there’s a certain struggle. Don’t I have a certain obligation to tell the truth? At some point, shouldn’t this facade of transparency become reality?
But it’s all for naught. To reveal the truth to the citizenry would be to exile this country to civil war. And if I must be the one tortured by my own conscience, better I than a million citizens. It sounds arrogant to believe that, even in my own thoughts. I believe myself some martyr for this country when I’m just covering up all the hell underneath and saving my own ass. Sure.
But fuck it.
If I’m not a martyr I’m a killer. If I’m not sacrificing myself, I’m sanctioning terrorism. Even in my lowest of moments I think too highly of myself to ever believe that option the truth. Think of that what you will, I really don’t care.
As I climb the stairs and stand at the podium, I can feel the uncountable eyes on me. The reporters, the representatives, the crowd gathered behind, the broadcasts straight to televisions across the country. Everyone is watching.
I smile, and begin my speech.
“Dearest citizens and others. I know you have must have read the article published this week in the Bugle. I’m sure you have a thousand questions, and today I intend to answer all of them. But first, I’d like to come clean. I’d like to clear my conscience and finally stand for this country’s very soul.
Three years ago, during my re-election campaign, I received a letter with photographs. Photographs of my spouse with a different partner. Photographs of me entering a brothel. Along with it came a blackmail note, and in my infinite human weakness, I complied with it. I gave my blackmailer money. Enough money to empty my bank account. And during the height of that re-election campaign I found myself low on funds and was forced to resort to bribes from several interested parties in policy-making decision. In the end, I let none of them affect my judgment, but I still took their money and in doing so have sullied my hands.
That isn’t all either. The blackmailer wasn’t satisfied, continuing to request more and more money from me. And in my fear I continued to comply until they finally went further. They asked me to veto a bill. Bill 367.14: Ban on Forced Pregnancy. As those involved in the abortion argument well know, against my better judgment, I complied. My weakness is the reason women don’t have access to abortion healthcare today and for those affected by that I can never atone. Never. But I hope that in coming clean I can finally come out from under this shadow of blackmail and bring this country back to the free and transparent society it was always intended to be.
Thank you. I hope someday I can regain your trust.”
I had ‘em and I knew it. Baldfaced lies, complete and utter bullshit, but I could read that pity on the faces of every person standing in the crowd.
It wasn’t over by any means. I’d be grilled by reporters for another half hour. In all likelihood I’d be called upon to blood let. But the worst of it was over. And damn if there wasn’t a sick joy in knowing I’d absolutely nailed it.
God I hate press conferences.
You’d think after all my years of public speaking and politics, I could wrap up a press conference. You’d think with my seemingly tightly woven handle on everything going on in this country would make this easier. It doesn’t and at some point I’ve stopped trying to believe it ever will.
There’s a certain fear of god instilled in the man who stands in front of a crowd of people he represents and lies. And that’s all press conferences are, targeted lying. Politics are a lie, religion is a lie, everything is a lie, sure. But not even the reporters ever fully believe what comes out of the mouth of the man behind the stand. Even morally there’s a certain struggle. Don’t I have a certain obligation to tell the truth? At some point, shouldn’t this facade of transparency become reality?
But it’s all for naught. To reveal the truth to the citizenry would be to exile this country to civil war. And if I must be the one tortured by my own conscience, better I than a million citizens. It sounds arrogant to believe that, even in my own thoughts. I believe myself some martyr for this country when I’m just covering up all the hell underneath and saving my own ass. Sure.
But fuck it.
If I’m not a martyr I’m a killer. If I’m not sacrificing myself, I’m sanctioning terrorism. Even in my lowest of moments I think too highly of myself to ever believe that option the truth. Think of that what you will, I really don’t care.
As I climb the stairs and stand at the podium, I can feel the uncountable eyes on me. The reporters, the representatives, the crowd gathered behind, the broadcasts straight to televisions across the country. Everyone is watching.
I smile, and begin my speech.
“Dearest citizens and others. I know you have must have read the article published this week in the Bugle. I’m sure you have a thousand questions, and today I intend to answer all of them. But first, I’d like to come clean. I’d like to clear my conscience and finally stand for this country’s very soul.
Three years ago, during my re-election campaign, I received a letter with photographs. Photographs of my spouse with a different partner. Photographs of me entering a brothel. Along with it came a blackmail note, and in my infinite human weakness, I complied with it. I gave my blackmailer money. Enough money to empty my bank account. And during the height of that re-election campaign I found myself low on funds and was forced to resort to bribes from several interested parties in policy-making decision. In the end, I let none of them affect my judgment, but I still took their money and in doing so have sullied my hands.
That isn’t all either. The blackmailer wasn’t satisfied, continuing to request more and more money from me. And in my fear I continued to comply until they finally went further. They asked me to veto a bill. Bill 367.14: Ban on Forced Pregnancy. As those involved in the abortion argument well know, against my better judgment, I complied. My weakness is the reason women don’t have access to abortion healthcare today and for those affected by that I can never atone. Never. But I hope that in coming clean I can finally come out from under this shadow of blackmail and bring this country back to the free and transparent society it was always intended to be.
Thank you. I hope someday I can regain your trust.”
I had ‘em and I knew it. Baldfaced lies, complete and utter bullshit, but I could read that pity on the faces of every person standing in the crowd.
It wasn’t over by any means. I’d be grilled by reporters for another half hour. In all likelihood I’d be called upon to blood let. But the worst of it was over. And damn if there wasn’t a sick joy in knowing I’d absolutely nailed it.