Dwain Northey (Gen X)

On Christmas Day—because irony deserves a holiday—Dumb Donald, self-anointed President of Peace and Ultimate Arbiter of Christianity™, decided to cast his benevolent gaze toward Nigeria. Not because he could find it on a map, of course, but because someone whispered the magic words: persecuted Christians. And just like that, he saddled up his imaginary white horse, ready to rescue souls abroad while casually kicking actual Christians out of his own country.

It’s a remarkable theological achievement, really. In Donald’s version of Christianity, faith is less about belief and more about complexion. Christianity, as practiced by Dumb Donald, is a heritage brand—best enjoyed by those of Northern European descent, preferably with a red hat and a vague memory of Sunday school. Nigerian Christians? They’re useful props. American Christians who happen to be brown, Black, Latino, or inconveniently foreign? Well, Jesus may have said “love thy neighbor,” but he never specified which neighbors, right?

So there he is on Christmas, invoking Christ’s name while deportation buses hum softly in the background. Christians from Haiti. Christians from Central America. Christians from Africa. All practicing the same faith, praying to the same God, celebrating the same birth—but apparently failing the pigment test. Somewhere between the manger scene and the ICE raid, the Beatitudes were quietly rewritten: Blessed are the pale, for they shall inherit the talking points.

Donald’s concern for Nigerian Christians is especially touching given his long-standing interest in Africa, which previously peaked at calling entire nations “shitholes.” But Christmas miracles happen, and suddenly Nigeria is sacred ground—at least rhetorically. Not because its people matter, mind you, but because their suffering can be weaponized in a culture war sermon back home. Nothing says “peace president” like exploiting tragedy abroad while manufacturing cruelty at home.

And let’s not forget his new role as Global Peace Broker, a title he bestowed upon himself sometime between a Truth Social rant and a golf swing. The man who couldn’t broker peace between a salad fork and a steak knife now fancies himself the savior of Christianity worldwide. The irony is almost biblical—Old Testament smiting levels of irony.

What makes this performance truly Christmas-worthy is its complete inversion of the story it claims to honor. Jesus: a Middle Eastern refugee, born into poverty, fleeing state violence. Donald: a billionaire nativist, terrified of refugees, wielding state violence. If Christ showed up today, he’d be questioned at the border, detained, and deported—unless, of course, he agreed to tone down the compassion and lighten up the skin tone.

So yes, Dumb Donald rode into Christmas declaring himself the defender of Christians everywhere—just not the ones who live next door, pick the crops, clean the hotels, attend the same churches, or pray in a different accent. In his gospel, Christianity isn’t about love, sacrifice, or peace. It’s about optics, outrage, and exclusion.

Peace on Earth, goodwill toward some men. The rest can get in line for deportation.

Amen.