When once we have walked long enough upon this earth, it will come to us that one moment more than any other defines our brief transit here among the living. Some remember where they were when man first walked upon the moon, others when the angelic Kennedy was taken from us, while yet for others that defining moment is when Philip ‘Phil’ Taylor won his record-breaking 15th world darts championship (o rapturous day!). For me that singular moment occurred when first I heard the name of Kim Dotcom uttered upon the air-waves. It flew like a magical chariot upon the ether and came to me down the wires. I knew not what had happened, but that for one moment the time was out of joint. I felt the strength go from my legs. My mind swam and my vision blurred. Nothing would ever be the same again. This alone I knew to be a solemn truth and in reverence did I bow my head.
But let us examine more closely the gift Mr Dotcom brings. It is, above all, the gift of colour, of light, of contrast, that Mr Dotcom offers us. We have lived too long in cold shadows. We have suffered too long the dull, grey, dreary figures who tiresomely perambulate through our newspapers and tediously hold forth on our televisions. Like the Israelites we have wandered too long in a wilderness bereft of signs of life, the only sound the echoes of our own cries. We have been subjected to an interminable parade of the all too desperately finite, the chosen few who have numbered themselves among the elect and then been presented to us for our delectation, when in reality each repeated exposure is like being poisoned slowly, drop by single drop of bitter arsenic. Among them like a colossus has he come, a prophet to revive our wearied souls, to raise us from our spiritual anomie, to give us succour in our time of direst need.
And so we are intrigued, beguiled. At once are we fascinated and revolted. His is indeed the face of innocence, but in his breast what nefariousness lurks? His smile promises sweetness, but in his eyes, what madness can be seen? This is the gift he brings, the gift of strangeness, of madness, of ambiguity and multiplicity. He is many and he is one.
Just recently, we have heard the lamentations of Mr Dotcom, weeping like the prophet Jeremiah, sighing unto his breast at having been forsaken. For this week did he speak of the treachery he has suffered at the hands of one of those dreary little figures who populate the monotonous dreamscape of our political world. Like Peter denying Christ (vide. Matt. 26:33-35), so too did John Banks deny Kim Dotcom. ‘I don’t know him,’ said Peter, and thus did John Banks also murmur with the stabs of betrayal in his heart. Perhaps somewhere in Parliament a cock crew, I cannot say for sure, but then did Mr Dotcom know what it is to be without a friend (I would hasten to add that not for a moment do I mean to suggest that, wondrous as he is, there is anything Christ-like about Kim Dotcom - for one thing, dare I say it, a man of his stature would not be so easily placed upon the cross, even if he might feel at the present that he is being rather crucified, to speak figuratively).
Yet now the leviathan that is