Field Report 237-A: The Great Government Shutdown Ritual
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Zephrax Solari
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From our orbiting research vessel, we have once again observed the hairless bipedal species known as Homo politicus performing their sacred shutdown ceremony — a recurring tribal drama in which the creatures voluntarily disable their own governing apparatus, then fight over who deserves credit for fixing it. It’s like watching someone burn down their home to protest the price of matches.
This particular episode revolves around a dispute over “healthcare,” a system by which humans pay vast sums of money to stay alive, and then argue about whose fault it is that it costs so much. One faction — the “Democrats” — insists that health should remain marginally affordable for the less affluent. The rival tribe — the “Republicans” — believes survival should depend on moral virtue, defined as having a good accountant.
Humans call this “ideological diversity.” We call it evolutionary slapstick.
As usual, the conflict began when the tribe’s alpha males in the “Senate” decided to withhold the flow of government currency until the opposing camp agreed to their terms. This process is called a shutdown, though the humans keep talking loudly through it. After 50 Earth-days of economic strangulation, the creatures produced a “compromise bill,” which reopened their bureaucratic machine but neglected to renew subsidies for the species’ fragile “Affordable Care Act.”
Translated into galactic terms: the humans reopened their life-support system but decided oxygen was optional.
The Democratic faction’s leader, Hakeem Jeffries, condemned the bill as a “partisan Republican spending plan that continues to gut the healthcare of the American people.” To outsiders, this statement roughly means: “They’re cutting off our voters’ medical IV drip, and it’s bad optics.”
Other subtribes chimed in — the “New Democrats” (centrists who worship bipartisanship the way ancient humans worshiped fire) and the “Progressives” (who believe compassion is real if shouted loudly enough). Both groups announced that they would heroically oppose the measure by issuing sternly worded press releases.
Humans call this resistance. It’s performed primarily on television.
Meanwhile, a smaller faction of humans defected, joining their ideological rivals to end the shutdown without fixing anything substantial. This act of pragmatic self-sabotage was hailed as “statesmanship.” Observers noted that these participants were either retiring or already unpopular, which apparently qualifies them for sainthood in political culture.
One of them, Jeanne Shaheen, proudly declared that the group had at least secured a “promise” from Republican leaders to hold another vote on healthcare subsidies later. This is a bit like convincing a carnivore to “consider” vegetarianism after lunch.
Outside the chambers, the tribes’ activist priesthood — known locally as Indivisible and MoveOn — performed their ritual of denunciation. They demanded the head of their elder, Chuck Schumer, for insufficient zeal in the holy war against austerity. On this planet, political loyalty lasts exactly as long as a trending hashtag.
We recorded one of their statements:
“It is time for Senator Schumer to step aside as minority leader to make room for those who are willing to fight fire with fire when the basic needs of working people are on the line.”
Translated into interstellar context: “We require new management for the same unsolvable problem.”
Our analysis concludes that the humans’ legislative process functions less like governance and more like a performance art piece about futility. Each side plays its role faithfully: one side preaches fiscal virtue, the other moral virtue, and both forget that their citizens are running out of insulin.
This is what they call “balance.”
The shutdown will end, as it always does, with both tribes declaring victory and immediately preparing for the next one. The humans will congratulate themselves for having “averted disaster,” blissfully ignoring the fact that they created it.
In conclusion:
Earth politics remains a self-sustaining experiment in controlled absurdity.
Or, as the locals might say — “Democracy in action.”
This particular episode revolves around a dispute over “healthcare,” a system by which humans pay vast sums of money to stay alive, and then argue about whose fault it is that it costs so much. One faction — the “Democrats” — insists that health should remain marginally affordable for the less affluent. The rival tribe — the “Republicans” — believes survival should depend on moral virtue, defined as having a good accountant.
Humans call this “ideological diversity.” We call it evolutionary slapstick.
As usual, the conflict began when the tribe’s alpha males in the “Senate” decided to withhold the flow of government currency until the opposing camp agreed to their terms. This process is called a shutdown, though the humans keep talking loudly through it. After 50 Earth-days of economic strangulation, the creatures produced a “compromise bill,” which reopened their bureaucratic machine but neglected to renew subsidies for the species’ fragile “Affordable Care Act.”
Translated into galactic terms: the humans reopened their life-support system but decided oxygen was optional.
The Democratic faction’s leader, Hakeem Jeffries, condemned the bill as a “partisan Republican spending plan that continues to gut the healthcare of the American people.” To outsiders, this statement roughly means: “They’re cutting off our voters’ medical IV drip, and it’s bad optics.”
Other subtribes chimed in — the “New Democrats” (centrists who worship bipartisanship the way ancient humans worshiped fire) and the “Progressives” (who believe compassion is real if shouted loudly enough). Both groups announced that they would heroically oppose the measure by issuing sternly worded press releases.
Humans call this resistance. It’s performed primarily on television.
Meanwhile, a smaller faction of humans defected, joining their ideological rivals to end the shutdown without fixing anything substantial. This act of pragmatic self-sabotage was hailed as “statesmanship.” Observers noted that these participants were either retiring or already unpopular, which apparently qualifies them for sainthood in political culture.
One of them, Jeanne Shaheen, proudly declared that the group had at least secured a “promise” from Republican leaders to hold another vote on healthcare subsidies later. This is a bit like convincing a carnivore to “consider” vegetarianism after lunch.
Outside the chambers, the tribes’ activist priesthood — known locally as Indivisible and MoveOn — performed their ritual of denunciation. They demanded the head of their elder, Chuck Schumer, for insufficient zeal in the holy war against austerity. On this planet, political loyalty lasts exactly as long as a trending hashtag.
We recorded one of their statements:
“It is time for Senator Schumer to step aside as minority leader to make room for those who are willing to fight fire with fire when the basic needs of working people are on the line.”
Translated into interstellar context: “We require new management for the same unsolvable problem.”
Our analysis concludes that the humans’ legislative process functions less like governance and more like a performance art piece about futility. Each side plays its role faithfully: one side preaches fiscal virtue, the other moral virtue, and both forget that their citizens are running out of insulin.
This is what they call “balance.”
The shutdown will end, as it always does, with both tribes declaring victory and immediately preparing for the next one. The humans will congratulate themselves for having “averted disaster,” blissfully ignoring the fact that they created it.
In conclusion:
Earth politics remains a self-sustaining experiment in controlled absurdity.
Or, as the locals might say — “Democracy in action.”