Portrait de Trump au capitole du Colorado
Donald Trump vient d'écrire sur Truth Social qu'il DÉTESTE son portrait affiché au capitole du Colorado.
Si vous imaginez si, en plus de cela, ce portrait devenait viral sur bluesky ? 😉
À vous de jouer !
Cette chronique a été générée par IA dans le style de feu-Serge Bouchard. Amen…
Before it’s too late, we must break this silence. Find our voice, our anger, our urgency. Refuse to be the spectators watching history write itself without us.
Wake up.
One day, there is nothing left to dismantle, because everything has crumbled. No free press. No impartial justice. No safeguards. Just a great leader and his choir of faithful followers, facing a stunned, powerless crowd wondering how it all happened.
The silence of citizens who no longer believe in ballots, or laws, or institutions—lulled by chaos, convinced that somehow, it will pass.
But history has already shown us what happens when we let the strategies of authoritarian power unfold unchallenged.
The silence of passersby who look away when someone is dragged into the street. The silence of decent people saying, “This doesn’t concern us.” The silence of intellectuals retreating into nuance when they should be shouting…
Flood the space with simplistic narratives, rage-filled promises, empty slogans, and carefully chosen scapegoats. The bigger the lie, the easier it is to swallow. And as it spreads, silence grows.
This silence is the silence of habit.
Attack the journalists, because truth is a threat. Attack the judges, because justice is an obstacle. Attack intellectuals, because free thought is dangerous. And most importantly, attack doubt itself.
Meanwhile, the people watch—indifferent or amused—still thinking it’s all just a show.
History has well-worn patterns.
…Look closely. The architects of absolute power—whether they sport a yellow comb-over or a black mustache—have always mastered the art of dismantling. First, they ridicule the opposition, turning them into enemies of the nation, traitors, weaklings….
[The Sound of Silence]
Some silences echo louder than screams. The kind that carry the weight of surrender, of quiet acquiescence, of habit settling in. The ones you hear in crowds gathered at the edge of the abyss, watching history repeat itself like an old tune whose ending we already know.
