Over all things certain, this is sure indeed,
Suffer not the old King: for we know the breed.
–Rudyard Kipling, The Old Issue 1899
I recently came across a poem, The Old Issue, from Rudyard Kipling. It was written in 1899 before the outbreak of the Boer War between Great Britain and the two states of South Africa. I am not getting into the issues of that war or how this poem applies to them.
Instead, I am going to point out how the poem warns of a nation allowing any one person to rise to the level of king or dictator. Famed Supreme Court Justice Robert Jackson, best known for overseeing the Nuremberg Trials in the aftermath of WWII, invoked the passage below in his opening statement at those proceedings:
All we have of freedom, all we use or know–
This our fathers bought for us long and long ago.
Ancient Right unnoticed as the breath we draw–
Leave to live by no man’s leave, underneath the Law.
Lance and torch and tumult, steel and grey-goose wing
Wrenched it, inch and ell and all, slowly from the king.Till our fathers ‘stablished,, after bloody years,
How our King is one with us, first among his peers.So they bought us freedom-not at little cost–
Wherefore must we watch the King, lest our gain be lost.Over all things certain, this is sure indeed,
Suffer not the old King: for we know the breed.
Leave to live by no man’s leave, underneath the Law— Do not allow yourself to be ruled by any person who makes their word alone the law while placing themself above all laws.
Wise words.
I was struck by how this poem, in laying out the inherent dangers of a king or dictator, echoes what we are seeing in this nation. There are certain traits that anyone aspiring to total control of any nations will possess that will spur them to engage in similar patterns of behavior. You might call it the Despots’ Playbook.
Below is Kipling’s warning:
Howso’ great their clamour, whatsoe’er their claim,
Suffer not the old King under any name!
Here is naught unproven—here is naught to learn.
It is written what shall fall if the King return.
He shall mark our goings, question whence we came,
Set his guards about us, as in Freedom’s name.
He shall take a tribute, toll of all our ware;
He shall change our gold for arms—arms we may not bear.
He shall break his judges if they cross his word;
He shall rule above the Law calling on the Lord.
He shall peep and mutter; and the night shall bring
Watchers ’neath our window, lest we mock the King—
Hate and all division; hosts of hurrying spies;
Money poured in secret, carrion breeding flies.
Strangers of his counsel, hirelings of his pay,
These shall deal our Justice: sell—deny—delay.
We shall drink dishonour, we shall eat abuse
For the Land we look to—for the Tongue we use.
We shall take our station, dirt beneath his feet,
While his hired captains jeer us in the street.
Cruel in the shadow, crafty in the sun,
Far beyond his borders shall his teachings run.
Sloven, sullen, savage, secret, uncontrolled,
Laying on a new land evil of the old—
Long-forgotten bondage, dwarfing heart and brain—
All our fathers died to loose he shall bind again.
It’s all there: the surveillance state; tariffs for us and corrupt tributes paid to him; a huge rise in militarization; the intimidation of judges; retribution against any and all who criticize or mock him; the sowing of hate and division; secret money pouring in; teams of lawyers intent on distorting, denying, and delaying justice; our reputation as a nation destroyed with longtime allies turning their backs on us; hired guns on our streets, harassing and belittling the citizens; constant deceit and lying and new alliances with other foreign despots; and all that was gained in the long struggle for this country– the freedoms and rights we took for granted– lost.
It’s a haunting poem given where we are now. It’s like an echo from the past that has been slowly and imperceptibly rumbling through the deep dark canyons of time and now thunders out into the open, new to us now but just as ugly and dangerous as it was when it has sounded in its past incarnations.
The question is: What are we willing to do to still the blare of this echo of awfulness?
Redtree Times 