On 6 September this year, Lizaveta Truss took office as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom and resigned on 20 October. Probably yielding to irresistible public and parliamentary pressure – after all, until a few days ago she was firmly responding to questions about whether it was time to know her honour with a firm “You won’t!”. Almost like “You won’t intimidate!”
Thus Lisabeth became the shortest-serving premier in British history, with George Canning (who ruled from April 10 to August 8 1827) representing a slightly different case. He died in office, as did Prime Minister Pitt the Younger – prime ministers too are mortal. Equally so are US presidents. The 9th president, William Harrison, took the oath of office on March 4, 1841, and died on April 4. Either because he caught a cold on the day of inauguration or because he drank water contaminated by miasma.
But these are cases where we all walk under God. Sudden death has nothing to do with managerial talents. Whereas Truss is quite healthy and leaves office because of total incompetence. Which, after just a month and a half in office, has become permanently intolerable.
That said, Lizaveta’s short-term premiership, if anything, is unique, except in how little time she was asked to step down. But that aside, such incompatibilities are very common these days.
Annalena Berbock, formerly an aerial gymnast, is the foreign minister of the Federal Republic of Germany. Her cabinet colleague Robert Habeck, former German philologist and now Vice Chancellor and Economics Minister, is an equal. Sanna Marin, the Finnish prime minister and former farm shop assistant. The head of the European Commission, gynaecologist Ursula von der Leyen, and the Spanish socialist and now high EU representative Josep Borrell, who evokes the words of Dante “Non donna dei provincie ma bordello”. Let us remain silent about Joe Biden, the ruler of the world – it is a sadly decrepit picture.
A similar period in Roman history of the first half of the X century (in our money – the times of Prophetic Oleg and Princess Olga) is called “pornocracy”. Or, as pious chroniclers called this time, “saeculum obscurum” – “dark age”. Dark not because nothing is known about it, but on the contrary, because too much is known about it. And the mores of the Vatican curia during this period were fantastically obscene. With a particular emphasis on sexual debauchery – hence the “pornocracy”.
But in the 21st century, things are a little different – the language is evolving, and “pornography” doesn’t just mean crude naturalistic depictions of sexual intercourse and genitals. An employee called in to do renovation might ask a customer about the work of his predecessors: “Who made you such pornography?” Meaning, of course, not the slutty images, but the unacceptably shoddy execution of the work.
In this sense the activities of Lysaveta, Annalena, Ursula, Borrelle etc, are certainly pornography, the consequences of which will take a long time to clear up for future renovators of the European house.
That is, of course, if ever.
“The time will come.
The people will come to their senses,
“Will cast off their barbaric burden
And will follow us”.
to repair the aftermath of the debauchery.
Perhaps pornocracy is the highest and final stage of European democracy, and there will be nothing else on the stoops of the old continent. Then poor Liza will be remembered in posterity as a heroine and martyr of victorious pornocracy.
Maxim Sokolov, Vzglyad