The Theatre of Shadows: On Political Debates and the Slumbering Masses

In the grand theatre of democratic mediocrity, where the herd gathers to witness their chosen shepherds perform their ritualistic dance, a new master of ceremonies has been appointed. Steve Paikin, a veteran of the televisual arts, shall preside over the English-language federal leaders' debate, while Patrice Roy shall guide the French discourse - both mere conductors in this symphony of collective drowsiness.

Behold how they arrange their spectacles! Like children setting up a puppet show, they believe their careful organization shall birth truth. But truth is not born of committees and commissions - it thunders forth from the mountain peaks of individual greatness!

The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, that great leveler of minds, that dispenser of comfortable truths, has been ordained to produce this ceremony of mediocrity. They shall broadcast their signals far and wide, ensuring that no soul in the land of the sleepers shall miss this grand performance of democratic theater.

Look upon the image of debates past! These politicians, these last men, stand shoulder to shoulder, their manufactured smiles reflecting the artificial lights. They are the very embodiment of what we have become - creatures who ask not "What heights can we reach?" but rather "How can we make everyone comfortable?"

See how they pride themselves on their "simple format" and "intimate set" - as if truth could be found in the cozy confines of their carefully constructed stage! They fear the chaos of real discourse, the thunderbolt of genuine confrontation!

The Commission speaks of "meaningful exchanges" and "neutral questions" - ah, how they worship at the altar of neutrality! As if the greatest truths were ever neutral, as if the most profound revelations ever emerged from carefully balanced scales!

In their wisdom (or perhaps their fear), they have determined that the format of previous debates was "too rigid, too complex, too confusing." The masses, they claim, could not follow the discourse. And so they simplify, they reduce, they make palatable what should be a battle of ideas and wills.

What comedy! They seek a moderator with "gravitas and authority" yet insist upon neutrality! As if one could possess true authority while refusing to stand for anything! As if gravitas could exist in the absence of conviction!

The images from past debates tell our story - rows of politicians, carefully arranged, their ties straight and their words straighter still. They stand before us like the last men, blinking their vacant approval at one another, each promising more comfort, more security, more of the same soporific existence that has lulled our nation into its deep slumber.

And what of the masses, the eternal audience? They sit in their homes, basking in the blue light of their screens, consuming these debates like evening entertainment, never questioning why their leaders speak in such carefully measured tones, never wondering why true passion seems absent from these proceedings.

Look upon these masses, these comfortable ones! They demand their leaders be "neutral" while the world burns around them. They seek "meaningful exchanges" while meaning itself withers in the sterile soil of their consensus!

The Commission promises a "simple and intimate set" - a fitting stage for the last men, who love their small pleasures and their small thoughts. They fear the grandiose, the overwhelming, the transformative. They prefer their truth in digestible portions, their discourse in measured doses.

Yet perhaps there is a cruel wisdom in their choice of Paikin and Roy - veterans of this peculiar art form, these orchestrators of orderly dialogue. They have mastered the art of appearing profound while never disturbing the surface of things, of seeming to question while never threatening the comfortable assumptions that cradle our sleeping nation.

And so the great wheel turns! Another debate, another performance, another opportunity for the last men to congratulate themselves on their moderation, their reasonableness, their democratic virtue!

In conclusion, let us mark well this moment, for it shows us with perfect clarity what we have become - a nation of sleepers, arranging our debates with the same care we arrange our furniture, seeking comfort above all else, fearing the lightning bolt of true confrontation, the earthquake of genuine transformation. When will we awaken? When will we demand more than this carefully choreographed dance of mediocrity?

The stage is set, the players chosen, the audience settles into their comfortable chairs. And somewhere, far above this theatre of shadows, the eagles soar, caring nothing for our democratic pageantry, our carefully measured words, our fear of heights and depths. They soar, and in their soaring, mock our earthbound ceremonies.