It is a weary dawn in New York. The chilly winter wind gusts have a menacing whistle to them. Most of the battle fields across America have fallen silent, even though fiery skirmishes continue in certain areas. Helicopters showed the grim determination with which the mobilised populace lined up. Red and Blue played true to their colours, Valour versus Justice – but they have left White, the symbol of purity and innocence, in tatters. The Kings are alive. Long live the Kings. No tidal wave here, only a pyrrhic victory awaits the nation.
The tectonic plates of American society have ground against each other through the entire election season. It has thrown up a nation which has lost confidence in the markers of its shared cultural identity, and more importantly, its manifest destiny.
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