White Christian Nationalism at Civilization’s End

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Introduction: White Christian Nationalism and a Collapsing Civilization

America is experiencing a dangerous convergence of white Christian nationalism, authoritarian politics, and ecological disintegration that increasingly fits the contours of a soft fascism intertwined with late-stage industrial collapse. Far from standing outside this project, the Trump administration is deeply embedded in, and dependent on, white Christian nationalist networks: movement pastors, media ecosystems, and ideological think tanks that provide both its most reliable voters and its most disciplined institutional foot soldiers. Senior officials, judicial nominees, and agency heads have routinely been drawn from circles that preach a divinely mandated social order—patriarchal, heteronormative, and white—and that frame Trump himself as a providential instrument chosen to “restore” Christian America.

This essay should be read as Part Two of a broader analysis begun in “America’s Oligarchic Techno‑Feudal Elite Are Attempting to Build a Twenty‑First‑Century Fascist State,” which traced how oligarchs, Big Tech platforms, and security bureaucracies are constructing the material and institutional architecture of a new fascist order. Where that first essay mapped the class, technological, and carceral infrastructure of emergent techno‑feudal fascism, the present essay examines the complementary religious and cultural superstructure: how white Christian nationalism supplies the mythic narrative, moral cover, and mobilized base that allow this oligarchic system to consolidate power.

This fusion is not an aberration but an expression of deeper civilizational crisis: a political project to lock in racial-religious hierarchy and fossil-fueled growth precisely as the material basis of that order erodes. As industrial modernity runs up against ecological limits, and as decades of inequality hollow out democratic legitimacy, white Christian nationalism offers the regime a way to convert fear and precarity into loyalty—sanctifying extraction, demonizing pluralism, and recoding authoritarian measures as necessary acts of spiritual and national defense.


Defining white Christian nationalism and its fascist drift

White Christian nationalism is a political-religious ideology that claims the United States was founded as, and must remain, a Christian nation defined by whiteness, patriarchy, and a mythic past of cultural homogeneity. It is not simply “strong faith” or generic conservatism; it is a set of beliefs that link America’s identity and legitimacy to a particular white, conservative, Christian order, and that treat deviation from that order as existential threat.

Core features typically include:

  • The myth that America was uniquely chosen by God and must be “restored” to its supposed Christian roots.

  • Idealization of patriarchal families and rigid gender roles.

  • Hostility to pluralism, immigration, and religious diversity.

  • Preference for authoritarian “law and order” and acceptance of state violence.

  • Deep suspicion of science, education, and independent media.

When compared to standard descriptions of fascism—mythic past, cult of victimhood, strongman leader, glorification of violence, and anti-pluralist nationalism—the overlaps are stark. Christian nationalist ideology strongly predicts support for a demagogic leader, acceptance of political violence, and rejection of democratic constraints, leading theologians and scholars to argue that “Christian nationalism” in the United States increasingly functions as a form of Christian fascism or “Christofascism.”

Importantly, Lerone A. Martin’s The Gospel of J. Edgar Hoover: How the FBI Aided and Abetted the Rise of White Christian Nationalism demonstrates that this fusion of militant nationalism and conservative Christianity is not new. Martin shows that, in the mid‑twentieth century, FBI director J. Edgar Hoover consciously fused anti‑communism, white supremacy, patriarchy, and biblical literalism into a civil religion he called “Americanism”—a white Christian nationalist vision in which the United States was “fundamentally a Christian nation” whose survival depended on preserving a racialized, gendered moral order. Hoover and the FBI, he argues, were “central to postwar religion and politics” and actively partnered with leading white evangelicals to make white Christian nationalism a legitimate and powerful force in American public life.

Seen through Hoover’s “stained glass window,” contemporary white Christian fascism appears not as a sudden deformation of an otherwise healthy evangelical tradition, but as the latest iteration of a much longer project in which state security power and white evangelical networks have marched together to defend a mythic Christian America.


Hoover’s gospel of Americanism: a prehistory of Trump’s Christian state

Martin’s archival work reveals that the FBI under Hoover functioned as an early prototype of a Christianized security state. Hoover considered the United States divinely chosen, treated the Declaration and Constitution as quasi‑scripture, and defined “Americanism” as a fusion of citizenship, law, and conservative Protestant morality. To obey dominant social customs was to serve God; to dissent was both heresy and sedition.

Hoover built the FBI in his own image: an all‑white, male force of “Christian soldiers and ministers” whose federal duty, he told them, was to defend and perpetuate the nation’s “Christian endowment.” Agents attended FBI retreats and worship services led by sympathetic clergy; internal culture presented the Bureau as a quasi‑church charged with defending America’s soul from subversives. Hoover’s white Christian nationalism rejected theological hair‑splitting in favor of a broad, unified white Christian order: conservative Protestants and Catholics alike were to be mobilized as guardians of a Christian nation.

Modern white evangelicalism, Martin argues, did not stand apart from this project; it was shaped by it. Institutions like Christianity Today, the National Association of Evangelicals, and major white evangelical broadcasters forged close partnerships with Hoover, who published essays in their outlets (often with taxpayer support), lent them the prestige of the security state, and helped funnel evangelical college graduates into federal posts. Pastors preached Hoover’s writings from the pulpit; laypeople used them in Bible studies. For many white evangelicals, Hoover functioned as “bishop” and “crusader,” adjudicating which clergy were legitimate and which were dangerous radicals, and policing the boundaries of acceptable Christian politics.

Hoover’s FBI also vigorously targeted civil-rights leaders and movements as subversive, equating demands for desegregation and voting rights with communist conspiracy. King, Fannie Lou Hamer, Dorothy Day, and others were framed not as prophets of justice but as enemies of Christian America. At the same time, Hoover and his allies promoted a supposedly “moderate” evangelical stance that rejected both “extremists on the right and the left,” while materially reinforcing segregation and opposing civil-rights legislation. The pattern is highly familiar: egalitarian demands are recoded as existential threats to a fragile, divinely favored nation, and state repression is sanctified as defense of order.

In this light, the Trump administration’s fusion of white evangelical networks, policing, and domestic intelligence looks less like a radical innovation and more like an intensification of a long‑standing structural arrangement: security agencies and white evangelicals acting as co‑custodians of a racialized Christian order.


The Trump administration and the Christian nationalist base

Within this historical frame, the present regime’s dependence on white Christian nationalism is easier to see. The contemporary Republican coalition has been hollowed out to its core base: white Christian nationalists, including large segments of white evangelicals and conservative Catholics, whose political identity is bound up with a vision of America as a white Christian nation under siege.

The Trump years have seen:

  • Judicial appointments drawn heavily from networks that view law as an instrument for restoring traditional Christian morality and dismantling reproductive, LGBTQ+, and civil‑rights gains.

  • Executive policies crafted in close consultation with Christian nationalist think tanks and legal advocacy groups, from attacks on church–state separation to efforts to redefine religious “liberty” as the power to discriminate.

  • Cabinet‑level officials openly framing their work as carrying out God’s will, and describing Trump as a Cyrus‑like figure raised up by God despite his flaws to rebuild Christian America.

This is the populist, religious face of what my first essay traces on the oligarchic and techno‑feudal side. Big donors, fossil‑fuel interests, and digital platform oligarchs provide the financial and technological skeleton; white Christian nationalism provides the flesh and spirit.


How white Christian fascism functions

White Christian fascism in America is best understood as a governing project that fuses racial hierarchy, authoritarian state power, and religious legitimation in the context of a declining industrial empire. It operates across at least four dimensions: myth, hierarchy, institutions, and theology.

Mythic past and sacred nation

Christian nationalists sacralize an imaginary past in which America was homogeneous, virtuous, and governed by godly white men. That myth erases Indigenous genocide, slavery, and the long struggle of Black, Indigenous, and other marginalized communities to force the republic to honor its stated ideals. It presents civil-rights, feminist, queer, and immigrant movements not as democratic corrections but as incursions against a once‑pure order.

Hoover’s Americanism was an early, powerful articulation of this myth: he explicitly described the Founders as divinely guided men who built a Christian republic, and warned that abandoning Christian foundations would mean national extinction. Today’s Christian nationalists echo that narrative almost verbatim, casting pluralism and secularism as death sentences for America’s God‑ordained role.

Strongman, hierarchy, and violence

White Christian nationalism strongly predicts support for strongman leaders, even when their personal lives starkly contradict basic Christian ethics. In both the Hoover and Trump eras, this has taken the form of “amoral pragmatism”: religious leaders publicly proclaiming the importance of virtue while blessing, and even sacralizing, leaders whose actual conduct is lawless, cruel, and corrupt, so long as they deliver policy wins that entrench the desired order.

Hoover’s admirers knew he ordered unlawful break‑ins, surveillance, and disinformation campaigns; court cases and leaks made this public. Yet white evangelicals dedicated stained‑glass windows to him, invoked him from their pulpits, and treated his word as near‑gospel. The same pattern holds today with a leader who boasts of sexual assault, incites political violence, and openly undermines the rule of law, yet is hailed as God’s chosen instrument. The underlying logic is fascist: law, morality, and truth are subordinated to the leader’s mission to protect the nation and its divine mandate.

Institutional capture and legal revolution

My first essay details how oligarchic networks, tech platforms, and security agencies are being retooled to serve an emergent techno‑feudal order. White Christian fascism intersects with that process by targeting key institutions—courts, civil service, education, media—and either capturing them outright or delegitimizing them in the eyes of the base.

Hoover’s FBI offers a mid‑century template. The Bureau became both arbiter and enforcer of acceptable religion and politics, channeling state resources to favored evangelical actors while surveilling and sabotaging those it deemed subversive. Evangelical elites, in turn, used federal power and Hoover’s blessing to elevate their own institutions and marginalize liberal mainline Protestantism and radical Black Christianity.

Today’s Project‑style blueprints generalize this approach: purge the civil service of non‑ideological professionals; stock agencies with loyalists; weaponize law enforcement and intelligence against perceived enemies; defund or undermine regulatory and rights‑enforcing bodies; and reshape education and culture in a Christian nationalist image. Elections and courts still formally exist, but real power increasingly resides in a single, interlocking bloc of Republican officials, state institutions, and white Christian nationalist organizations acting together as one ruling apparatus.

The theological pivot: salvation through domination

Martin emphasizes that white evangelicalism’s core problem is not that it was “corrupted” by politics in the 1970s, but that its postwar form was always deeply entangled with white Christian nationalism. Salvation, for many adherents, has long been linked to preserving a specific social order: white supremacy, patriarchy, heteronormativity (the assumption that heterosexual, gender‑conforming relationships are the only normal standard), militarized anti‑communism, and capitalist property relations (laws and norms that treat private ownership by the wealthy as sacrosanct and organize society around protecting it).

Hoover’s theology made this explicit. Liberty, he argued, required virtue; virtue was defined as obedience to traditional Christian norms; and the state’s role was to cultivate virtuous souls and crush subversive tendencies. In that framework, civil-rights activism, feminist agitation, or radical economic demands become spiritual threats; suppressing them is not just political prudence but holy duty. Modern white Christian fascism inherits this political theology and extends it into every battleground: race, gender, sexuality, schooling, borders, and ecology.


Ecological crisis and the politics of denial

White Christian fascism does not merely coexist with ecological crisis; it feeds on it and deepens it. The same worldview that sacralizes human dominion and rigid hierarchy tends to deny ecological limits and delegitimize climate science.

Certain strands of evangelical and Christian nationalist belief—end‑times expectation, providential protection, and distrust of secular institutions—predict strong resistance to climate action. If God has a secret timetable for the world’s end, or has promised never again to destroy the earth, then secular warnings about anthropogenic collapse can be dismissed as arrogance or deception. In this view, calls for decarbonization, degrowth, or global cooperation appear not as necessary survival strategies but as plots against God’s people.

Moreover, white Christian nationalism is tightly intertwined with fossil capitalism. Christian nationalist politicians and donors routinely defend extractive industries as both economic necessity and divine gift, and denounce environmental regulation as an attack on prosperity and liberty. Fossil‑fueled abundance becomes part of the mythic past to which they promise to return, even as the ecological consequences of that abundance accelerate climate chaos, heat waves, fires, and resource conflicts.

This is where my two essays lock together: the oligarchic techno‑feudal elite seeks to preserve its power and lifestyle in a world of tightening ecological and economic constraints; white Christian fascism provides the moral narrative and mobilized base that makes this preservation project politically viable. Together, they generate sacrificial zones—regions, communities, and species written off as the cost of doing business—and cast the resulting suffering as either necessary discipline or regrettable but acceptable collateral damage.


Authoritarian drift as symptom of civilizational decline

Multiple analyses now frame America’s authoritarian slide as part of a wider pattern of civilizational stress: rising inequality, energy and resource limits, ecological overshoot, and institutional decay. In this view, white Christian fascism is both a political project and a psychosocial response to the crumbling of modern industrial civilization.

Modern industrial society relies on dense networks of energy, finance, logistics, governance, and ecological stability. As energy returns decline, supply chains fray, diseases spread, and climate shocks intensify, these systems become brittle. The post‑war promise—that each generation will be better off than the last, that growth will solve conflicts, that liberal democracy can mediate class struggle—no longer matches lived reality.

Under such conditions, democratic politics becomes dangerous to entrenched elites. Electorates might embrace redistributive, decolonizing, or eco‑socialist programs that would shift power downward and constrain profit. Faced with this prospect, segments of capital and aligned political actors invest in authoritarian solutions: border walls, camps, paramilitary policing, and the slow erasure of democratic constraints.

White Christian nationalism offers these actors a ready‑made story: the crisis is not caused by fossil capitalism, globalization, or oligarchic plunder, but by moral decay, demographic change, and rebellion against God’s order. The remedy is not redistribution and ecological repair, but repentance, purification, and strongman rule. In that sense, white Christian fascism is one plausible “endgame” ideology for a collapsing industrial empire: it justifies using the last surplus of energy and capacity not to build a just transition, but to fortify an unequal order through violence.


America as epicenter of intertwined collapse

Because of its military reach, carbon footprint, financial centrality, and cultural influence, the United States is a key node in the global system. When it embraces white Christian fascism at the very moment when cooperation, humility, and scientific literacy are most needed, it amplifies global risk.

Domestically, the movement undermines core pillars of the republic: free and fair elections, independent institutions, pluralism, and equal protection. It normalizes selective law enforcement, camps, and paramilitary policing. It teaches a large segment of the population to view fellow citizens—especially migrants, Muslims, Black activists, queer people, and environmentalists—as enemies of God who may legitimately be surveilled, dispossessed, or expelled.

Internationally, the same movement pulls the U.S. out of multilateral agreements, undermines climate diplomacy, and aligns it with illiberal regimes. This weakens collective responses to war, displacement, pandemics, and climate disruption, while emboldening reactionary forces elsewhere.

In ecological terms, a white Christian nationalist superpower committed to fossil extraction and hostile to climate science is a planetary hazard. In spiritual terms, it represents a tragic inversion of the best possibilities within the Christian tradition: instead of grounding humility, solidarity, and care for creation, the faith is harnessed to domination, denial, and cruelty.


Countercurrents and possibilities

The picture is bleak, but not static. The same Christian tradition being weaponized for fascism also contains strong counter‑traditions of prophetic dissent, liberation theology, ecological humility, and solidarity with the oppressed. Figures like James Talarico—an evangelical seminarian challenging Christian nationalism as idolatry and betrayal of Jesus’s teachings—stand in a lineage that includes Black freedom‑church preachers, peace‑church radicals, and feminist and queer theologians.

Martin’s work suggests that any serious attempt to confront white Christian fascism must be historically and institutionally literate. It is not enough to decry “politicized religion” in the abstract; the long alliance between security agencies and white evangelicalism must be named, interrogated, and unwound. Likewise, white evangelicals seeking to “exorcise the demons” of nationalism must grapple with the fact that their movement’s modern foundations were laid, in part, through partnership with Hoover’s FBI and its extralegal violence.

In tandem, my two essays sketch the contours of this challenge. The first maps the oligarchic techno‑feudal superstructure; the second exposes the white Christian nationalist super‑ideology that animates and stabilizes it. Together, they argue that resisting twenty‑first‑century fascism requires not only institutional reforms and economic restructuring, but also a profound struggle over myths, theologies, and moral imaginations at the end of an industrial empire.

References

Freedom From Religion Foundation. “Evangelical Climate Change Denial Is Killing Our Planet.” September 19, 2024. https://ffrf.org/news/releases/evangelical-climate-change-denial-is-killing-our-planet/.

Heather Cox Richardson. “This Week in Politics | Explainer.” February 18, 2026. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zp6q6sT0HQQ&t=1768s

Heyward, Carter. “Christofascism Is Everyone’s Problem.” Texas Observer, November 2, 2022. https://www.texasobserver.org/carter-heyward-white-christian-nationalism-book/.

Jemar Tisby. “It Can Happen Here: The Links Between White Christian Nationalism and Fascism.” The Witness, April 26, 2023. https://jemartisby.substack.com/p/heres-how-white-christian-nationalism.

Martin, Lerone A. The Gospel of J. Edgar Hoover: How the FBI Aided and Abetted the Rise of White Christian Nationalism. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2023. https://press.princeton.edu/books/hardcover/9780691175119/the-gospel-of-j-edgar-hoover.

Public Religion Research Institute. “The Faith Factor in Climate Change: How Religion Impacts American Attitudes on Climate and Environmental Policy.” May 14, 2025. https://prri.org/research/the-faith-factor-in-climate-change-how-religion-impacts-american-attitudes-on-climate-and-environmental-policy/.

Pew Research Center. “Involvement by Religious Groups in Debates over Climate Change.” November 16, 2022. https://www.pewresearch.org/religion/2022/11/17/sidebar-involvement-by-religious-groups-in-debates-over-climate-change/.

Stanford Humanities and Sciences. “The Gospel of J. Edgar Hoover: How the FBI Aided and Abetted the Rise of White Christian Nationalism – Lerone A. Martin.” March 27, 2023. https://humsci.stanford.edu/feature/gospel-j-edgar-hoover-how-fbi-aided-and-abetted-rise-white-christian-nationalism-lerone.

Talarico, James. “Transcript: Rep. James Talarico on Confronting Christian Nationalism.” Dan I. Smart (Substack), February 17, 2026. https://danismart.substack.com/p/transcript-rep-james-talarico-on.

Transnational Institute. “The Rise of Global Reactionary Authoritarianism.” February 2, 2026. https://www.tni.org/en/article/the-rise-of-global-reactionary-authoritarianism.

Transnational Institute. “Follow the Money: The Business Interests Behind the Far Right.” February 2, 2026. https://www.tni.org/en/article/follow-the-money-the-business-interests-behind-the-far-right.

Yale Center for Faith and Culture. “Violence, Fascism, and Christian Nationalism.” April 16, 2025. https://faith.yale.edu/media/violence-fascism-and-christian-nationalism.

America’s Oligarchic Techno‑Feudal Elite Are Attempting to Build a Twenty‑First‑Century Fascist State

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Introduction: Fascism at the End of Industrial Civilization

This essay argues that the United States is drifting toward a distinctly twenty‑first‑century form of fascism driven not by mass parties in brownshirts, but by an oligarchic techno‑feudal elite. Neoliberal capitalism has hollowed out democratic institutions and concentrated power in a transnational “authoritarian international” of billionaires, security chiefs, and political fixers who monetize state power while shielding one another from accountability. At the same time, Big Tech platforms have become neo‑feudal estates that extract rent from our data and behavior, weaponize disinformation, and provide the surveillance backbone of an emerging global police state.

Drawing on the work of Robert Reich, William I. Robinson, Yanis Varoufakis, and others, alongside historian Heather Cox Richardson’s detailed account of Trump‑era patronage, whistleblower suppression, and DHS/ICE mega‑detention plans, the essay contends that America is rapidly constructing a system of concentration‑camp infrastructure and paramilitary policing designed to manage “surplus” populations and political dissent. Elite impunity, entrenched through national‑security exceptionalism, legal immunities, and revolving‑door careers, means that those directing lawless violence face virtually no consequences. Elections still happen, courts still sit, newspapers still publish, but substantive power is increasingly exercised by unelected oligarchs, tech lords, and security bureaucracies.

This authoritarian drift cannot be separated from the broader crisis of industrial civilization. Ecological overshoot, climate chaos, resource constraints, and structural economic stagnation have undermined the promise of endless growth on which liberal democracy once rested. Rather than using the remnants of industrial wealth to democratize a just transition, ruling elites are hardening borders, expanding carceral infrastructure, and building a security regime to contain “surplus” humanity in a world of shrinking energy and material throughput. America’s oligarchic techno‑feudal fascism is thus not an anomaly, but one plausible endgame of industrial civilization: a stratified order of gated enclaves above and camps and precarity below, designed to preserve elite power as the old industrial world comes apart.

I. From liberal promise to oligarchic capture

The American republic was founded on a promise that power would be divided, constrained, and answerable: a written constitution, separated branches, periodic elections, and a Bill of Rights that set bright lines even the sovereign could not cross. That promise was always compromised by slavery, settler colonialism, and gendered exclusion, but it retained real, if uneven, force as a normative horizon. What has shifted over the past half‑century is not simply the familiar gap between creed and practice, but the underlying structure of the system itself: the center of gravity has moved from public institutions toward a private oligarchy whose wealth and leverage allow it to function as a parallel sovereign.

The neoliberal turn of the 1970s and 1980s marked the decisive inflection point. Deregulation, financial liberalization, the crushing of organized labor, and the privatization of public goods redistributed power and income upward on a historic scale. Trade liberalization and capital mobility allowed corporations and investors to pit governments and workers against one another, extracting subsidies and tax concessions under the permanent threat of capital flight. At the same time, Supreme Court decisions eroded limits on political spending, redefining “speech” as something that could be purchased in unlimited quantities by those with the means.

The result, as Robert Reich notes, has been the consolidation of an American oligarchy that “paved the road to fascism” by ensuring that public policy reflects donor preferences far more consistently than popular majorities. In issue after issue, such as taxation, labor law, healthcare, and environmental regulation, there is a clear skew: the wealthy get what they want more often than not, while broadly popular but redistributive policies routinely die in committee or are gutted beyond recognition. This is not a conspiracy in the melodramatic sense; it is how the wiring of the system now works.

William Robinson’s analysis of “twenty‑first‑century fascism” sharpens the point. Global capitalism in its current form generates chronic crises: overproduction, under‑consumption, ecological breakdown, and a growing population that capital cannot profitably employ. Under such conditions, democratic politics becomes dangerous for elites, because electorates might choose structural reforms such as wealth taxes, public ownership, strong unions, and Green New Deal‑style transitions that would curb profits. Faced with this prospect, segments of transnational capital begin to see authoritarian solutions as rational: better to hollow out democracy, harden borders, and construct a global police state than to accept serious redistribution.

American politics in the early twenty‑first century fits this pattern with unsettling precision. A decaying infrastructure, stagnant wages, ballooning personal debt, militarized policing, and permanent war have produced widespread disillusionment. As faith in institutions erodes, public life is flooded with resentment and nihilism that can be redirected against scapegoats (immigrants, racial minorities, feminists, and queer and trans people) rather than against the oligarchic‑power‑complex that profits from the decay. It is in this vacuum that a figure like Donald Trump thrives: a billionaire demagogue able to channel anger away from the class that actually governs and toward those even more marginalized.

The decisive shift from plutocratic dysfunction to fascist danger occurs when oligarchs cease to see constitutional democracy as even instrumentally useful and instead invest in movements openly committed to minority rule. Koch‑style networks, Mercer‑funded operations, and Silicon Valley donors willing to underwrite hard‑right projects are not supporting democracy‑enhancing reforms; they are building the infrastructure for authoritarianism, from voter suppression to ideological media to data‑driven propaganda. The system that emerges is hybrid: elections still occur, courts still sit, newspapers still publish, but substantive power is increasingly concentrated in unelected hands.


II. The “authoritarian international” and the shadow world of deals

Historian Heather Cox Richardson’s recent analysis captures a formation that much mainstream commentary still struggles to name: a transnational “authoritarian international” in which oligarchs, political operatives, royal families, security chiefs, and organized criminals cooperate to monetize state power while protecting one another from scrutiny. This is not a formal alliance; it is an overlapping ecology of relationships, exclusive vacations, investment vehicles, shell companies, foundations, and intelligence ties, through which information, favors, and money flow.

The key is that this network is structurally post‑ideological. As Robert Mueller warned in his 2011 description of an emerging “iron triangle” of politicians, businesspeople, and criminals, these actors are not primarily concerned with religion, nationality, or traditional ideology. They will work across confessional and national lines so long as the deals are lucrative and risk is manageably socialized onto others. Saudi royals invest alongside Western hedge funds; Russian oligarchs launder money through London property and American private equity; Israeli and Emirati firms collaborate with U.S. tech companies on surveillance products that are then sold worldwide.

Within this milieu, the formal distinction between public office and private interest blurs. Richardson’s analysis of Donald Trump’s abrupt reversal on the Gordie Howe International Bridge after a complaint by a billionaire competitor with ties to Jeffrey Epstein—reads less like the exercise of public policy judgment and more like feudal patronage: the sovereign intervenes to protect a favored lord’s toll road. Tiny shifts in regulatory posture or federal support can move billions of dollars; for those accustomed to having the president’s ear, such interventions are simply part of doing business.

The same logic governs foreign policy. The Trump‑Kushner axis exemplifies this fusion of public and private. When a whistleblower alleges that the Director of National Intelligence suppressed an intercept involving foreign officials discussing Jared Kushner and sensitive topics like Iran, and when the complaint is then choked off with aggressive redaction and executive privilege, we see the machinery of secrecy misused not to protect the national interest but to shield a member of the family‑cum‑business empire at the center of power. It is as if the state has become a family office with nuclear weapons.

Josh Marshall’s phrase “authoritarian international” is apt because it names both the class composition and the political function of this network. The same names recur across far‑right projects: donors and strategists who back nationalist parties in Europe, ultras in Latin America, Modi’s BJP in India, and the MAGA movement in the United States. Their interests are not identical, but they overlap around a shared agenda: weakening labor and environmental protections, undermining independent media and courts, militarizing borders, and securing immunity for themselves and their peers.

This world is lubricated by blackmail and mutually assured destruction. As Richardson notes, players often seem to hold compromising material on one another, whether in the form of documented sexual abuse, financial crime, or war crimes. This shared vulnerability paradoxically stabilizes the network: as long as everyone has something on everyone else, defection is dangerous, and a predatory equilibrium holds. From the standpoint of democratic publics, however, this stability is catastrophic, because it means that scandal—once a mechanism for enforcing norms—loses much of its power. When “everyone is dirty,” no one can be clean enough to prosecute the others without risking exposure.


III. Techno‑feudal aristocracy and the colonization of everyday life

Layered atop this transnational oligarchy is the digital order that Varoufakis and others describe as techno‑feudalism: a regime in which a handful of platforms function like neo‑feudal estates, extracting rent from their “serfs” (users, gig workers, content creators) rather than competing in open markets. This shift is more than metaphor. In classical capitalism, firms profited primarily by producing goods or services and selling them on markets where competitors could, in principle, undercut them. In the platform order, gatekeepers profit by controlling access to the marketplace itself, imposing opaque terms on those who must use their infrastructure to communicate, work, or even find housing.

This can be seen across sectors:

  • Social media platforms own the digital public square. They monetize attention by selling advertisers access to finely sliced demographic and psychographic segments, while their recommendation algorithms optimize for engagement, often by privileging outrage and fear.

  • Ride‑hailing and delivery apps control the interface between customers and labor, setting prices unilaterally and disciplining workers through ratings, algorithmic management, and the ever‑present threat of “deactivation.”

  • Cloud providers and app stores gatekeep access to the basic infrastructure upon which countless smaller firms depend, taking a cut of transactions and reserving the right to change terms or remove competitors from the ecosystem entirely.

In each case, the platform is less a company among companies and more a landlord among tenants, collecting tolls for the right to exist within its domain. Users produce the very capital stock, data, content, behavioral profiles, that platforms own and monetize, yet they have little say over how this material is used or how the digital environment is structured. The asymmetry of power is profound: the lords can alter the code of the world; the serfs can, at best, adjust their behavior to avoid algorithmic invisibility or sanction.

For authoritarian politics, this structure is a gift. First, platforms have become the primary vectors of disinformation and propaganda. Cambridge Analytica’s work for Trump in 2016, funded by billionaires like the Mercers, was an early prototype: harvest data, micro‑target individuals with tailored messaging, and flood their feeds with narratives designed to activate fear and resentment. Since then, the techniques have grown more sophisticated, and far‑right movements worldwide have learned to weaponize meme culture, conspiracy theories, and “shitposting” as recruitment tools.

Second, the same infrastructures that enable targeted advertising enable granular surveillance. Location data, social graphs, search histories, and facial‑recognition databases provide an unprecedented toolkit for monitoring and disciplining populations. In the hands of a regime sliding toward fascism, these tools can be turned against dissidents with terrifying efficiency: geofencing protests to identify attendees, scraping social media to build dossiers, using AI to flag “pre‑criminal” behavior. The emerging “global police state” that Robinson describes depends heavily on such techno‑feudal capacities.

Third, the digital order corrodes the very preconditions for democratic deliberation. Information overload, filter bubbles, and algorithmic amplification of sensational content produce a public sphere saturated with noise. Under these conditions, truth becomes just another aesthetic, and the distinction between fact and fiction collapses into vibes. This is the post‑modern nihilism you name: a sense that nothing is stable enough to believe in, that everything is spin. Fascist movements do not seek to resolve this condition; they weaponize it, insisting that only the Leader and his trusted media tell the real truth, while everything else is a hostile lie.

Finally, the techno‑feudal aristocracy’s material interests align with authoritarianism. Privacy regulations, antitrust enforcement, data localization rules, and strong labor rights all threaten platform profits. Democratic movements that demand such reforms are therefore adversaries. Conversely, strongman leaders who promise deregulation, tax breaks, and law‑and‑order crackdowns, even if they occasionally threaten specific firms, are often acceptable partners. The result is a convergence: oligarchs of data and oligarchs of oil, real estate, and finance finding common cause in an order that disciplines the many and exempts the few.


IV. Elite impunity and the machinery of lawlessness

Authoritarianism is not only about who holds power; it is about who is answerable for wrongdoing. A system where elites can violate laws with impunity while ordinary people are punished harshly for minor infractions is already halfway to fascism, whatever labels it wears. The United States has, over recent decades, constructed precisely such a system.

The Arab Center’s “Machinery of Impunity” report details how, in areas ranging from mass surveillance to foreign wars to domestic policing, senior officials who authorize illegal acts almost never face criminal consequences. Edward Snowden’s revelations exposed systemic violations of privacy and civil liberties, yet it was the whistleblower who faced prosecution and exile, not the architects of the programs. Torture during the “war on terror” was acknowledged, even documented in official reports, but those who designed and approved the torture regime kept their law licenses, academic posts, and media gigs. Lethal strikes on small boats in the Caribbean and Pacific, justified by secret intelligence and shielded by classified legal opinions, have killed dozens with no public evidence that the targets posed imminent threats.

This pattern is not an aberration but a feature. As a Penn State law review article notes, the U.S. legal system builds in multiple layers of protection for high officials: sovereign immunity, state secrets privilege, narrow standing rules, and prosecutorial discretion all combine to make it extraordinarily difficult to hold the powerful to account. Violations of the Hatch Act, campaign‑finance laws, or ethics rules are often treated as technicalities, and when reports do document unlawful behavior, as in the case of Mike Pompeo’s partisan abuse of his diplomatic office, there are “no consequences” beyond mild censure. Jamelle Bouie’s recent video essay for the New York Times drives the point home: America is “bad at accountability” because institutions have been designed and interpreted to favor elite impunity.

Richardson shows how this culture functions inside the national‑security state. A whistleblower complaint alleging that the Director of National Intelligence suppressed an intelligence intercept involving Jared Kushner and foreign officials was not allowed to run its course. Instead, it was bottled up, then transmitted to congressional overseers in a highly redacted form, with executive privilege invoked to shield the president’s involvement. The same mechanisms that insulate covert operations abroad from democratic oversight are deployed to protect domestic political allies from scrutiny.

Immigration enforcement offers another window. The Arab Center notes that ICE raids, family separation, and other abuses “escalated under the current Trump administration into highly visible kidnappings, abuse, and deportations” with little accountability for senior officials. The National Immigrant Justice Center documents a detention system where 90 percent of detainees are held in for‑profit facilities, where medical neglect, punitive solitary confinement, and preventable deaths are common, yet contracts are renewed and expanded. A culture of impunity allows agents and managers to treat rights violations not as career‑ending scandals but as acceptable collateral damage.

Latin American scholars of impunity warn that such selective enforcement produces a “quiet crisis of accountability” in which the rule of law is hollowed out from within. Laws remain on the books, but their application is skewed: harsh on the poor and marginalized, permissive toward the powerful. Over time, this normalizes the idea that some people are above the law, while others exist primarily as objects of control. When a polity internalizes this hierarchy, fascism no longer needs to arrive in jackboots; it is already present in the daily operations of the justice system.

The danger, as the Arab Center emphasizes, is that the costs of impunity “come home to roost.” Powers originally justified as necessary to fight terrorism or foreign enemies migrate back into domestic politics. Surveillance tools built for foreign intelligence monitoring are turned on activists and journalists; militarized police tactics perfected in occupied territories are imported into American streets. A population taught to accept lawless violence against outsiders (migrants, foreigners, enemy populations) is gradually conditioned to accept similar violence against internal opponents.


V. Concentration camps, paramilitary policing, and ritualized predatory violence

In this context of oligarchic capture, techno‑feudal control, and elite impunity, the rapid expansion of detention infrastructure and the deployment of paramilitary “federal agents” across the interior United States are not aberrations; they are central pillars of an emergent fascist order.

Richardson’s insistence on calling these facilities concentration camps is analytically exact. A concentration camp, in the historical sense, is not necessarily a death camp; it is a place where a state concentrates populations it considers threats or burdens, subjecting them to confinement, disease, abuse, and often death through neglect rather than industrialized extermination. By that definition, the sprawling network of ICE and Border Patrol detention centers, where people are warehoused for months to years, often in horrific conditions, qualifies.

New reporting details how this system is poised to scale up dramatically. An internal ICE memo, recently surfaced, outlines a $38 billion plan for a “new detention center model” that would, in one year, create capacity for roughly 92,600 people by purchasing eight “mega centers,” 16 processing centers, and 10 additional facilities. The largest of these warehouses would hold between 7,000 and 10,000 people each for average stays of about 60 days, more than double the size of the largest current federal prison. Separate reporting has mapped at least 23 industrial warehouses being surveyed for conversion into mass detention camps, with leases already secured at several sites.

Investigations by Amnesty International and others into prototype facilities have found detainees shackled in overcrowded cages, underfed, forced to use open‑air toilets that flood, and routinely denied medical care. Sexual assault and extortion by guards, negligent deaths, and at least one homicide have been documented. These are not accidents; they are predictable outcomes of a profit‑driven system where private contractors are paid per bed and oversight is weak, and of a political culture that dehumanizes migrants as “invaders” or “animals.”

Richardson highlights another crucial dimension: the way DHS has been retooled to project this violence into the interior as a form of political terror. Agents from ICE and Border Patrol, subdivisions of a relatively new department lacking the institutional restraints of the military, have been deployed in cities far from any border, often in unmarked vehicles, wearing masks and lacking visible identification. Secret legal memos under Trump gutted the traditional requirement of a judicial warrant for entering homes, replacing it with internal sign‑off by another DHS official, a direct violation of the Fourth Amendment’s protection against unreasonable searches and seizures.

This matters both instrumentally and symbolically. Instrumentally, it enables efficient mass raids and “snatch and grab” operations that bypass local law‑enforcement norms and judicial oversight. Symbolically, it communicates that the state reserves the right to operate as a lawless force, unconstrained by the very constitution it claims to defend. When masked, unidentified agents can seize people off the streets, shove them into unmarked vans, and deposit them in processing centers without due process, the aesthetic of fascism…thugs in the night…becomes reality.

Richardson rightly connects this to the post‑Reconstruction South, where paramilitary groups like the Ku Klux Klan, often tolerated or quietly aided by local officials, used terror to destroy a biracial democracy that had briefly flourished. Today’s difference is that communications technology allows rapid mobilization of witnesses and counter‑protesters: people can rush to the scene when agents arrive, document abuses on smartphones, and coordinate legal support. Yet even this can be folded into the logic of spectacle. The images of militarized agents confronting crowds under the glow of streetlights and police floodlamps serve as warnings: this is what happens when you resist.

The planned network of processing centers and mega‑warehouses adds another layer of menace. As Richardson points out, if the stated goal is deportation, there is no clear need for facilities capable of imprisoning tens of thousands for months. Part of the answer is coercive leverage: detained people are easier to pressure into abandoning asylum claims and accepting removal, especially when they are told, day after day, that they could walk free if they “just sign.” But the architecture also anticipates a future in which new categories of internal enemies, protesters, “Antifa,” “domestic extremists,” can be funneled into the same carceral estate once migrant flows diminish or political needs change.

Economically, the camps generate their own constituency. ICE and DHS tout job creation numbers to local officials, promising hundreds of stable, often union‑free positions in communities hollowed out by deindustrialization. Private prison firms and construction companies see lucrative contracts; investors see secure returns backed by federal guarantees. A web of stakeholders thus becomes materially invested in the continuation and expansion of mass detention. This is techno‑feudalism in concrete and razor wire: a carceral estate in which bodies are the rent‑producing asset.

Once such an estate exists, its logic tends to spread. Border‑style tactics migrate into ordinary policing; surveillance tools trialed on migrants are turned on domestic movements; legal doctrines crafted to justify raids and warrantless searches in the name of immigration control seep into other domains. The fascist gradient steepens: more people find themselves at risk of sudden disappearance into a system where rights are theoretical and violence is routine.

References:

Arab Center Washington DC. “The Machinery of Impunity: How Washington’s Elite Stays Above the Law and How to End It.” December 2, 2025. https://arabcenterdc.org/resource/the-machinery-of-impunity-how-washingtons-elite-stays-above-the-law-and-how-to-end-it/.

Axios. “ICE Reveals $38B Plan for Immigrant Mega-Jails.” February 13, 2026. https://www.axios.com/2026/02/13/ice-immigrant-detention-warehouses-spending.

Bouie, Jamelle. “Opinion | America Is Bad at Accountability.” New York Times video, January 5, 2026. https://www.nytimes.com/video/opinion/100000010627706/america-is-bad-at-accountability.html.

Courier Newsroom. “MAP: All 23 Industrial Warehouses ICE Wants to Turn into Detention ‘Death Camps’.” February 9, 2026. https://couriernewsroom.com/news/map-ice-detention-warehouse/.

CUNY Law Review. “The Architecture of U.S. Fascism: Part I.” CUNY Academic Works. https://academicworks.cuny.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1624&context=clr.

Hampton Institute. “The End of an Empire: Systemic Decay and the Economic Foundation of American Fascism.” June 8, 2025. https://www.hamptonthink.org/read/the-end-of-an-empire-systemic-decay-and-the-economic-foundation-of-american-fascism.

Hartmann, Thom. “Billionaire-Funded Fascism Is Rising in America.” Truthdig, October 23, 2018. https://www.truthdig.com/articles/thom-hartmann-billionaire-funded-fascism-is-rising-in-america/.

Heather Cox Richardson. “This Week in Politics | Explainer.” February 13, 2026. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ajZudGu4exA.

“Impunity by Design: Latin America’s Quiet Crisis of Accountability.” Just Security, November 9, 2025. https://www.justsecurity.org/124089/impunity-by-design-latin-americas-quiet-crisis-of-accountability/.

Immigrant Justice Center. “Snapshot of ICE Detention: Inhumane Conditions and Alarming Expansion.” June 3, 2025. https://immigrantjustice.org/research/policy-brief-snapshot-of-ice-detention-inhumane-conditions-and-alarming-expansion/.

International Viewpoint. “Techno-Feudal Lords or Oligarchy of Data Traffickers?” January 19, 2026. https://internationalviewpoint.org/Techno-feudal-lords-or-oligarchy-of-data-traffickers.

Monthly Review. “The MAGA Ideology and the Trump Regime.” September 7, 2025. https://monthlyreview.org/articles/the-maga-ideology-and-the-trump-regime/.

Noema Magazine. “Overthrowing Our Tech Overlords.” June 24, 2024. https://www.noemamag.com/overthrowing-our-tech-overlords.

Penn State Journal of Law & International Affairs. “Caught in the Act but Not Punished: On Elite Rule of Law and Impunity.” 2016. https://insight.dickinsonlaw.psu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1144&context=jlia.

Reich, Robert. “How America’s Oligarchy Has Paved the Road to Fascism (Why American Democracy Is on the Brink).” Substack, January 4, 2024. https://robertreich.substack.com/p/the-american-oligarchy-why-is-american.

Responsible Statecraft. “Pompeo’s Unlawful Activities Reflect Broader Culture of Elite Impunity.” November 11, 2021. https://responsiblestatecraft.org/2021/11/12/pompeos-unlawful-partisanship-as-top-diplomat-part-of-broader-elite-impunity/.

Robinson, William I. “Global Capitalism and Twenty-First Century Fascism: A U.S. Case Study.” Race & Class 48, no. 2 (2006): 13–30. https://robinson.faculty.soc.ucsb.edu/Assets/pdf/raceandclass.pdf.

Robinson, William I. “Global Capitalist Crisis and Twenty-First Century Fascism.” November 7, 2018. https://robinson.faculty.soc.ucsb.edu/Assets/pdf/FascismbeyondTrump.pdf.

Robinson, William I. “Global Capitalism and 21st Century Fascism.” Al Jazeera, May 8, 2011. https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2011/5/8/global-capitalism-and-21st-century-fascism.

Tellus Institute. “Global Capitalism: Reflections on a Brave New World.” https://www.tellus.org/pub/Robinson-Global-Capitalism_1.pdf.

The Beautiful Truth. “What Is Technofeudalism?” December 1, 2025. https://thebeautifultruth.org/the-basics/what-is-technofeudalism/.

Transnational Institute. “Follow the Money: The Business Interests Behind the Far Right.” February 2, 2026. https://www.tni.org/en/article/follow-the-money-the-business-interests-behind-the-far-right.

Varoufakis, Yanis. “Techno-Feudalism Is Taking Over.” Project Syndicate, July 4, 2021. https://www.yanisvaroufakis.eu/2021/07/05/techno-feudalism-is-taking-over-project-syndicate-op-ed/.

The Manifest

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They meet in boardrooms, islands, temples made of glass.
Their laughter oils the hinges that have never known a key.
The mentor’s grin, the waiting jet, the children smuggled in last—
The manifest preserves the names that justice will not see.

No creed but appetite, no flag but chartered skies.
They harvest flesh like data, every victim numbered, never mourned.
The law kneels at wealth’s altar and sanctifies the lies,
While Congress skims the manifest and asks who climbed aboard.

They dream of outliving empire in a bunker’s private sun.
The world below turns feral as the safety nets collapse.
One falls—we call it justice, say our ritual is done.
But new wolves cut their teeth in shadow while their patrons softly clap.

The Sediment of Touch

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The photographs I kept of you have blurred—
Not from the water damage or the years—
I handled them so often they’re interred
Beneath the sediment of touch and tears.

I used to trace the landscape of your face,
The weight of you, the scent your neck had spelled—
But touch leaves no archive, keeps no trace;
The body can’t recall what it once held.

Your voice was something I could almost hold,
A living thing that curled inside my ear,
But I’ve listened until listening went cold—
Now when I replay, I hear it disappear.

Perhaps it’s mercy, this soft erasure—
Or so I say, as if the mind were kind.
But kindness would not smile while taking pleasure
In leaving me with nothing left to find.

I should have memorized you while I could,
Read every freckle, translated your terrain,
But I took love for granted, understood
Too late. Now grief bleeds out through every vein.

And so I hold what’s left: a fading blur,
Some muscle memory of how you felt,
A static hiss where once I heard you stir.
I hold on anyway—to what I held.

What Cannot Be Consoled

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Late afternoon: witching hour of the soul.
Old men at the bar, their voices gravel.
They speak the names the lake has swallowed whole,
The wives who walked, the threads they couldn’t unravel.

The waitresses arrive. The evening shift.
One stops where windows face the frozen deep.
She watches the world turn white, dissolve, and drift,
Then turns to serve the ones not yet asleep.

The lake holds still—a cold that won’t expire.
The white has eaten distance, depth, and shore.
Still diners come and whisper their desire:
“A window seat.” They can’t say what it’s for.

What do they think they’ll see beyond the pane?
A mirror, or a door they hope to find?
Perhaps they come for what they can’t explain—
What has no name, long buried in the mind.

Now voices fill the room like something warm,
With wine poured out, the ritual of plates.
A thin domestic hedge against the storm—
The way we talk while something silent waits.

The waitresses glide swift from chair to chair,
Their hands like birds, their motions deft and sure.
Thought is a luxury they cannot spare.
The body knows its work, its only cure.

They never look. The orders keep arriving.
The bread runs low. The glasses must be filled.
And yet they serve through all their quick surviving,
A silence underneath that won’t be stilled.

For when they pour the water, clear and cold,
Into each glass beside each waiting face,
Unknowing priests, they serve the unconsoled—
They serve the lake, and give the drowned their place.

The lake asks nothing. It does not require
Our witness, or our grief, or our way back.
It holds the cold, the depth, the dark entire,
And waits beneath, immense, unbroken, black.

The check arrives. We’ve eaten what we owe.
We leave our tips like debts paid to the drowned.
The lake is in our blood, its undertow—
Cold current calling us to hallowed ground.

The waitress waves. The door swings shut. We go.
The lake is where it was. The lake remains.
We start our cars. We leave the drowned below.
Or think we do. The drowned course through our veins.

American Amnesia

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They sold us sunrise, draped in stars and stripes,
A gilded lie that crooned of liberty—
That if we bled beneath the factory lights,
The harvest would be ours, eventually.

“Give us your tired,” the brazen promise rang,
While slave patrols kept order in the dark;
From the same tree the fruit of freedom hangs,
Each body branded on the nation’s heart.

We built the rails, we picked the cotton clean,
We mined the dark and left our fathers there;
Our sweat and blood still oiled the grand machine,
While marble men declared the ledger fair.

The postwar children climbed the gilded rung,
Their houses white, bright futures theirs to keep—
The Dream a hymn upon their grateful tongues,
While others bled to sow what they’d not reap.

A house once thrice a worker’s yearly wage
Now asks for six, then eight, to drain us dry;
We followed every rule through every age—
They sold the ladder, told us we could fly.

They swore the cap and gown would set us free,
Would part the gates that labor couldn’t breach—
We signed away our futures trustingly
For keys that fit no lock we’d ever reach.

The worker who gave forty years of labor
Now drowns in bills no pension can afford—
He trusted the company, the job, the neighbor,
And died in the ICU’s indifferent ward.

They swore our citizenship was ironclad,
Our sacred bill of rights, they guaranteed—
Now sons and daughters, stripped of all they had,
Disappear to cells where shareholders feed.

A child goes hungry for the bottom line
While yachts drift past the bodies in the stream—
Ten men hold more than half of humankind,
And call this plunder the American Dream.

We walked upon the graves and claimed our place,
To raise our steeples over stolen ground—
The Dream required a veil across the face,
Amnesia where the nation’s roots were found.

The Dream was never meant for huddled masses,
Just bodies burned to keep the engines hot—
The velvet rope is held by working classes,
For masters safe above the common lot.

And still we stand where fantasy must break,
Where stars and stripes reveal their threadbare seams—
The only freedom left for us to take:
To wake our children from the poisoned dreams.

What the Eagle Guards

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They come in masks, boots, all in black,
With “sacred duty” steaming from their breath,
To shield the homeland from invented attack—
All those they’ve marked for civic death.

“By blood or sweat, we’ll get there yet”—
A government slogan, shared and praised,
Retweeted, liked—lest we forget—
Echoes of our darkest days.

They cruise the gun shows, work the lots
At NASCAR tracks, at cage-fight nights,
Where wounded men connect the dots
And grievances are crowned as rights.

No college needed, fifty grand to draw—
Just aim your rage at foreign hordes,
A readiness to break the law,
And be the tyrant’s loyal swords.

One law for friends, one for the lower class
They’ve branded enemies of the state,
Where constitutions fracture into glass
As the tyrant plots behind his iron gate.

“One Homeland. One People. One Heritage”—
The tweet goes out, the lie is sown,
Goebbels’ ghost howls above the wreckage:
The Big Lie lives; it’s found its throne.

They shot Renee Good in the bitter cold,
Then branded her a “terrorist bitch,”
While Vance smiled on—brazen, bold—
Absolving every nervous twitch.

They shot Alex Pretti, armed and free,
Then damned the gun he’d legally carried—
“Shall not be infringed” bends at the knee
When the one infringed is the one they buried.

The court, once balanced, tips the scale
For thieves in suits with gilded claws,
While those who cannot make their bail
Are crushed within its grinding jaws.

We’ve watched this show before—we know
The “temporary” tyrant’s scheme,
How “emergency” measures grow
Into the accustomed regime.

So this is what the eagle guards:
Not freedom’s consecrated flame,
But jackboots storming through the yards
Of those they’ve taught us all to blame.

America’s Ordinary Violence

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In Minneapolis, the January sun
Lay stark and bright across the hardened sleet,
A mother kissed goodbye her youngest one,
Then turned for home, her morning near complete.

She saw the armored strangers in her street,
Their faces masked, their purpose cruel and clear,
And stopped to watch—no protest, no retreat—
Not knowing death was standing somewhere near.

“I’m not mad at you,” she said—her final words
To men who’d come with weapons and with rage,
A sentence soft as song from morning birds,
A blessing from a woman in a cage.

Three shots rang out. She’d turned the wheel to leave
When bullets tore through glass and then through bone,
Her body seized, the car crashed—no reprieve—
They cursed her as she bled and died alone.

They blocked the doctor. Made the stretcher wait.
Let minutes bleed like mercy to the ground.
Then spoke of “self-defense” to hide the weight
Of murder that cameras had coldly found.

Her glove compartment held no gun, no knife—
Just stuffed animals for children yet to know,
Small relics of an ordinary life
Now splattered red on Minnesota snow.

She wasn’t armed. She wasn’t breaking laws.
She briefly paused, then turned to drive away—
Yet they would use her death to serve their cause:
A “terrorist”—the blood price she would pay.

We say her name because they wanted silence,
We light the candles where they spilled her blood,
We stand against the ordinary violence
That killed a mother with the name of Good.

And so we learn what “Good” can come to mean
In empires that have turned upon their own:
The guns fall silent, but her light is seen—
A mother’s grace outlasts the tyrant’s throne.

Elegy for the Healer

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He learned the grammar of the failing lung,
The lexicon of monitors and drips,
The dialect that ventilators sung,
The silence balanced on a patient’s lips.
He sat with men the battlefield had hollowed
And stayed in rooms their nightmares had swallowed.

A Wisconsin boy who sang in childhood choirs,
Who chose the ordinary and slow,
Who felt no thirst for what the world admires
But walked toward the wounds that didn’t show.
At thirty-seven, rooted, unadorned,
He worked the hours the privileged scorned.

The veterans at the VA knew his gait,
The steadiness arriving with his shift,
His quiet way of making anguish wait
While turning his mere presence to a gift.
They’d given years to wars the flags paraded;
He met them when their welcome home had faded.

That January morning, bleak and pale,
He stepped into the street with phone in hand—
No megaphone, no flag, no coat of mail,
Just conscience he could never countermand.
A woman crumpled underneath the spray;
He moved toward her. Healers move that way.

They blinded him with chemical and force,
And found a gun still holstered at his waist,
And then pursued their vigilante course:
Ten rounds—administered, executioner’s haste.
No tourniquet, no hand reached out to save—
The frozen street became his unmarked grave.

The man who spent his years defending breath,
Who held the dying steady through the night,
Was designated threat and shot to death
By men who’d never sat with fading light.
They branded him a terrorist, a foe,
Then justified their murder in the snow.

Those who knew him called the narrative a lie,
As we must do when language turns obscene.
The autocrat described him fit to die,
Like vermin swept to keep the homeland clean.
But cameras caught what power cannot erase,
And somewhere, someone knows each hidden face.

What caliber of cowardice requires
A mask, a weapon, a target unarmed?
What doctrine bends protection till it fires
On those who’ve only healed, and never harmed?
Who tracked his footsteps? Who ordained the street?
The questions gnaw. They multiply. They feast.

A republic rots before the light of day;
It fractures through the silences we tend,
The moments when we waver, look away,
Expendable—the lives we won’t defend.
When healers fall for lifting strangers up,
We share the guilt. We drank the poisoned cup.

Say slowly what his thirty-seven years
Were worth—relentless shifts, the steady hands,
The calmness that dismantled all the fears
Of those returning from the broken lands.
Say Alex Pretti—syllables soaked in pain,
Like pressure on a wound that bears our name.

The Mouth

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The century came with coastlines burning,
With markets gutted, ventilators churning.
And into this, a new mouth learned to speak—
Its words ripped from the mouths of the meek.

Once they spoke of giving fire to all,
Of light unchained, of knowledge without walls.
But something turned—a lock, a ledger, a throne—
And the mouth that would free us ate its own.

In Memphis, a grandmother tends her plot.
The server farm drinks what her well has not.
It swallows water, lithium, labor, ore—
And still it opens, hungry, wanting more.

A technician walks the humming rows at night.
He makes his rounds, adjusts the blinking light.
He never meets the mouth, just tends its shell—
A priest who serves a god he cannot tell.

In Texas, a billionaire builds his vault.
If something breaks, it will not be his fault.
His rocket’s ready. His bunker’s fully stocked.
He sold our future, and his door is locked.

A child swipes before she learns to write.
The algorithm studies her delight.
It knows what makes her pause, what makes her stay—
It’s shaping who she’ll be before she’ll say.

A river slows. No salmon make their run.
The current’s drawn to cool a distant hum.
No one explains it to the heron’s eye—
She waits on the bank and watches the waters die.

They promise still: the best is yet to come.
More speed, more scale, more everything for some.
The graph ascends. The shareholders applaud.
The future’s bright, they say. The mouth is god.

And when at last the century goes dark,
What will remain of us? A data mark.
A profile, a preference, a purchase catalogued—
Our lives reduced to what machines have logged.