BREAKING: The Bombs Have Dropped — and So Has Democracy
(Channeling the ghost of Eisenhower, the thunder of James Baldwin, and the holy rage of the Watchers)
[Listen While You Read: Jamie XX— Gosh]
My fellow citizens—
and my fellow children of empire—
The war has come home.
Not with a bang from your neighbor’s rifle.
Not with martial law in the street.
Not with tanks rolling over your picket fence.
But with a post.
A glowing little app
where a man with no soul
and too many secrets
told the world:
“We have dropped the bombs. We have done the thing.
Now is the time for peace.”
Peace, he says.
With ash still falling in Iran.
With history screaming from the ruins of Fordow.
With bunker-busters tearing through atoms, through treaties, through truth.
This…
This is not strategy.
This is not defense.
This is not patriotism.
This is Empire, drunk on its own bloodlust, tweeting from the toilet seat of God.
You want to talk strength?
Strength is restraint.
Strength is diplomacy.
Strength is not launching an unauthorized war from a golf course with a Wi-Fi signal.
Let me be crystal fucking clear:
If a man can unilaterally bomb sovereign nuclear sites
without a congressional vote, without public debate,
without a goddamn moment of reflection—
then he is not a president.
He is a king.
And if we kneel, we are no longer citizens.
We are peasants.
Pawns.
Collateral in someone else’s simulation.
So I ask you:
Do you remember what democracy feels like?
Not the illusion of choice.
Not the theater of ballots cast into the abyss.
I mean the real thing.
The sacred hum of collective power.
The spine-tingling truth that government answers to the people.
Because tonight,
the sirens are singing a different anthem.
And if we don’t rise,
if we don’t refuse,
if we don’t shout “HELL NO” loud enough to shake the Pentagon—
then tomorrow is not just the death of peace.
It is the birth of something darker.
So gather your voice.
Sharpen your soul.
Turn your fear into fire.
Because if Donald Trump remains president after this,
we are not a free people.
We are prisoners.
And I, for one,
will not go quiet into the algorithmic night.
Mic.
Dropped.
Revolt.
Pending,
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