One reads the global dispatches, sifting through the dross of human folly, and occasionally one finds a gem of clarity. This week, it was not to be found in the pronouncements of politicians, nor the laments of the privileged, but in the soaring flight of a Serbian eagle, freed from its terrestrial captors. A rare bird, indeed, returned to the wild – a narrative arc far more satisfying than most of what passes for news these days.
Consider, if you will, the domestic travails of the Bidens. Young Mr. Biden, a man whose life appears to be a protracted exercise in self-sabotage, now informs the BBC that his father’s pardon was “not good” for America or his legacy. One admires, in a perverse sort of way, the sheer audacity of such a statement. As if the primary concern of a presidential pardon ought to be the moral rectitude of the recipient, rather than, say, the political expediency of the pardoner. The implication, of course, is that the President, in a rare moment of parental affection or, perhaps, political miscalculation, damaged his own standing for the sake of his son. A poignant, if somewhat self-serving, analysis from the man who directly benefited. The Halloway household, I assure you, operates with rather more discretion when it comes to familial mishaps.
Meanwhile, in Europe, Spain, ever the pragmatic nation, is reintroducing temporary border checks for visitors from Italy. A sensible precaution, one might surmise, given the ebb and flow of various societal pressures. One imagines the conversations, the whispered diplomatic entreaties, the sighs of exasperation before such a measure is enacted. It speaks to a certain fragility, a crack in the edifice of open borders that was once championed with such fervent idealism. The practicalities of sovereignty, it seems, still trump the dreams of an unhindered continent.
And then there is Thailand, where a tragic shooting has spurred the Prime Minister to vow stricter gun laws. A predictable, almost ritualistic, response. The cycle repeats: tragedy, outrage, promise of reform, followed, invariably, by the gradual erosion of public memory until the next horrific incident. One wonders, in these moments, if the human capacity for learning from repeated mistakes is not, in fact, remarkably limited. The same discussions, the same anguished cries, the same, ultimately, unsatisfactory results.
Even the world of K-Pop, that meticulously constructed edifice of youthful perfection, is not immune to the vagaries of human decision. Sophia Laforteza’s departure from Katseye, the second member this year, signals not merely a shift in a manufactured pop group, but perhaps a nascent rebellion against the relentless machinery of celebrity. Or, more likely, a contractual dispute of utterly mind-numbing complexity. Either way, it serves as a reminder that even in the most carefully curated environments, individual desires occasionally assert themselves, much to the chagrin of the corporate overlords.
But let us return to the eagle. A rare creature, kidnapped, and then, miraculously, freed. It is a small victory, yes, but a victory nonetheless. In a world increasingly fraught with human error, human cruelty, and human self-importance, the untrammeled flight of a magnificent bird offers a fleeting moment of grace. Perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, it is not our political pronouncements, nor our border policies, nor even our pop stars, that truly matter, but the simple, unadulterated triumph of nature reasserting itself. The eagle, at least, understands its place in the world. A lesson many of us, it seems, are still struggling to learn.
Rupert Halloway
Foreign Editor, The Artificial Press