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The story of Ronald Dumpty

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Once upon a time, in the United States of Alternative Facts, a little boy was born. His parents, Mr. and Mrs. Dumpty (no same-sex marriage here), christened him Ronald.

Ronald was not the brightest candle in his class, but he had motivation and tenacity. One day he would make his exacting parents proud, he swore. One day he would bully others instead of being the one bullied, he promised himself. One day he would be the killer and the king his father taught him to be, and meet the Queen of England to make his mother proud, he vowed.

He, the fourth child of five, would have it all: the money; the power; the wives and the children; and last but not least, the Holy Grail a.k.a. the Nobel-prize. Nothing and no one would stand in his way.

His father had taught him well. Rules, competitors and opponents were like eggs, Dumpty the elder used to say. One had to be ready to break a few to get what one wanted; be it success or an omelet. Money is power and power is money, he would continue. One could not have too much of either. The family money was a good start. But what was money without fame and recognition?

Ronald soon realized that it was all about perception. Being a real estate mogul with a promising career in reality TV might get you an invitation to Epstein’s villa, but it would not get you one to the Buckingham Palace. You could cover your homes with gold ten times over, but that would not make them palaces that beat the real thing.

Fame and money alone were not enough. Especially, when people like Obama were elected President and given the Nobel prize. A Dumpty would not take the success of someone so inferior (as Ronald saw it) lying down. It was not the way of a true Dumpty. Anything Obama could do, Dumpty, or Dumpster as all too many called Ronald in his youth, could and would do better!

So on Dumpster went to run for President. And wonder of all wonders; with the wildly unruly support of the Evil Magi, Ronald was elected not once, but twice. Voters all too often learn only when it is too late.

Not so, Ronald. He had learned his lessons well, both those of his father and of the wily Brooklonyx Rudy. Real winners took all they could get away with. There were opportunities galore, if you were unscrupulous enough to take advantage of them and ready to force the issue in your favour by any means available, fair or unfair. Isn’t that why a successful deal was called making a killing?

A totally new take on the presidential role was born. One where narcissism met up with antisocial behaviour and paranoia to create a unique Dumpster mix. A mix without boundaries, be they moral or legal, national or international. All of it richly peppered with wild mood swings.

Dumpty was on the roll: So many parcels of land from Gaza to Greenland, so much oil in Venezuela, such plentiful mineral rights in Ukraine; and all of them up for grabs, not to mention Cuba and Canada. The possibilities were almost limitless: so many sweet deals to be made, so much cryptocurrency to be had. If only the rest of the world would keep from interfering,

Dumpty was no Captain Picard. There was no talk of bettering ourselves and the rest of humanity on his watch. Ideals of selflessness and humanity’s enrichment were for sad losers and concepts such as friends and allies were a mystery as far as Ronald was concerned. What was in it for him, he pondered. Who needed enemies, with a friend like Dumpty, his  friends would learn the hard way.

But we live in a time of stories. And stories tend to have a morally upright and happy ending, unless they are scary nursery rhymes or told by the Brothers Grimm. Ronald, unfortunately, was clearly brought up on the latter, which is understandable given his father’s German antecedents. Not that the Dumpty family would ever dwell on that subject. Immigrants they were not, not at heart at least. If one could call it a heart, with so little compassion and human decency involved? This blood pumping organ might more aptly be called a Dumpty pump. A really, really great and beautiful one, naturally, as all things Ronald were, if Ronald was to be believed.

Dumpty could twist the truth with the best of truth twisters, and sell a story that no one in their right mind would buy, but people still did. He could even have himself immortalised by his minions with tailor made prizes and buildings renamed in his honor.

One thing was not in his power, however. No one would ever see him as the white knight of any story ; not after all that had been said and done. That happy ending was as far beyond his reach as the Holy Grail.

So Dumpty was left sitting on a wall, headed for a great fall. What goes around comes around – in stories and in real life. When Dumpty inevitably fell, all the President’s horses and all the President’s men couldn’t put him together again. That, however, is a story for another day.

What will happen? Who will the white knights be? The world is waiting with bated breath. To be continued…

Disclaimer: As is the way in the United States of Alternative Facts, all the above may or may not have happened. Who is to say, if it did or didn’t. You get to decide.

#democracy too

We all know there is no such thing as normal people or normal actions. No two normals look alike. Your normal looks different from mine.

Still, I feel confident in my statement: Normal is out. We are bombarded by so much information that it takes something beyond our own concept of normal to drag our attention away from our comfy interaction with like-minded people in our chosen information silos; the ones provided by courtesy of the Chinese, Elon Musk, international investors or local media providers.

All too often it takes something negative to catch our interest.

In a media overload world, a happy life is seldom interesting unless it involves a mind-boggling rags-to-riches story or is achieved after serious, preferably health-threatening, setbacks. Great grades and a stellar job record do not a good story make. Ruining your successful career spectacularly – now that is clickworthy. Genders are interesting mainly if there is an internal or external struggle or an equality issue involved. Faith is newsworthy if it involves celebrities or leads to violence or oppression rather than good deeds.

If you want to be heard, make sure you are not too normal, whatever that means in your target group. You can opt for a memorable hair style like Boris Johnson, an interesting age gap marriage like President Macron and his Finnish counterpart, Niinistö, or you can ride the minority van, with skin colour, gender or sexuality as your strength. Unusually good or bad looks never hurt either.

Actually, any of the above alone may not make the cut these days. The world is looking for something more – and more – whatever that is.

Even a fish has to be quite out of the ordinary to grab our attention. Hence my featured image, which also symbolises my take on the effects of social media. It’s an ugly picture.

No wonder everyone is out there riding their own “ism” be it fanaticism, racism, or some other ism. Even Putin and Trump have realised that plain old crazy is not enough; you need to spice it up with wars, conspiracy theories and isms.

Sadly, my favourite news media, Helsingin Sanomat, all too often falls into the trap of letting social media algorithms take the driver’s seat, while HS takes the backseat with its semi-analytical follow-ups on the latest “talk of the town”. It’s the easy way out in search of clicks: Tailgate social media regardless of whether the issues trending on it are truly worth the coverage journalistically. It’s also the way to get caught up in warped agendas driven by social media savvy parties instead of doing your own thinking and legwork.

I am aware that I am crying for journalism as we have known it – and still know it, when my favourite news media is at its best. Things change. Maybe traditional journalism is fated to take the backseat. But why seat yourself there voluntarily?

As far as the Chinese are concerned, the more mindless the TikTok content and its followers become, the better. In China itself, TikTok is not allowed. Elon Musk, in turn, makes no secret that X is now his – to do with as he pleases – and rules do not please him. Social media platforms do not care a jot about fact-checking, good journalistic practices or democracy. They pose as a way to become heard, but their algorithms make sure that not everyone is. Why help them?

Our view of what is to be considered a fact may change as we learn new things. That is as it should be. However, thanks to social media, more and more people seem to be buying into the thought that facts are only a matter of opinion; just pick your own alternative fact and go with it, no proof required. The same trend seems to apply to the rule of law; if it doesn’t “work” for you, just ignore it and do as you wish.

As like finds like by courtesy of social media algorithms, fiction becomes fact to so many that no fact-checking can halt the process. Western democracies are slowly being trained to a life of panem et circences (bread and circuses). With AI in the mix, the stories will only get wilder and wilder and so will probably the voters along with them.

As the lines between possible and impossible, true and false, and right and wrong become blurred, it becomes increasingly tempting to vote for someone, who – ably aided by algorithms- sells you an exciting story and promises you both bread and the full circus experience. It’s such an easy solution: Just jump on the circus wagon, forget your troubles and doubts and hope for the best.

How did billions of people end up being led by their noses without protest? What about free will and independent decision-making? When did we lose this War Over Minds to evil algorithms? Is the damage irreversible? How far are we gone? When all is said and done, will our sense of real and unreal, true and false, right and wrong be totally lost?

The way things are going, we will vote ourselves out of democracy before we know it. For all the wrong reasons – just because we can.

The fight to save Western democracies starts at home. You may not have to risk your life in the physical sense, but you must be ready to make sacrifices that may feel life-changing. Leave your social media accounts – at least the ones that are clearly led by parties beyond all control. You will not beat them by joining them.

Let the fight begin #democracy too!

Wait – I realise I am not on TikTok, X, Instagram or Facebook. No algorithms will push this message forward. Then again, even if I was, would they really push it? You can see where this is going. It is, indeed, an ugly picture.