Why Ambitious Elections And The Power to Vote Won’t Save Us
White supremacy is America’s Addiction of Choice
The midterm elections have become the event of the year, as the monumental celebrations that are assigned to the privilege of being able to vote for the politicians that are committed to the task of either overthrowing “Trumpism,” or propelling the hateful rhetoric that the current administration has proudly perfected with no apologies.
The climate is feverishly energetic, as the messaging assaults us with classic imagery, that aims to seduce lethargic tendencies with the trendiness of being an active participant in this competitive arena.
The epic saga features an impressive array of celebs who’ve either lived in The White House or are buddies with those who have, and they’re all maximizing their platforms as mandated influencers who carry the mandate that pressures us into action.
The collective media is also doing the most to profit from the formulated hysteria as online pubs generate clicks with staged ads that showcase the hip and hipper, dropping blurbs that summarize why joining the party is the only way to save our lives.
Cable network giants have been roaring to go, and watching CNN capitalize on the president’s key phrases and off-putting moments forced me to temporarily refresh with Fox News — and did you know that enough effort has led to the blending of those deliveries?
The circus of idiotic pundits that swear “the caravan” is an explosive device that needs to be intercepted by uniformed thugs, coupled with the transparency of hyping an event that really isn’t the rallying cry that will change us forever — has evolved into a headache-inducing pandemonium.
When it comes to this election season, the stakes are imposingly higher than normal, but when you take a time out and revert back to the person who was able to enjoy the privilege of processing thoughts without the attack from bedazzled clutter — you just might ponder the reality of being societally bamboozled.
My tweet isn’t the popular vote, but in my camp, there is no greater truth.
Regardless of the prophetic outcome after we’ve done our civic duty as wearied citizens of a country that would rather weather the guiltless disposition of bullet-ridden class rooms, than dismantle the power accrued to organizations — that fund the resultant of murderous rage in the form of gunpowder — nothing will ever save us if tangible change never comes.
Despite the anthem of liberals, old and new, the path to progress is still sealed with thick wrappings of yellow tape.
Conservative Nigerians who grew up watching The 700 Club, torment my parents with prayer requests for Trump through the infected channels of WhatsApp, the new and improved portal for hate-mongering. The belief system is based on the frighteningly bizarre scale of scheming righteousness that trusts how the Lord works in mysterious ways.
Donald Trump was anointed by the heavens above to prepare Christians for the end of days, and that one-way-ticket to the pearly gates was never meant to happen without extreme challenges.
I actually praise God that we got what we got when the first ever Black president took his final bow, because the eight years of bliss was the ultimate betrayal heard around the world.
This White president, arrived to remove the blinders, and shame us for daring to accept the falsehood of a nation that comprises of enough humans to balance out the robots.
As it turns out, we hate each other with passionate brutality, and the platforms that tricked us into signing away our existence, hold all the receipts.
Furthermore, there’s the religion that trumps the Holy Trinity and it’s called White supremacy.
You can’t fantasize about a healthier and livable environment, when the very foundation that we stand on is leaking blood that furiously flows with brain matter, that’s visible from the traitorous acts of yesterday and today.
And the heightened nostalgic packaging that caters to the Obama years is exhausting when you consider the irrevocable trappings of that dream sequence — that has since been butchered into distorted bits.
Where is the enthusiasm that’s supposed to light us into movement when you peep how the notion of hate sourly becomes the trend that prominent White people use as the initiator for personalized agendas?
Suddenly the GOP rejects the very ideology that has served them well for centuries, and also played a massive role in electing their current leader, who at least has the balls to take ownership of the bullet points — that have illustrated the commandments that regulate the lives of non-Whites as expendable.
Weirdly vilifying Steve King, the congressman from Iowa, who has been openly frank about his practice of White nationalism, at a time when hate speech is being used as the weaponry of the opposition, who hit hard where it hurts the most with accusatory missiles — is a sickening reckoning of how White privilege works to protect Whiteness at the expense of the real victims.
Why aren’t we challenging the disingenuousness of the GOP, and the bid to cleanse away what has always been the preferred default of beautified griminess?
Are we going to pretend that President Trump isn’t the representative of White people who either hate Black people, or never care enough to galvanize the events that would demonstrate the intolerance of oppression against their oppressed counterparts?
We can vote if we want to, and even internalize the glorious wins of unblemished candidates as the evidence of a better tomorrow, but we can’t ever pretty up an ugly America, that only thrives when serious shit is translated into fun-filled skits, that can’t handle the silence when the parade is over, and the silence of another mass shooting or lifeless Black body brings us back to life.
The epicenter of the pain that the vulnerable must suffer through — day in and day out can’t be vanquished with votes and the tallying of how most of us are responding to the blaring sirens.
The country that was stolen from its founders will continue to be a diseased haven that still has the appetite to pay homage to a tradition of hate and violence on a day in November, that’s dolled up with the dressing of wretched supremacy.
Nothing is ever going to change, but we dream anyway, because Hollywood endings need to be included as the shiny amor that distracts from the impossibly dusty wreckage.
It’s no biggie, we’re used to the lies and deceit, it’s just a shame that truth tellers in lighted studios have rejected the power to save us.
With the truth.