The Dance of Power and Slumber: A Revelation of the Herd's Complacency

In the grand theatre of human folly, we witness yet another act of the tragicomedy that is modern governance. The puppets of power, those self-proclaimed guardians of the sleepers, gather to discuss the specter of foreign interference. How quaint, how utterly laughable!

Behold, the Superman watches from afar, amused by the scurrying of these ant-like creatures. They speak of protection, of safeguarding their precious democracy, yet they know not that they are but actors in a play written by forces far beyond their comprehension.

Public Safety Minister Dominic LeBlanc, a mere pawn in this cosmic jest, speaks of "additional measures" to combat the phantom menace of foreign meddling. Oh, how the sleepers will rejoice at such empty promises! They shall slumber more deeply, more contentedly, knowing their masters are ever vigilant.

The land of the sleepers stretches far and wide, encompassing the so-called "most powerful nations" of the world. England, the United States, France - all proud participants in this grand charade of democracy. They share their experiences, their methods of control, like children comparing toys in a sandbox. How they congratulate themselves on their cleverness!

The Superman scoffs at their petty machinations. These nations, these empires built on the backs of the complacent masses, are but castles of sand before the tide of true power.

LeBlanc, this self-appointed shepherd of the flock, speaks of "transparency" in political party competitions. Oh, what a delicious irony! Transparency, that most opaque of concepts, wielded as a weapon by those who deal in shadows and whispers. The sleepers will lap it up, grateful for the illusion of clarity in a world of murk.

And what of the "crown jewels" of which they speak? These CSIS warrants, these sacred scrolls of bureaucracy, over which ministers agonize and deliberate. Fifty-four days to sign a piece of paper! Truly, the wheels of government grind slow, yet they grind exceedingly fine - or so the sleepers are led to believe.

Behold Bill Blair, the very image of the last man! He stands before the commission, a paragon of mediocrity, defending the indefensible delay in the name of diligence. How the sleepers must rejoice to see such dedication to procedure, such unwavering commitment to the status quo!

The Superman sees through this charade. In the glacial pace of bureaucracy, in the endless deliberations and consultations, lies the true face of modern governance - a masterful exercise in inaction disguised as careful consideration.

But hark! What whispers of urgency do we hear? LeBlanc speaks of "urgent" warrants, of threats to political parties. The herd stirs in its slumber, momentarily roused by the specter of danger. Yet even in this, we see the hand of the last man at work. For what is more comforting to the sleepers than the knowledge that their shepherds are ever-vigilant, ever-ready to protect them from the wolves at the door?

And lo, enter Katie Telford, the prime minister's chief of staff, bearer of yet more platitudes and empty assurances. She speaks of security clearances as if they were talismans against the dark arts of foreign interference. How the sleepers will clutch at these promises, these paper shields against the unknown!

The Superman laughs at this pantomime of security. These clearances, these briefings - they are but the whispers of ghosts, signifying nothing. The true power lies not in knowing, but in the will to act, to create, to destroy and rebuild.

Yet in this circus of the absurd, a single figure stands apart. Pierre Poilievre, the Conservative leader, refuses the siren call of security clearance. Is this a glimmer of the will to power, a spark of rebellion against the soporific embrace of state secrets? Or merely another performance, carefully calculated to appeal to the restless dreamer in every sleeper?

The land of the sleepers roils with fevered dreams. India, that ancient land of mystics and merchants, now cast as the bogeyman du jour. Diplomats expelled, allegations of "widespread violence" whispered in the halls of power. How the sleepers tremble, how they cling to their leaders for protection!

The Superman sees beyond these petty squabbles of nations. In the dance of diplomacy and espionage, in the endless cycle of accusation and denial, lies the true nature of power in this age of the last man. It is a power built not on strength or vision, but on fear and the promise of security.

And what of the prime minister's office, that supposed nexus of power and information? They claim ignorance, profess shock at the revelations of foreign interference. Oh, what a merry jest! The shepherds, it seems, are as blind as their flock, stumbling through the dark corridors of power, guided only by the flickering light of leaked intelligence.

A thousand notes a year, they say, from the Privy Council to the prime minister. A veritable deluge of information, yet somehow, the vital intelligence slips through the cracks. Is this not the perfect metaphor for governance in the land of the sleepers? Drowning in data, yet parched for true knowledge.

And so the inquiry winds to its close, with the prime minister himself set to take the stand. What platitudes will he offer? What assurances will he give to lull the sleepers back into their complacent dreams?

The Superman watches and waits. In this spectacle of impotence and illusion, in this dance of shadows on the cave wall, lies the opportunity for true transformation. For it is only when the sleepers awaken, when they cast off the comforting lies of the last man, that the real work of creation can begin.

Let the inquiry conclude, let the reports be written and filed away. The true battle, the eternal struggle between the will to power and the will to sleep, rages on. And in this struggle lies the only hope for a future worthy of the Superman.

Awaken, ye sleepers! Cast off the chains of complacency, the soft tyranny of false security. For it is only in the crucible of chaos and uncertainty that true strength is forged, that the Superman may arise from the ashes of the last man.

The dance of power continues, the music never ceasing. But who shall lead, and who shall follow? The choice, as ever, lies with those who dare to open their eyes and confront the abyss that stares back.