“I didn’t vote for this.” That’s the chorus echoing through the suburbs now. From the lacrosse fields of Fairfax County to the sun-dappled driveways of Scottsdale. People are shocked…SHOCKED! that the wrecking ball they hired to fix the porch has flattened the whole house. And yes, you did vote for this.
Trump was not subtle. He didn’t hide his intentions in footnotes or fine print. He shouted them — loud, proud, and often incoherently — from the stage. He declared war on the press, the courts, truth itself. And he made no bones about wielding the machinery of government like a cudgel, not a compass. This wasn’t subterfuge. It was spectacle. He said what he would do. And here’s the kicker — he did it.
His appeal wasn’t policy. It was grievance. Rage rebranded as righteousness. While Biden mumbled through facts and figures, Trump offered a sermon on fear, in plain English: “They are coming for you, and only I can stop them.” It was less campaign than campfire ghost story, and America clutched the blanket tighter and nodded.
You didn’t vote your hopes. You voted your hatreds.
Democracy doesn’t die in darkness. It dies in daylight, with a ballot in hand and a neighbor’s lawn sign staring back at you.