So the Australians have done it. They have unearthed the largest cocaine stash in their nation's history, secreted away in an underground bunker. One can almost hear the ghost of Al Capone chuckling from his grave.
But this is not merely a matter of police work or criminal enterprise. This is a parable of our times. A bunker, after all, is a defensive structure.
It speaks of preparation for siege. And what are these modern drug lords preparing for? The collapse of their own empire, perhaps.
The very existence of such a fortified cache suggests a profound lack of faith in the future. They are hoarding their poison as if expecting a drought. And in a sense, they are right.
The moral and cultural drought of the West is plain for all to see. We have become a civilisation obsessed with escape. Escape from reality, from responsibility, from the dull ache of existence.
And what better escape than the white powder that promises euphoria and delivers only despair? The UK Border Force is on high alert, we are told. But what of the borders of the soul?
Who guards against the invasion of nihilism? The Victorians, for all their faults, understood the importance of character. They would have looked upon this bunker with horror, not merely for the lawlessness it represented, but for the spiritual bankruptcy it revealed.
We are witnessing the Fall of Rome in slow motion, except our barbarians are within the gates, and they carry credit cards and designer drugs. The bunker in Australia is a symbol. It is a sign that the empire of consumption has reached its logical conclusion.
We have built a world where the highest aspiration is to feel good, and we will dig holes in the ground to ensure the supply. The question is: what will be left when the high wears off?
