Saintly Men
Conrad Black, he of the penchant for impeccable language, history, news-hounding and financial emoluments, currently incarcerated in a medium-security institution meant to house convicted white-collar embezzlers and the like, continues to entertain his reading public. He turns his finely-tuned mind and exquisite grasp of semiotics to the printed explication of world events and historical antecedents in a compassionate effort to educate the masses.
He now has been afforded ample opportunity to isolate himself from the distracting influences of sparkling high-society events, the attending of countless business meetings, tending to political happenings, and tedious familial obligations, in sweet isolation, among other innocents who have been similarly faulted by a justice system that has gone awry.
"It is an unsought honour to be an agent for reinforcing constitutionally guaranteed rights that have fallen into disuse." Dreadfully hard done by, but secure in the knowledge that he has done no wrong; dismissive of a justice system that erroneously found him guilty of nothing at all, but pursuing his innocent business interests as he saw fit, as any experienced businessman would, indeed.
"But someone has to resist the putrification (sic) of justice in these jurisdictions, and if someone of my means doesn't, who will?". Yes, true, who indeed? Who among the population at large had access to the social and political high and mighty, to corporate wealth and stealth, to living an outrageously lavish and ostentatious lifestyle? Too bad about justice being in such a state of putrefaction, though.
Peculiar, on the face of it, that none of his high-priced lawyers' appeals to higher courts of justice have yet to render an alteration of the verdict of guilt, nor have they found any success in ameliorating his plight by shortening his prison sentence. Justice can be so tediously unreasonable. But he is using his time well. Having launched a series of inmate-invited lectures on American history.
Purring with self-gratified pleasure with self, acclaiming the success of his history lessons launched in a generous effort to educate his fellow-inmates. During the process of imparting his historical knowledge, he also indulged in entertaining his fellow inmates with tales of his corporate successes "...I did reminisce about some parts of my career. It was an amusing session, as the other participants are colourful and interesting people."
The simple fact being that anyone with whom Lord Black, the former media baron, associates, must of necessity be interesting. And since he is now companioned by a group of people whom justice has unaccountably punished by separation from law-abiding society, they too must be seen to be "colourful and interesting". As no doubt they are.
No narcissism on display here, though. Other than what he has discerned in the manner of a newspaper reporter dispatched to the prison to interview his fellow inmates whom he describes as: "A Post stringer infested the parking lot, badgering arriving and departing visitors and generally maintaining the high standards of Murdoch journalism." Quite unlike the outstanding quality of reportage manifested in his own lost publishing empire.
As for the prison he is currently confined to: "It is far from a country club and is a material contrast from life in my homes, but it is not uncivilized and I am putting the time to good use and planning the relaunch of my career when this lengthy and tiresome persecution is over." Poor man, so put-upon, so little-understood by the authorities, but complacent in the realization that his friends and admirers understand the situation.
He hastens to add that he remains philosophical about his travails. "If saintly men like Gandhi could choose to clean latrines, and Thomas More could voluntarily wear a hair shirt, this experience won't kill me." He has a penchant for placing himself in the company of world-class luminaries, imagining himself to be one of their ilk, and that history can be expected to treat him so.
Sigh. Will no one rid us of this troublesome scribbler?
He now has been afforded ample opportunity to isolate himself from the distracting influences of sparkling high-society events, the attending of countless business meetings, tending to political happenings, and tedious familial obligations, in sweet isolation, among other innocents who have been similarly faulted by a justice system that has gone awry.
"It is an unsought honour to be an agent for reinforcing constitutionally guaranteed rights that have fallen into disuse." Dreadfully hard done by, but secure in the knowledge that he has done no wrong; dismissive of a justice system that erroneously found him guilty of nothing at all, but pursuing his innocent business interests as he saw fit, as any experienced businessman would, indeed.
"But someone has to resist the putrification (sic) of justice in these jurisdictions, and if someone of my means doesn't, who will?". Yes, true, who indeed? Who among the population at large had access to the social and political high and mighty, to corporate wealth and stealth, to living an outrageously lavish and ostentatious lifestyle? Too bad about justice being in such a state of putrefaction, though.
Peculiar, on the face of it, that none of his high-priced lawyers' appeals to higher courts of justice have yet to render an alteration of the verdict of guilt, nor have they found any success in ameliorating his plight by shortening his prison sentence. Justice can be so tediously unreasonable. But he is using his time well. Having launched a series of inmate-invited lectures on American history.
Purring with self-gratified pleasure with self, acclaiming the success of his history lessons launched in a generous effort to educate his fellow-inmates. During the process of imparting his historical knowledge, he also indulged in entertaining his fellow inmates with tales of his corporate successes "...I did reminisce about some parts of my career. It was an amusing session, as the other participants are colourful and interesting people."
The simple fact being that anyone with whom Lord Black, the former media baron, associates, must of necessity be interesting. And since he is now companioned by a group of people whom justice has unaccountably punished by separation from law-abiding society, they too must be seen to be "colourful and interesting". As no doubt they are.
No narcissism on display here, though. Other than what he has discerned in the manner of a newspaper reporter dispatched to the prison to interview his fellow inmates whom he describes as: "A Post stringer infested the parking lot, badgering arriving and departing visitors and generally maintaining the high standards of Murdoch journalism." Quite unlike the outstanding quality of reportage manifested in his own lost publishing empire.
As for the prison he is currently confined to: "It is far from a country club and is a material contrast from life in my homes, but it is not uncivilized and I am putting the time to good use and planning the relaunch of my career when this lengthy and tiresome persecution is over." Poor man, so put-upon, so little-understood by the authorities, but complacent in the realization that his friends and admirers understand the situation.
He hastens to add that he remains philosophical about his travails. "If saintly men like Gandhi could choose to clean latrines, and Thomas More could voluntarily wear a hair shirt, this experience won't kill me." He has a penchant for placing himself in the company of world-class luminaries, imagining himself to be one of their ilk, and that history can be expected to treat him so.
Sigh. Will no one rid us of this troublesome scribbler?
Labels: Human Fallibility, Justice, Life's Like That
posted by Pieface | 6:45 PM
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