By Ellerine Diengdoh

Disclaimer: This op-ed is satirical and does not refer to any specific individual(s). If you feel personally addressed, that is a matter best taken up with your conscience and possibly your convoy(s).

Politics is one of the oldest professions in the world, which is why it normally behaves like something that was invented before basic questioning was allowed. Its primary function has remained unchanged for centuries…. important people go to important places to discuss important things, which are later described as "complex," meaning you are not supposed to ask what happened.
In the past, kings ruled by divine right, which meant they were chosen by God. This was a very efficient system, mainly because God was not available for fact-checking.Today, we have democracy, where leaders are chosen by the people. However, despite this change, politicians often end up just as distant from ordinary people as kings once were, mainly because of convoys.
A convoy, in case you've never been stuck behind one, is a long line of large, dark vehicles that move together with great urgency, like they are either late for something extremely important or filming a low-budget action movie. Their primary function is not transportation, but communication. They communicate that someone important is passing through and that whatever you were doing is now temporarily less important than that.
This system works well, it creates order, it creates fear and it creates the thrilling possibility that you might be late because someone else cannot be .So traffic stops and people wait and life pauses. It is in these moments of delay and noise that we measure importance, because the concept of power, as we've come to understand it, is deeply rooted in its ability to cause disruptions and inconvenience that must only be felt by others.
This is why the case of (Lt)Dr. Ricky A. J Syngkon is so deeply unsettling. I will narrate an incident that took place in the college that I teach, at a graduation ceremony a few years ago. It was one of those formal occasions where students celebrate surviving education by wearing black robes and a hat.We were all prepared for the usual delay, discomfort and the oily procession of vehicles and security that signals a politician has come to ignore you in person….but it never came. Instead, Dr. Syngkon arrived on a scooty, a vehicle that does not suggest you command anything larger than your own balance.
A scooty, for clarity, is a small, practical vehicle commonly used for errands and commuting. It is something that doesn't look like you're about to invade a neighbouring country and it is not typically associated with high office, unless the office is "buying milk".
Dr. Syngkon however, on this occasion, scooted in, parked, got off and walked in. He completely bypassed the line of teachers waiting to greet the very special, the very honoured guest.
This was a catastrophic breach of the social contract, and it is so unusual because it removes the build-up. Normally, a political arrival has a distinct plot which it religiously follows. First, there is suspense, then noise, then, a man emerges from deep within a climate-controlled womb of an SUV while twenty, heavily armed men in aviator sunglasses jump out to scan nearby bins, trees and potted plants for hidden assassins. Without these stages, the arrival is pointless and risks being mistaken for someone simply turning up, which is not how "importance" is meant to function.
If a politician arrives quietly, it raises several difficult questions. For example, one, how do people know when to be impressed, two, how does traffic know when to stop, and three, how do nearby buildings know when to feel slightly intimidated, and four, if no one is mildly inconvenienced, is he a people's representative at all. These questions are rarely asked, largely because the answers would be awkward.
Most politicians solve this problem efficiently, and they do this by expanding. They expand upwards, outwards, in vehicles, in volume and in distance from consequence. They surround themselves with enough structure to ensure that wherever they go, reality rearranges itself well in advance.
Dr. Syngkon declined to participate in this theatrical exercise. He arrived as a normal human person would, as if the event mattered more than his arrival at it. Which is a deeply subversive idea, because it suggests that authority does not require amplification; that work might exist without spectacle; that a public servant might, in fact, resemble the public.
This is not inspiring, it is destabilising, because it introduces a precedent, and precedents, in politics, are dangerous - they imply repeatability. If you let one person be humble, soon everyone will want to do it, and then where would we be. Listening to birds probably, but we can't have everyone listening to birds all day, it is just not practical. It's better to stick with what we know, rather than introducing something new and potentially disruptive.
Now that he's gone, a departure as silent as can be, the big question is who will fill his shoes. Typically, politicians come from a pool of individuals, often sourced from a well-established network of "like-minded" people.
Early signs suggest that it is unlikely that the scooty will make a comeback. Which is a shame, because once you've seen how quietly something can be done, the noise elsewhere becomes harder to ignore.
For decades we've confused spectacle with substance, counting cars instead of ideas, but more wheels don't make a better mind. So soon, real soon, when you vote for your next representative, ask yourself, do you want a leader who arrives like royalty in a convoy, or one who can show up, park, and get to work….because if a man needs a siren to prove he matters, he probably doesn't.