13/01/2025
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ | ๐๐ฒ๐๐ฌ๐จ๐ซ๐ ๐๐๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง: ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐๐ซ๐ฉ๐๐ฎ๐ฅ๐ข๐ง ๐๐ฉ๐ข๐๐๐ฆ๐ข๐ ๐จ๐ ๐๐ฅ๐๐๐ญ๐ข๐จ๐ง ๐๐๐๐ฌ๐จ๐ง
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but what happens when the view is blocked by a sea of grinning faces and empty promises? This election season, the streets are screaming louder than the candidates themselves, not with speeches or action plans, but with tarpaulins, a flood of fabric and ink that has transformed every corner of our towns into a chaotic gallery of shameless self-promotion.
In the middle of every election, like clockwork, the tarpaulins come out. They flood our surroundings, on every corner, draped over buildings, even on trees โbroadcasting candidates' names, their faces, their slogans. They claim to represent a "promise of change," but what are they really promising? What are these giant banners really telling us?
They scream at us with their flashy fonts, oversaturated images, and neon colors. Yet, if you look closely, you realize that underneath all the vibrant chaos, the tarpaulins are doing little more than drowning out the real conversation. Theyโve become the mask behind which the real problems are hidden. We are fed promises, not of substance, but of style. Politics, at its core, has turned into a game of appearances; who can make the most noise, the most spectacle, rather than who can make the most genuine difference. The tarpaulins have become a metaphor for how weโve reduced our decisions to surface-level aesthetics: Who looks good in the campaign, whose logo is the brightest, whose face can be plastered across the most places? Itโs not about values anymore, itโs about visibility.
Itโs frustrating. These tarpaulins arenโt just paper and ink, theyโre a declaration of what our society has prioritized: short-term visibility over long-term impact. We, the voters, are bombarded with these monstrous ads and loud promises, but where are the discussions about policies, about the real work that needs to be done? Are we so conditioned by the colors and slogans that we forget to question what lies beneath? The tarpaulin epidemic is a manifestation of our collective failure to demand more.
Ironically, many of these faces staring down at us from these banners have platforms that promise environmental protection and sustainability. Yet, with every tarpaulin they hang, they contradict their own agendas. They litter the landscape with their ambitions, oblivious to the long-term consequences of their short-term visibility. What happens to these materials once the elections are over? They donโt decompose, but maybe thatโs the pointโa fitting metaphor for the promises that remain unfulfilled.
But letโs not let voters off the hook either. We are complicit. We accept this visual clutter as part of the spectacle, as if elections are a carnival, not a solemn process of choosing the leaders who will shape our future. We passively tolerate this abuse of public spaces, ignoring the louder cries of the voicelessโthose whose issues are drowned out by the noise of this electoral circus.
The tarpaulin epidemic exposes a deeper sickness in our political culture: the obsession with optics over substance. When did we become a nation where leaders believe they can win hearts by winning wall space? When did we settle for faces on fabric instead of real solutions?
As I write this, another tarpaulin is going up somewhere, another face smiling down at us as if to say, โIโm here, and Iโm important.โ But hereโs the thing: importance isnโt measured by the size of a tarpaulin, but by the depth of impact a leader leaves behind. So, to the candidates: If your platform were strong enough, would you even need a tarpaulin to remind us who you are?
And to us voters: When the winds blow the tarpaulins away, what will remain? Will we remember the faces, or will we still be searching for the leaders?
Words by A. Isla Liora
Illustration by Ralph Jasil Escanillas
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Check out the full article here:
https://heyzine.com/flip-book/cf11cae73a.html
