Listen up, the truth’s about to drop, and I don’t sugarcoat!
As the world gathers for the funeral of Pope Francis — a global event that’ll rival a G7 summit, the Oscars, and your nosy neighbor’s annual barbecue all rolled into one — the political elite are suiting up and booking first-class flights to Rome. Dozens of heads of state, each arriving with their own agendas, ego sizes varying from “borderline humble” to “needs its own postal code,” will be strutting down Vatican Avenue to mourn — or, let’s be real, to be seen mourning.
Now, don’t get misty-eyed just yet. This isn’t exactly a group hug at a family reunion. Some of these dignitaries had stellar bromances with Francis, exchanging warm handshakes and feel-good photo ops; others spent his papacy treating him like a bad Yelp review — ignoring him publicly and cursing under their breath privately. But now that The End credits are rolling, even the coldest critics are putting on their finest crocodile tears. Ah, politics: where loyalty is optional, but pretending you had it is mandatory.
Among the attendees? U.S. President Whoever-Is-Currently-Treading-Water-In-The-Polls will be there, naturally. The optics are too good to pass up: a rare chance to pose as Chief Consoler while trying to pick up a few Catholic votes back home. European leaders, ever obsessed with proving they still matter in the grand chessboard of relevance, are flying in droves, armed with black suits and talking points about “shared values” — most of which they forgot to share when it actually mattered.
Even a few strongmen — those iron-fisted rulers who previously treated the Pope’s sermons on compassion like spam emails — are RSVP’ing “yes.” Nothing like attending a funeral to hit reset on the PR meter. Watch for the subtle elbow jabs and side-eyes among these so-called “statesmen.” It’ll be less a solemn farewell, more a Realpolitik masquerade ball with incense.
Let’s not overlook the Vatican itself. The inner circle of crimson-clad cardinals, jet-lagged envoys, and whispering diplomats will be running a more complicated playbook than the Super Bowl. In the next few weeks, alliances will form and fractures will deepen as the Roman Game of Thrones kicks into high gear to choose the next pontiff. Trust me: behind every gracious bow and teary salute will be a maneuver for power. Francis may be leaving the stage — but the ancient, brutal theater of Vatican intrigue will be louder than ever.
And you better believe the cameras will catch every hug, handshake, and forced smile. The world’s political players know the truth: in today’s image-obsessed arena, it’s not whether you grieve — it’s how good you look pretending to.
So buckle up, folks. The funeral of Pope Francis isn’t just a farewell to a leader who tried — desperately — to remind the world about mercy and humility. It’s also a masterclass in political theater at its most shamelessly compelling.
If you can’t handle the heat, step out of the arena.
– Mr. 47
