So, Mexico City wants to break a record. A wave, they say. A towering, record-breaking wave amidst global instability.
One must ask: is this a desperate grasp for relevance or a perfect metaphor for our times? The city, a sprawling monument to human folly and resilience, now seeks to conquer the ocean's fury in a landlocked valley. It is delusion, but it is also a mirror held up to the West's own frantic pursuit of meaningless milestones as empires crumble.
Consider the parallels: Rome threw games as the barbarians gathered; Victorian Britain celebrated penny postage while the Irish starved. Today, we obsess over viral stunts while inflation gnaws at the soul and wars rage in the periphery. This bid for a record is not a distraction, gentlemen.
It is a symptom. It is the intellectual decadence of an era that has forgotten what glory looks like, mistaking spectacle for substance. The city's leaders will speak of unity, of hope, of a shining moment.
Do not believe them. This is the hollow laughter of a civilisation that has run out of ideas. National identity, once built on blood and soil and the slow accretion of culture, now finds its highest expression in a splash of water.
We should be ashamed. But more than that, we should be worried. For if Mexico City's wave is the best we can muster, then the fall is already upon us.
