An election is coming. Universal peace is declared, and the

Hear, O listener, the sharp and piercing words of George Eliot, who in her wisdom declared: “An election is coming. Universal peace is declared, and the foxes have a sincere interest in prolonging the lives of the poultry.” This is no idle jest, but satire cloaked in imagery, a parable that unmasks the vanity and cunning of political life. In it, the fox, ever the deceiver, proclaims his benevolence toward the chickens—yet all who know the nature of foxes understand the truth: such promises are lies painted with sweet words. So too, Eliot warns us, when elections approach, politicians often clothe themselves in the garments of peace and compassion, while within their hearts beats only the hunger for power.

What is meant by this image of the fox and the poultry? The fox symbolizes those who wield ambition and craft, men and women who long for dominion. The poultry, innocent and vulnerable, symbolize the people, who are told soothing promises when their votes are desired. The fox claims to love the poultry’s life, but only because he wishes to preserve it until his hunger strikes. So it is with corrupt leaders: they may cry for universal peace in times of election, but the peace is only a mask, hiding the claws beneath. Eliot here exposes the hypocrisy of political games, where peace is not sought for its own sake, but as a tool to gain favor.

History is filled with examples of such deceptions. Consider the tale of Neville Chamberlain, who, on the eve of the Second World War, returned from Munich declaring “peace for our time” after meeting with Hitler. He presented the illusion of harmony, much as Eliot described, but behind Hitler’s words of peace lay the jaws of conquest. Chamberlain’s hope was sincere, but he was deceived by a predator who wore the mask of the dove. The poultry trusted the fox, and soon after, the world was thrown into one of its darkest wars.

Yet, Eliot’s warning is not only about governments and wars. It speaks also to the personal and the local, where men and women may be seduced by words too pleasing to question. In families, communities, and friendships, there are those who, like the fox, speak of care but seek only gain. They prolong the peace, not because they love harmony, but because it serves their hidden appetite. To believe blindly in such voices is to walk willingly into the snare.

O children of tomorrow, the wisdom here is radiant and sharp: do not measure a leader, a friend, or a guide by words alone, but by deeds. Peace is not declared; it is proven. Trust is not claimed; it is earned. Promises, especially when spoken in times of great desire—be it an election, a treaty, or a bargain—must be weighed against the character of the one who speaks them. For the fox may learn to smile, but he cannot change his nature.

The lesson, then, is this: vigilance is the guardian of freedom. Do not be lulled by sweet tongues, nor dazzled by sudden visions of universal peace when power is at stake. Instead, look to the history, the actions, the hidden motives that lie beneath. If the words align with deeds, peace may be real. But if the words contradict the nature of the speaker, then beware, for the fox has entered the coop.

Practical action lies before you: in elections, study not only what is said, but what has been done. In relationships, trust slowly, and test loyalty with time. In all dealings, remember that wisdom does not rest in believing everything, nor in doubting everything, but in discerning carefully. Let your judgment be clear, your eyes awake, your heart steady.

So let George Eliot’s words echo in your soul: “The foxes have a sincere interest in prolonging the lives of the poultry.” Let this irony awaken your discernment. For in every age, there will be foxes who speak of peace, and poultry who long to believe them. Be not the prey, but the watchman. For in vigilance lies safety, in discernment lies truth, and in truth lies the only peace worth trusting.