Photo:Getty Images/John Moore

Dear White House Press Corps, Why Can’t You Stand Up and Against An Over-Indulged Authoritarian?

Ezinne Ukoha


The United States of America isn’t united, but you don’t need me to verify what you already know. No matter what side of the political divide you claim, the views match up for anyone with a zip code that registers your location in a country that’s drowning in its own blood.

As I’m typing away with the mandate to challenge the press corps for the temperate response to the mutant bully in The White House, the breaking news is a distracting tragedy that has become the normalized existence that won’t ever be rectified to protect our lifespan.

Another mass shooting, staged by another White male, who exhibited signs of mental trauma that enlisted several encounters with law enforcement, but never resulted in the help he needed — has taken the lives of young people who attended nearby colleges — and just wanted to enjoy a fun night of line dancing at local spot.

As usual, frantic relatives and stunned friends are holding on to the hope that missing loved ones aren’t lying in a pool of blood in the barricaded premises where phones are ringing and bodies aren’t moving.

The Commander of mayhem and chaos issued the standard tweet that compliments the heroism of the fallen sheriff and ends with the excruciating emptiness of “God’s blessings.”

Whether God ever decides to “bless” us with his presence in the near future remains to be seen, but in the meantime, we’re left with a devastating war zone, that’s being managed by a toxic administration that’s committed to the religion of White supremacy, and the early stages of a dictatorship.

When President Trump decided to hold a news conference at 11:30am, in the East Room of The White House the day after the torturous midterm elections — the festivities began almost half an hour later. Evidently, one of the many charming qualities of the traitorous leader is his penchant for keeping dignitaries waiting for the hell of it.

Watching from the bosom of my worn out couch, it became immediately clear, that this orchestrated shit show was going to be disgustingly memorable.

Trump looked like a diseased character from a Stephen King novel, as he shifted his…