Equilibrium

I only downloaded this film because it had something to do with guns and kung fu. Sadly, much of the movie doesn’t actually show either.
I’m sitting in Stansted Airport burning time as usual before we go to visit Jon in Germany, and it’s a great time to catch up on all the movies and books I’ve been wanting to read for some time. Equilibrium happens to be one of them.
It’s a rather blatant movie actually. The symbology is so obvious it almost stabs you in the eye: The sense-offender who holds up a book of Yeats to fend off his execution… the Big-Brotheresque screens and idolatry… the breaking of family ties and betrayal of parents by children. It would be a straightforward and clumsy remake of Orwell mixed with a critique on Communism if it didn’t have gun-kata, which is quite impressive actually.
A few points of note. Aside from the obvious contradictions (how can you eradicate emotion but at the same time have massive rallies to celebrate that goal), one scene has a woman facing off the agent where they debate the purpose of life. She argues that the point of life is “to feel”, and that without feeling, “breath is just a mechanical ticking.” It’s interesting that the individualistic lifestyle is lionized while serving a greater social good is considered unfulfilling. Why should living your life for yourself be any “better” than living life because you like living or breathing, much less for some greater service to society?
Also, I wonder why they never targeted religion in the movie, but instead chose to attack the trinkets and gadgets that supposedly represent individuality, and thus, humanity. Surely religion is the jackpot: What else has greater power over the individual desire and need? Obviously there would be the problem of political correctness, but a really ballsy move would be to attack all religions. Or is that too disturbing of concept for the makers to consider?

Atlas Shrugged

Ayn Rand’s book has more food for thought in the first two chapters than all my other sci-fi stuff combined. In a few short pages, she asks a poignant question: What happens when capitalism falters? When selfishly rational behavior that drives economics is stymied by laziness and inferiority masquerading as a desire for equality or some idealized humanity?
I think it’s a great question to ask, this time of all times. People are perfectly happy with the fruits of capitalism; it is the wealth of our times that has given them the education and leisure to complain about how capitalism is sucking away at humanity in the first place. And the same people who have enjoyed the positive externalities of selfish economics are usually the first to point fingers when things go wrong. The credit crisis is a prime example. As soon as the deal went sour, clearly it was the fault of Wall Street and its bankers. It was their greed; it was their hubris.
Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. In their positions, I doubt that the most virulent critic would have turned into Mother Teresa and acted differently. Furthermore, firms respond to their customers, and the average Joe in this case has an equal share of the blame in causing a flight to profit and thus risk during good times.
I thought the dependency paradox was fantastic though. Rand criticizes those who disdain capitalism and the work ethic, because they compensate for their own inadequacy and dependency on the capitalist by demeaning him. This is surely truth. By demeaning something which you cannot achieve, you simultaneously place yourself above it and erase the guilt that surely comes along with being both incompetent and yet dependent on something which you couldn’t personally achieve.
I don’t understand why people feel like they have a right to lord it over others who decide to “sell their souls” into banking or other tedious professions. If it were truly of such supreme unimportance to them, why does it even register? Why does it appear in student columns and become such a target of animosity? Someone is compensating for something.
Where my sympathies lie should be pretty obvious by now. Yet I don’t think I’m a Henry Rearden or Dagny Taggart… I certainly don’t have the same kind of drive or dedication. In their families do I see vestiges of myself: Perenially envious of those who stand as a living reminder of what they could have achieved but failed to do so. It’s a useful lesson and characterization that will perhaps serve to guide me in the terms to come.

Hypocrisy

The Pope has come out saying that the pursuit of wealth is meaningless, and points to the financial crisis as an example of how greed is bad.

First question: One wonders where the Vatican’s money is kept, and what’s being done with it. Unless the Pope personally sprays it every day with pheremones, hoping it goes forth and multiplies in the vault, it’s highly likely they’re part of the Wall Street culture of greed as well.

Second: Should a man holding a golden stick really be calling out the pursuit of wealth?

Mahatma Gandhi might be able to pull it off… the Pope, I’m not so sure.

The Pain Train Cometh

In writing on a new shared blog with other luminaries, I haven’t had much time to post here.

But some things cannot be left unsaid.

There is a stench in the air, and it is profuse.

The stench emanates from the KL monorail.

Here’s the thing about the monorail. It’s cute and bumbles along it’s single track rather adorably. When you’re looking at it from the outside.

What people fail (FAIL) to realize however, is that the inside of that sardine can is a seething, teeming, reeking mass of humanity.

Lining up after work is probably one of the sights American tourists like to pay for. Like when they go to the Amazon to eat bugs and other creepy-crawlies. So maybe, if you’re an angmoh, you can enjoy the uniqueness of the experience. After all, I did see two tourists taking videos coming out of the train yesterday. Visit Malaysia 2008.

For locals, however, we have to line up 4-6 deep outside the path way. It’s actually a lesson in mob psyche. As the train approaches, you can sense the restlessness increase. There is a subtle but concerted push towards the gap, as everyone inches forward but tries to act nonchalant. As people exit, you can hear the simultaneous clacking of brain cells as potential passengers desperately evaluate their chances of getting on.

But getting on isn’t the end of it.

After you avoid being crushed by the door, you realize that there’s a sharp, persistent pain. It’s your leg being squished against the fat man’s briefcase. Or the chair. And then you realize that you’re forced to grind with the auntie/uncle/three-headed apparition in front of you. Full body contact has it’s dictionary definition here.

And then the smell hits. Especially when it’s raining.

On the bright side, this means that no one ever needs the handrails! Everyone knows molecules in solids stay put in their place. Chalk another one down for Malaysian ingenuity.

Muddy Waters

One of the great things about living in a country like Malaysia is how interesting the elections can be.

Forget about America with its supposedly “historic” presidential races. Elections in western liberal democracies have lost their tang of excitement after long use; freedom breeds political correctness and a greater respect for shared values (bla) national unity (bla bla) human good (bla bla bla). Mudslinging in America seems to constitute one candidate calling another candidate a superstar. Horrors.

WHERE IS THE MUD?

The mud is in Malaysia.

Watching the elections in Malaysia is like watching a blood-spattered, adrenaline-pumping gorefest of ugly, seething political ambitions and ham-handed attempts at clutching the trophy. It’s like watching a plot that tries to be complex in its machinations but ultimately ends up like a Die Hard movie: Crude, loud, predictable but explosively entertaining!

So Lim Guan Eng asks Koh Tsu Koon why 9 million bucks went missing. Boom! Koh tells Lim it’s because Anwar wrote it off to let off some big companies. Lim quickly rebuts and says that Anwar was in jail when they failed to collect, so not his fault. And Koh realizes, oh shit, that the bank who Anwar supposedly helped, was managed by Arif Shah’s brother, and quickly issues a hilarious statement saying eh eh eh, whatever Amin Shah did, his brother wasn’t involved.

LOLLLLLLLLL

Round 1: Murky but not mud-swamped.
Then Najib walks around telling people that he’s totally for the Chinese and Chinese education, and we should have a look at what he did in 1996 for the benefit of non-Bumi education. This leads back to my earlier thoughts on how state-controlled papers are so unkind to their masters; Najib sounds almost pleading when he says “So please believe me when I say we will be fair to the Chinese. Universiti Teknologi Mara should not be an issue”

Paraphrase:

“Many years ago I kena political pressure and did something nice for the Chinese. Now you all no more pressure, other people more pressure so sorry lah. Ideally you all forget about UiTM for a few days can or not? Then we can go back to pretending that we have equal education opportunities for everyone, i.e. I can pretend to care about what you’re saying without any consequences.”

Round 2: No mud! Just the clear bells of lies.
In the meantime, Saiful claims he was raped and touches a Quran, proving that he didn’t get struck down by the holy wrath of God. Anwar and ulamas say they don’t need to counterswear. BN says how come don’t want? Scared ah? Then PKR idiot turns up at an anti-”Anti-islam” rally, disappears for a while and comes back saying he was justified; people bash up NST reporters, ostensibly wearing Opposition T-shirts, so BN gets to call them out on it, while PKR says it was a frame-up; Arif Shah also chooses to tell everyone that he has 45% support among Chinese voters, provoking massive disbelief that barely avoids charring the paper it’s written on. At this point, round-by-round breaks down and it degenerates into a free-for-all with mud raining down upon the world!

And all on the first day!

In the days to come, I expect to hear that BN singlehandedly saved Malaysia from Galacto while Anwar was poaching flowers from the Agong’s garden, PKR has a secret reporter-assassination hit squad trained by the Mossad, and Anwar also has a secret porno movie with George Soros and uses ringgit bills to wipe his ass.

Oh, and someone says Anwar used a skim wibawa something-or-other to give out lots of money to Bumis many years ago. Therefore, as the logic goes, because someone did what the NEP told him to do, he’s very bad for the non-Bumis and should not be voted in.

I wonder what that implies.

About Face

Have you ever wondered how weird the term “a 360-degree reversal” is? Most people use it to describe a sudden change in position, completely at odds with whatever stance they previously held. But that’s slightly dumb. If you turn 360 degrees, you’re back exactly where you started.

In exceptional cases, however, it seems like a perfectly apt term.

When I went to the MSLS and watched Khairy Jamaluddin and Tony Pua debate, I was genuinely won over. I felt like I could understand the difficult position any government finds itself in; caught between reactionary and revolutionary forces, they have to run from one side of the scale balance to the other as quickly as possible to wrongfoot each side. Policies that seem blindingly simple to implement are not implemented because there are always complications that lurk beneath the surface, something which I thought I should have at least learnt from all those Government courses.

And for a few days, I thought that with intelligent and practical people at the helm, it wouldn’t matter which party leads this broken-down nation (although we have really good pan mee and char siow!). The note of commonality and unity all 3 party MP’s ended on was equally uplifting.

180 degrees.

Then a few days later, as the initial rush of goodwill and charity began to wear off, I started reading the newspapers again. My observation then was that the newspapers, frankly, aren’t very kind to the ruling party that ostensibly controls them. Comments by UMNO ministers simply don’t lend themselves towards newspaper reports; soundbites make them seem not just parochial, but ulu-fied, hidebound and completely unable to comprehend any change beyond that of daily underwear. I ascribed it to the unavoidable necessity of summarization – something usually gets lost in translation. And maybe, maybe, they have to make these statements, like they said, in order to wrongfoot and outflank reactionaries.

Maybe.

270 degrees.

Then today, I’m reading the Star over a nice morning coffee and there are entire slews of garbage and filth that turn my extra-sweet Nescafe 3-in-1 into putridity.

“Those who question the position of UiTM will have to walk over the GPMS’ dead body first. If the question now is whether the Malay institution is being pressured, the answer is no, but if the question is whether there is a narrow political agenda, the answer is yes.”

Minister in the Prime Minister’s Department in charge of religion Datuk Seri Dr Ahmad Zahid Hamidi

Those who QUESTION? Lol.

The reason why this is dumb is because if at all they were being outflanked or they had to deal with reactionaries, there needs to be a plan. When you deal with terrorists, you don’t give in again and again in order to win the war. You give in LESS AND LESS each time so that ultimately, you can squish them or win them over. Let’s be honest: These kidlings aren’t rich in the brains department anyway. And I believe that most UMNO ministers are underplaying their true intelligence.

Do you really want to sound like this idiot?

IPOH: Some 9,000 Universiti Teknologi Mara (UiTM) students at Seri Iskandar near here rallied against a proposal by Selangor Mentri Besar Tan Sri Khalid Ibrahim to open its doors to non-bumiputra students.

The university’s student body president Abdul Qaiyum Abd Razak said: “We’ll hold a bigger demonstration with other branches if they proceed with the proposal.”

“We are serious about the matter as it touches on our educational rights,” he told reporters at the campus yesterday.

I certainly hope you don’t. One of the detriments of educating fools is that a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing. It’s profoundly irritating to hear the concept of rights being bandied around so flippantly, especially when it demonstrates such a severe lack of understanding it’s like seeing the light of education disappearing into the black hole of stupidity that is this person. Does he understand what a RIGHT constitutes? Unless you’re talking about your RIGHT to have a pure, lovely school unsullied by other races, it rather baffles me as to what RIGHT you think is going to be abrogated.

Oh, I know!!!

Your right to avoid competition. Your right to relax and enjoy inflated grades and easy testimonials. Your right to minimum effort for the length of your sad, sad existence in an institution that reinforces your overweening sense of superiority. Maybe the British were right about education. Because there’s nothing sadder than seeing someone whose ambitions exceed their capabilities.

The outflanking argument can only be sustained if its carried out at all levels and there’s a stepwise movement towards the center.

In the meantime, the world turns.

Flight in Hell

They say hell is other people. They must have been on a MAS flight to India.

This is literally the worst and most agonizing flight I have ever experienced in all my years of flying. Surprisingly enough, it’s in no way the fault of the crew. In their place I would have crashed the plane into the sea and called it a blessing.

How do I hate my other passengers, let me count the ways?

Directly behind me sits an odious couple that spent the first half of the flight taxing me to the point of no return with loud, obnoxious and absolutely grating laughter. You might think it was something more than a polite giggle, this laughter. Or maybe a slightly-louder-than-usual chuckle. Let me disabuse you of that notion. This was UNRELENTING SIDE-SPLITTING LAUGHTER as they cackled like stupid fools with no regard for the rest of the plane.

They’ve finally stopped laughing, and have now proceeded to grip plastic cups in their simian-like paws and crush them. Or so I assume from the sounds emanating from behind my seat.

But that’s not all. Already we’ve had two altercations on this plane. The first was before we took off, with some fat idiot shouting about how he’d sue the air crew over something. The second is occurring as I speak. The air-hostess (one of the nice ones, I’ll add) is trying to persuade some gap-toothed idiot woman that her phone needs to be switched off, and the shining example of stupidity is playing hide-and-seek with her retarded phone. They’re telling the captain now. Maybe they’ll throw her out with no life jacket and save us all some gas, what with rising oil prices and all.

These scenes of pure misery and stupidity are being played relentlessly, one after the other, against a backdrop of crying babies (disproportionately high number of them on this plane, just goes to prove the rule of thumb that birth rates are have a negative correlation to development and civilization); and most FUCKING IRRITATINGLY OF ALL, somewhere on this godforsaken plane there exists a human being, maybe two, who thinks that the call-button is a sort of doorbell that needs to be pressed once every 2 seconds in order to summon attention to his/her insistent needs. I thought myself overly sensitized when it first started becoming intrusive. But it’s been ringing non-stop now for the past 10 FUCKING MINUTES and its starting to edge beyond ridiculous into the insanity-inducing.

I sure hope we don’t crash on the Lost island, because I’d give these people over to the others with pausing from clipping my toenails. It baffles me as to how they can be so crude and disgustingly uncivilized. Latest update: One of the bathrooms has been declared out of order. Maybe a curry overdose.

And I thought the Chinese were bad enough.

Fantasy Four

The first time I watched Orange County, I couldn’t take in more than two episodes. While everyone around me was rampaging through upwards of 10 episodes a day, I could barely absorb and deal with two. Emotional turmoil, intrigue, betrayal… I seem to have a very low tolerance level for dramatic excitement.

The Farseer Trilogy by Robin Hobbs is the literary equivalent of the OC, though with less beautiful people.

As I was browsing through my library and wondering which books deserved a rereading (having read the all 10-plus books in the Dune series nearly five times), I chanced across my entire collection of Hobbs. I have almost everything she’s ever written, except for the newer Soldier Son series. And in the dim recesses of memory, I tried to recall: Why did I stop reading Robin Hobb?

Two days, one book and way too much drama later, I finally remember why.

The Farseer trilogy, and all the books after that, is unique in my experience of fiction in that it makes you FEEL too much. A poorly written story is like a bad movie: The dialogue is stilted, the acting is bad and you can’t wait for all the characters to die a gory and painful death so that their misery ends. More on such exhibits later. Excellently written books need no description since they speak for themselves. But Robin Hobb seems to move into a new category of writing: An excellent series that delights in hurting you by hurting the characters she makes you care about. She draws you into the story and into the main character, constantly dangling success in front of you/him before snatching it away. Witness, for example, the part where Fitz figures out that he’s being set up to be caught in the act of assassination. He reveals everything to his target in a stunningly debonair passage, leaving me exultant that he had finally outwitted Regal. Hobbs plays it up by writing as though the story is over, evil is about to be punished and the just will prevail.

Then two sentences later, it turns out that both Fitz and his supposed victim are poisoned anyway, with the victim dying, Fitz paralyzed, and all blame falling on him.

Maybe the problem I have with reading Hobbs is that her stories all too closely mirror life. Reading is supposed to be an escapist fantasy. Yes, her protagonists suffer. Yes, the villains are always foiled in their evil schemes. But she conspicuously avoids awarding her readers with the overwhelming wins usually claimed by heroes and champions of other fantasies. She gives us Pyrrhic victories – the villain is beaten, but still he is in power, and the hero is poisoned, palsied and petrified of further punishment. All this is further exacerbated by a constant inner monologue that reinforces the sheer depression of seeming as though you had won something, but really gaining no pleasure out of it. Her work is a literary marvel, but a little like looking at Goya paintings for a week: Depressingly thrilling.

What of the other three? Well, two of them will receive nowhere near the (mixed) praise I have for Hobbs. Another series lurking on my shelves, Terry Goodkind’s Sword of Truth series, has also surfaced. I’m usually attracted to series that span at least five books, so I have something to really sink my teeth into. The Sword of Truth is probably one of those series I chose willingly to stop reading. Again, memory eluded me as to why until I picked one up to read last week. Then the distaste came back full force. Remember what I said about stunted dialogue? This dialogue isn’t just stunted: It’s an African pygmy desperately in need of some growth hormone. It’s so awkward reading what the characters are saying that you can’t wait for them to die so they can shut their ever-yapping traps. Their speech reminds me of golden oldie movies, where the hero proclaims that there is nothing to fear, Mistress Sanderforth. Gar is not a pet. He is my friend, and he would never harm you, which in turn evokes an equally eloquent reply of If you tell me so, Richard, then it surely must be true. I am no longer afraid of Gar, as I have seen him protect me.

Someone kill them now.

Sword of Truth resembles another shitty series: The Wheel of Time. Speak no ill of the dead, because I recently found out from Haoxiang that Robert Jordan had passed away. But seriously, both SoT and WoT use the exact same plot device of bitchy, irritating magical women forming some sort of weird Sisterhood where they claw and screech at each other in the midst of trying to control magical men. Doesn’t sound as bad as I say? Try reading it. I can’t figure out if the writers are misogynistic or just extremely skilled at creating completely unlikeable female characters. Probably both, and by the end of it you wish they would just go back to knitting instead of forming all sorts of nefarious plans to ensnare Richard/Rand while being more supercilious than AJC administrative staff. The worst part is that I read the Wheel of Time all the way to the penultimate book, figuring (wrongly) that it couldn’t get any worse. Here’s to hoping whoever finishes off the series will focus on the magic and Forsaken rather than the whiny, bitchy Aes Sedai. Maybe they’ll be extinguished in a grand Kool-Aid binge a la Jim Jones. I’d frame up that book.

The fourth? Iain Banks’ Culture series. I think I’m finally beginning to understand it. Banks uses a signature flashback timeline in all of his stories, one that I’m only just now starting to appreciate. My main beef with Banks was probably the fact that he did what Hobbs does, except to a lesser degree. While Hobbs nurtures and kills hope in every chapter, Banks will lead you through an amazing adventure that explores human failings and emotions, especially remembered guilt, against a backdrop of high science fiction. And then, just when you expect the most impressive ending that’ll do justice to the experience you’ve just had, he deliberately ends with a sort of nonchalant flip of the hand; as if everything you’ve just read is inconsequential, and the ending exists by itself and really has no relation to the story. Bits and pieces are perfunctorily tied up, as if he couldn’t be bothered to do it, and triumphant conclusions do not exist for Banks. I used to be incredibly irritated with these, until I began relishing the Zen-like experience his endings create.

It’s like listening to an enthralling tale about the quest for a Sacred Artifact unlike any other artifact to save the world/a loved one/himself. The hero braves dangers and mazes and death-dealing assassins to scale the highest mountain in the universe of the Sacred Artifact, finally dueling against the Guardian of said Artifact. The Artifact is of course, nothing like the physical object we expect, but is instead a Sacred Piece of Wisdom that can only be wrested from the expiring body of the Guardian. As the hero stands victorious, carefully alert and all senses primed to receive the Magic Words that will expand the limits of his consciousness and vanquish his enemies/tell him where the alien homeworld is/explain the mystery of the black-body object creating a ripple in time and space, he discovers that the secret is…

Just this.

¡Ya he vuelto!

Writing is less wine than it is milk… some things don’t age well in storage.

After a few gentle prods by various luminaries, and a recognition that this term’s predominant focus on Economics has caused the slow and gentle neglect of my blog, I thought I would pen a quick update.

It’s been a very exciting and challenging 6 months. The winter I spent in Spain will probably go down in memory as the best term I’ve ever had in Dartmouth/with Dartmouth. A full 3 months of speaking Spanish, hanging out with some of the coolest and funniest and most lovable people I have had the pleasure of knowing, while traveling through Spain and having various adventures. Jon, Esmond, Lawrence, Farid and Herman also came to visit while I was fermenting happily in Spain, and I think I can confidently say it was an excellent experience.

Coming back to Dartmouth over spring, I was brutally reminded of the less-than-temperate weather Hanover tends to enjoy 9 months out of 12. Biting winds, driving snow, sunshine teasers followed by more rain, wind and snow were there as usual to welcome me home. The term started off poorly with me scrambling madly to procure myself some semblance of gainful employment over summer, with rather regrettable results. I was also grubbing after professors and walking door-to-door with resume in hand to persuade them to take me on as a research assistant, with equally mixed results. Coupled with the International Residence housing crisis in the middle of the term, the debate travel scandal and Nationals preparation, my 12 hour job at Rocky and the incessant amounts of work from Econ 21 and 26, and it was all in all a very challenging term.

But to resurrect an old bugbear of mine: In this new life, unlike the misery of a certain place, challenging need to be mutually exclusive with amazing!

It’s been a wonderful and fulfilling Spring term. We created several institutions which were sanity-preserving, notably Spanish LSA Canoesdays and the much-touted but rarely-attended Dirt Cowboy Mornings. It was the first term I got to really spend time with people, and hanging out with the gang and listening to Cindy and Michelle complain about various traumas was very relaxing. I also expanded my cooking repertoire dramatically, a trend which unfortunately died a premature death in face of all my commitments towards the middle of the term. I took up the piano again, and while at times it may have seemed like the stupidest thing in the world to do, it ultimately was one of the more enriching activities I have done on campus.

Naturally, this term will remain in memory for 2 reasons. The first will be a decision I made, which was one of the best I have ever made in recent memory and continues to reap dividends every single day. The second is a bittersweet rejuvenation of the soul that reminds me that maybe not all who wander are lost.

Now I’m back, with a newfound desire to immerse myself in Econ as I once did Bio! To work out and shed 6 months of tapas, sangria and chicken cordon bleu! To prepare myself for a Fall term that will dwarf this previous term in scope, intensity and potential for disaster! To conduct my research, work at my job, and extract every unit of value from my brief time here in Malaysia. And maybe, recalling the long-term dormancy of my writing, to start churning some of that milk and turn it into high-quality cheese

Huckahuckahuckabee

Man.

I don’t usually venture an opinion on US politics, but I really have a bee in my bonnet with this man.

Ever since day one, when he charged out onto the nomination field brandishing his Bible and garnishing himself with pithy but ultimately meaningless Biblical platitudes, I have detested him.

Mr Huckabee, who had failed to win anything since Iowa, crowed that his five victories on February 5th showed that he is the only man who can beat Mr McCain. As usual, he found Biblical analogies. “Sometimes one small smooth stone is even more effective than a whole lot of armour,” he said (translation: “like David, I can topple giants.”). And “we’ve also seen that the widow’s mite has more effectiveness than all the gold in the world,” (translation: “Mr Romney is rich but God prefers me.”).

Thankfully, I’m apparently not the only one who fears a Huckabee reign. A few things which irk me:

1) Biblical phrases do not an answer make. It’s wonderful that he can produce a quote for every occasion, but I am unpersuaded that they provide a viable alternative to actual policy responses.

2) Biblical faith does not a policy save. Flat taxes and plainly uninformed policy is not made more appetizing to rational minds with the addition of biblical seasoning.

3) Biblical elitism does not an election win. What irritates me the most is Huckabee’s unfailing belief that somewhere along the line a miracle will appear to push him ahead of McCain and win him a nomination, then a presidency. My question is this: What makes him think he’s God’s chosen? It’s like the athlete praying before the competition for God to help him win, never wondering whether everyone else is praying for the same thing or if he’s even the best of God’s options at that point in time. I would have imagined that a man who claims to be a man of God would be slightly more humble regarding his predictions of God’s will.

I’m wondering how he’s going to react when his campaign stumbles, stutters and stalls in the dust. Which biblical phrase will be adroitly deployed? Here’s a suggestion:

The LORD detests all the proud of heart. Be sure of this: They will
not go unpunished.

Proverbs 16:5