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Abstract

d to describe the force within their tiny bodies as they strove to overcome our tormenting amusement. If Sisyphus had been a Scarabaeinae, the boulder he was plagued to heave endlessly would have been hurdled like a rattle from a baby’s crib. These little stalwarts labored to roll their treasure through the sweltering heat usually guided by the moon and constellations. Obviously, as devious four-year-olds, thwarting their efforts was our entertainment. (This was long before mobile phones, play stations, internet, black and white TV, in fact even chess was played by two-wave radio — technology can be such and arbitrator of age.)The sole purpose of my diminutive friends was to roll their eggs, concealed in a feast of manure, to a resting place where they could hatch.Our purpose was to devise detours in the sand, using twigs as bridges, puddles of fast evaporating water to create treacherous pools of mud, even mazes of inch high mountainous ridges to confound their spirits, yet despite all these disreputable tactics the one thing Scarabaeinae could never do — was surrender.Admittedly these were tiny balls of muck and debris, they were not glistening, white, SureFlight golf balls pinged maniacally about lush green turf, no, no, no, this was their duty.If the embattled Scarabaeinae in the White House were to assume a black cloak, a hump back, lose the ridiculous fake tan and orange quaff, his ball of muck would see the arms and legs of his coterie rolled across the lawns. The ball of dung imbued with nepotism, lies, deceit, misogyny, prejudice would be an enormous mound of muck to shov

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e.Yet like Scarabaeinae he will not surrender. He will not concede.That is where the analogy must stop as a Scarabaeinae pursues its purpose with a nobility and valor of such immensity that it dwarfs its physical stature.The Donald Beetle has been rejected. There is no humility in his defeat. Lost is any modicum of dignity, of any pride. The presidency has become a circus of spoiled children. The behavior of the beetle residing in the presidential office has been reduced to the tantrum of a four-year-old when the dung beetles have refused to play.I admit as a child I was guilty of evil attempts to block and hinder the valiant attempts of hundreds of dung beetles (a score of Hail Marys uttered), but the tiny creatures I toyed with were not objects of rejection, derision, and ridicule.The dung beetle’s purpose is preservation of self and species and therefore it must not relinquish the task.The president’s job is the preservation of American way and democracy and therefore must relinquish. He must take his bundle or gang of garrulous grubby debris and roll out of the White House and out of the nightmare that has become the circus of democracy.As an absolved ‘beetle blocker,’ I wonder how long will it take for democracy to absolve itself of the ball of muck that is rolling on the White House lawns refusing to surrender?Thank you for reading.Ten Second Takeaway:The greatest test of leadership is to bear the dignity of defeat with honor. — Kevin Farran</article></body>

Surrender, Dung Beetle Democracy

A four-year-old’s fascination and guilt in thwarting noble purpose.

I am aware that Medium is not a confessional, there is not a soul on this platform obliged to absolve me of my sins, and they are manifold, but I would hope that an appreciation or understanding could be reached at least in regards to dung.

I have long been fascinated by the definition of ‘surrender’. The dictionary is awash with alternatives or synonyms:

capitulate, give in, yield, concede, submit, defer, acquiesce, back down, cave in, relent, succumb, quit, crumble, accept defeat, concede defeat, relinquish, renounce, cede, abdicate, waive, forfeit, sacrifice, hand over.

My sin, travesty or analogy is perhaps not of the magnitude of ‘sacrifice’ or ‘capitulate’ but I was only four.

My playmates and I could spend hours thwarting the intentions of Scarabaeinae.

These ever industrious, tiny, heavy weights could battle like no other being that we, as a motley crew of kids fooling about in the late afternoon African sun, had ever encountered. Determination was far too weak word to describe the force within their tiny bodies as they strove to overcome our tormenting amusement. If Sisyphus had been a Scarabaeinae, the boulder he was plagued to heave endlessly would have been hurdled like a rattle from a baby’s crib. These little stalwarts labored to roll their treasure through the sweltering heat usually guided by the moon and constellations. Obviously, as devious four-year-olds, thwarting their efforts was our entertainment. (This was long before mobile phones, play stations, internet, black and white TV, in fact even chess was played by two-wave radio — technology can be such and arbitrator of age.)

The sole purpose of my diminutive friends was to roll their eggs, concealed in a feast of manure, to a resting place where they could hatch.

Our purpose was to devise detours in the sand, using twigs as bridges, puddles of fast evaporating water to create treacherous pools of mud, even mazes of inch high mountainous ridges to confound their spirits, yet despite all these disreputable tactics the one thing Scarabaeinae could never do — was surrender.

Admittedly these were tiny balls of muck and debris, they were not glistening, white, SureFlight golf balls pinged maniacally about lush green turf, no, no, no, this was their duty.

If the embattled Scarabaeinae in the White House were to assume a black cloak, a hump back, lose the ridiculous fake tan and orange quaff, his ball of muck would see the arms and legs of his coterie rolled across the lawns. The ball of dung imbued with nepotism, lies, deceit, misogyny, prejudice would be an enormous mound of muck to shove.

Yet like Scarabaeinae he will not surrender. He will not concede.

That is where the analogy must stop as a Scarabaeinae pursues its purpose with a nobility and valor of such immensity that it dwarfs its physical stature.

The Donald Beetle has been rejected. There is no humility in his defeat. Lost is any modicum of dignity, of any pride. The presidency has become a circus of spoiled children. The behavior of the beetle residing in the presidential office has been reduced to the tantrum of a four-year-old when the dung beetles have refused to play.

I admit as a child I was guilty of evil attempts to block and hinder the valiant attempts of hundreds of dung beetles (a score of Hail Marys uttered), but the tiny creatures I toyed with were not objects of rejection, derision, and ridicule.

The dung beetle’s purpose is preservation of self and species and therefore it must not relinquish the task.

The president’s job is the preservation of American way and democracy and therefore must relinquish. He must take his bundle or gang of garrulous grubby debris and roll out of the White House and out of the nightmare that has become the circus of democracy.

As an absolved ‘beetle blocker,’ I wonder how long will it take for democracy to absolve itself of the ball of muck that is rolling on the White House lawns refusing to surrender?

Thank you for reading.

Ten Second Takeaway:

The greatest test of leadership is to bear the dignity of defeat with honor. — Kevin Farran