Jo and the hard working common people's revolt

This is for the best, Jo thought to herself. She had been mere hours away from leaving the country with all her funds intact, instead, now she was sat in her office surrounded by the few die hard sycophants that either still believed in the original cause or who were too stupid to realise it was all over.

When she had started the uprising, it had been fun to try and throw off the shackles of the establishment. Jo shed her background of wealth and became reborn as the common person. Her message was clear and simple, things used to be better. She preached that the government had betrayed the people, they had made deals with foreign interests behind the backs of the public. That when they lined their pockets the squeezed middle fell further and further from prosperity and closer to the scroungers and criminals of the lower classes. These foreign countries were the same ones that our grandparents had fought against not so long ago, the sacrifice of the working class heroes were always forgotten by those whose ancestors were officers stationed far behind the front line.

Her party had railed against experts. What do they know? They are paid to give an answer. They get it wrong all the time; they know nothing. The message had been popular. Science and facts fell easily when ignorance was championed. Journalistic integrity faulted just enough for her to smash it apart, anyone who scrutinised her was unconsciously biased, incapable of understanding the rigours that the hard working people of the country struggled through each and every day.

When some of the more unsavoury parts of her affiliation had attacked foreigners who lived within the country, Jo had kept quiet. While she never openly supported them directly, she refused to condemn the thugs. In the eyes of her supporters these foreigners had come here and stolen tax money through fraud, they were lazy and stole the common people’s jobs. They had too many children and they swamped the education system, preventing the children of this country from going to school, robbing them of their very future, the militant wing was just upholding the law when the police refused to.

Being a party of protest was easy, she did not have to give solutions, she only had to point out how bad the plans were of those in charge. What did it matter if she lied? Everyone else was. Her words were like rocks thrown by children, sailing through the air and crashing through the greenhouse next door, the louder the smash the greater the cheer from the children.

When they had finally gotten into power, well that was a different matter. Then it was time to make hay. She diverted the public’s interest by performing dead cat public rallies. “I’m working for you. We will get there” sensationalism casting a cloak over all her misdemeanours.  

When the economy crashed it was not a concern, she had already diversified her investments into foreign markets.

When the rioting started there were plenty of enemies for her to point the public to. These were the real enemies of the people, the lawmakers, the scientists, the journalists, the few foreigners left, the defectors. They lied for pay, they would do anything to stop the honest hard working people of this country from raising up and taking what they deserved.

How precisely she had lost power she was unsure of, but as she looked at the despicable people around her she was happy that it was all burning down.

How interesting it was to be on this side of the door for a change.