Dwain Northey (Gen X)

There is, somewhere in the grand marble imagination of American politics, a man who believes history will remember him not as a president, but as a rescuer of civilization—a sort of budget monarch in a red tie. The crown is invisible, of course, but that only makes it more powerful. Anyone can see a real crown. Only the truly chosen can see an imaginary one.

Unfortunately for the wood-be king, the peasants in Minnesota have been behaving very poorly. Instead of applauding sweeping immigration crackdowns and thousands of federal agents descending on their neighborhoods, they’ve taken to marching in the streets, closing businesses, and chanting things like “ICE out.” Tens of thousands even joined a historic general strike after fatal shootings by federal agents intensified outrage. 

This is awkward. Kings generally prefer parades for them, not protests about them.

The trouble began when aggressive enforcement operations—and the deaths of two U.S. citizens shot by federal agents—sparked nationwide demonstrations and deep fear in immigrant communities. 

Naturally, in such moments of national soul-searching, a leader might ask:

Are my policies causing harm?

Should I reconsider?

Is governing slightly more complicated than yelling in all caps?

But that would require abandoning the most sacred principle of modern strong-man democracy:

Nothing is ever your fault.

So instead, the royal narrative adjusts. The shootings were tragic—but also self-defense. The protests are large—but also fake. The unrest is real—but caused by enemies, critics, mayors, judges, immigrants, weather patterns, and possibly windmills. The policies are unpopular—but secretly beloved by a silent majority that is very shy and lives mostly inside polling errors.

Even when federal officials quietly scale back enforcement or change leadership to calm tensions, skepticism lingers because the mission itself hasn’t changed. 

In monarch-speak, this is known as “strategic compassion,” meaning you lower the volume without changing the song.

Meanwhile, judges restrict tactics against peaceful protesters, local leaders denounce federal overreach, and entire communities organize in resistance. 

Which, from the palace balcony, looks less like democracy and more like terrible public relations.

So the question remains:

Will the wood-be king finally realize that when the streets fill with protest, the problem might not be the streets?

History suggests another outcome. The hot potato will be passed—perhaps to mayors, governors, immigrants, or the concept of reality itself. Credit will be claimed for successes, blame reassigned for failures, and the crown—still invisible—will remain perfectly polished.

Because in the kingdom of Never My Fault,

the ruler is always right,

the crowds are always wrong,

and accountability is something that only happens to other people.

Long live the king.

Please remain calm while the peasants keep marching.