In a development that would make even the most cynical novelist blush, a congressman endorsed by Donald Trump has won a primary election despite being, for all practical purposes, missing. One might say that the electorate has finally found a candidate who cannot be accused of flip-flopping, broken promises, or even the most basic form of presence. But let us not be too hasty in our mockery.
This is, after all, the logical endpoint of decades of political degradation. We have long since ceased to demand substance from our representatives. We now tick a box for a name, a brand, a tribal affiliation.
The man himself is irrelevant. Compare this to the Roman Republic in its twilight, where elections were often won by absentee generals commanding loyalty from afar. Or consider the Victorian era, where the concept of a 'pocket borough' allowed a candidate to win without ever visiting his constituency.
We have not advanced. We have merely traded one form of absentee landlordism for another. The congressman's absence—whether due to scandal, self-preservation, or sheer laziness—is no longer a disqualification.
It is a feature. He cannot be caught in a gaffe. He cannot be forced to take a stand.
He is a Platonic ideal of a politician: pure form, free from the messy reality of human fallibility. And yet, we should be outraged. Not because he won while missing, but because we have allowed the very concept of representation to become a ghost.
We vote for a name, not a person. We have become a nation of political necromancers, summoning the dead to lead us. The only question remaining is: when we finally realise the horror of what we have done, will it be too late?
