Last time I promised to post this, in order to illustrate how a single hero might turn the tables on blackmailing tormentors, perhaps saving the nation, as well as himself. It's a chapter from a novel in-progress. One that stalled, because I am too old now to drop everything for a year just in order to learn FBI procedures and all that.
And yet, after blathering about this for many years -- the plot driver for this story suddenly seems totally real life. And I feel compelled to post at least this one scene...
...because it might - just maybe - rouse someone out there to do the right thing. The heroic thing for our country and our world. And be remembered for it, forever.
== Unbecoming Intimidation ==
Lorenzo Lessig, on the other hand, looked dapper, even professorial, using his briefcase as a seat to protect the rayon of his suit from rough concrete. He stood up, brushing away nonexistent crumbs, then offered me his arm in a courtly, latin manner. I turned it into a manly handshake. A thing we do.
“You didn’t save me any?”
I glanced with a moue toward the crushed and unpromising wrappers.
“Didn’t you just have lunch with your father?” Swire’s headshake rattled a ponytail that might once have been dirty blond, though now it seemed more dirty, with fading hints that presaged early gray.
“Ancient history. Ten minutes ago. Next time, bring me something anyway.”
“Pregnancy, God’s back door to gluttony.”
“That’s not even clever.”
He shrugged. Lessig grinned. “Well I think it is wondrous. And I truly must thank you, Isabel, for giving me the password to view life’s miracle.”
Born in Tampa to a New York retiree and a nurse from Trinidad, he truly had no excuse for putting on these latin airs. But Lorenzo wore the role well. Also, he spent more time undercover than Pete did.
“To view life’s... Oh yeah. The womb cam. Sometimes I forget it’s in there.”
He smiled. Perfect teeth, aquiline nose and dark complexion. “I think perhaps you tell a lie, Isabel. I will wager that you check developments, many times each day. I know that I would, were I you.”
Involuntary blush response. Find a distraction. I spotted one out the corner of my eye.
“Cheez-it, guys. The fuzz.”
They glanced around and saw the same cluster of movement -- half a dozen men and women plus two ambis clustered at the curb, where heavyset drivers in black sunglasses turned to drive away official-looking SUVs after unloading very important cargo. Ascending the broad steps, all of the former passengers were attired in Washington take-me-very-seriously suits. Only a trained eye could tell that the jackets were made of new, bullet-resisting nano-weave. Any conversation was murmured and innocuous. These days, you simply did not discuss business out of doors.
“Deputy fuzz, you mean,” Pete commented. “We all better go in, too, or Her Nibs will assign us to auditing pot dispensaries in Alabama.”
Her Nibs -- Deputy Director Molly Ringwreath Rogers -- glanced briefly my way as she passed with her entourage. A guarded expression crossed her sharply scupted face as she gave the briefest nod, before resuming her upward stride without interruption. Athletic. I admired how high she could lift those knees. My own clamber felt awkward, crablike, by comparison. Though I shrugged off Lessig’s gallant hand off my arm. Not yet, Lorenzo. I’ll manage alone, for now.
Others were converging for the big meeting. Agents, researchers, lawyers and administrators, passing through the great doors and across a broad, polished FBI seal, inlaid across the atrium floor.
“I’ll go and save us some seats,” Pete said, before hurrying ahead. I couldn’t blame him. In fact, it was probably the right thing to do... though it meant that he missed the grand, surprise entrance that folks would be talking about for... well, forever.
Lorenzo and I entered ___ Auditorium almost last, lurking at the back and looking for Swire. Most attendees were already seated as the Deputy Director and her chief aides took to plush chairs, onstage to the far left, leaving plenty of room for today’s speakers. I spotted Pete, waving at us with two empty spaces -- one on the aisle for me. I started to nudge Lessig --
-- when a hand squeezed gently on my shoulder and a rather deep, resonant voice asked: “Would you pardon me, Miss?”
Tall, square of jaw, with peppered hair slicked in a distinguished cut, the newcomer wore an expensively tailored, dark blue suit with an American flag pin and red silk tie. His gaze swiftly encompassed my condition.
“Sorry. I mean, pardon me, Madam.”
“Sure,” I answered, shuffling closer to Lorenzo, wondering. Who makes such distinctions, anymore, because of pregnancy?
With my bulk no longer obstructing his path, the tall man murmured a low thankyou and swept on past with a determined air. He looked familiar. As if I really ought to recognize...
I wasn’t alone in that reaction. Heads turned as elbows jabbed ribs and a wave of sudden silence followed the newcomer, spreading rapidly as he strode down a long aisle toward the front of the hall.
For once, Molly Rogers was slow on the uptake. It took an urgent whisper from her assistant for realization to dawn.
Hurriedly standing, Rogers stepped forward even as the tall man made short work of eight steps leading to the stage, taking them two at a time.
We could all hear every word.
“Senator. My... what an... unexpected honor.”
His smile. Later image analysis would reveal tension mixed with eager anticipation that had the taut skin of his cheek throbbing an eleven hertz beat. At the time, from my great distance away, his grin appeared suddenly both familiar and ingratiating. Confident and absolutely determined.
“It’s Sean fucking McDean!” Swire said, and not just him. The same words skittered around us. Well, pretty much the same. At least the McDean part. Is there an echo in here?
“No shit?” I was sarcastic, which won a glance of mild disapproval from Lorenzo.
“Good afternoon, Deputy Director,” the senior Senator from Delaware said, loudly enough for all to discern, even without the amp plugs that many agents were now pushing into their ears. “I am so sorry to be causing a disruption.”
“Well... sir...” Molly Rogers looked nonplussed. “Is there something we can do for you, Senator? We were about to convene an important meeting --”
“About the Big Deal. Yes. Very consequential, Madam Deputy Director. Even momentous. Still, I feel obliged and compelled to do something impudent. Something shocking and yet that’s urgent for the sake of our republic. May I hijack your meeting and your audience for just five minutes? I promise, on my honor and on my very soul that you will all find it both interesting and worth the time.”
Still rather stunned, Rogers started to stammer a weak objection, but found herself with no one to talk to, as McDean turned and strode, in three lanky steps, to the nearby podium. From a jacket pocket he pulled out his slim pen-phone and laid it into the lectern’s regular receptacle, turning the pen into a microphone. At once, his voice filled the hall.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the FBI, those of you both present and tuning in from afar. Thank you for your kind indulgence and flexibility in allowing me a few brief moments of your valuable time. I’ll let you get back to your scheduled, portentous topic shortly. But first, let me promise this. What I have to say right now will top anything you expected to witness today!”
He didn’t bother introducing himself, I noted. Of course, Sean McDean was moderately well-known, a mid-to-upper ranked senator and committee chairman -- though which committee escaped me. I saw agents and techies nearby and all across the hall whip out their phones and pull open scroll screens, or else slip on GuGlasses in order to start glomming overlay data, adding realtime info-gloss as the senator spoke. Both Lorenzo and Pete did that, but I preferred letting it all wash over me, unadorned.
“I come before you to proclaim and accuse -- as Emile Zola did more than a century ago -- that a terrible crime is taking place! A conspiracy against the United States of America and against the very possibility of open, democratic government around this increasingly vexed world of ours.”
Ah. I realized -- or briefly thought I did -- what he had come to talk about. The thing on everybody’s lips -- the Big Deal -- a world treaty whose legal implications, especially for the FBI, were supposed to be today’s topic. Our scheduled speakers -- one each from Justice, State and Quantico, along with a professor from Georgetown -- sat in the front row. Pre-empted but as fascinated as anybody.
“First though,” McDean lifted a hand. “I must ask a question.” He leaned toward us.
“Are any of you presently aware of major scandals that involve me?”
The non-sequitur made me blink in surprise. I could tell that it rocked back several of those around me.
“Not minor stuff!” he continued hurriedly. “None of the usual complaints about this or that misjudged or badly reported campaign contribution. Or rumors that I fudged a grade while at Princeton. Or tales that my son got favors in his bid for that defense contract. Forget about the usual pile of gritty stuff that any politician compiles after thirty years of public service. Mostly baloney but maybe some minor or intermediate sins to atone for... with most of it by now pretty familiar and chewed over by the press. Putting all of that aside...
“...please raise your hand if you are aware of something really, really big that’s about to pop, concerning Senator Sean McDean!”
He paused, and was not the only one turning to scan the audience. All across the hall, heads rotated. We all looked around. No hands went up.
“Now I know that’s not a perfect test,” he continued, voice quavering a little, on a harmonic that denoted tension, blended with tenacity. “Tomorrow, possibly even as soon as I finish up here, some of you will say that you were aware of such a scandal brewing, but could not raise your hand because of legal protocol, or confidentiality, or proper procedure or some similar, lame excuse. When these colleagues speak, note who they are! It’s important. And I’ll tell you why.
“You see, I am being blackmailed.”
Senator McDean allowed that to sink in. The hall was dead silent.
“I was recently shown ‘evidence’ of something awful.”
He did not lift hands to gesture quotation marks, but his voice put them there.
“Evidence that was concocted using vividly realistic modern methods, even more advanced than those currently used in Hollywood. I was told that these horrid materials would be revealed to both authorities and the public, if I didn’t comply. Help pass or modify certain bills. Block others from becoming law. The choice I was offered was simple. Become their lap-dog, their wholly-owned U.S. Senator... or else face ruin.”
Now, silence gave way to a low murmur. Heads turned and whispers were exchanged. I glimpsed Lorenzo, wearing heavy GuGoggles, use his fingers to pluck at thin air and flick something invisible to the bare-eyed -- something virtual -- past me over to Pete. A link he must have found, online. Pete waved it away and took off his own pair of specs, joining me in the much more fascinating real moment.
“I strung the conspirators along for as long as I could,” McDean continued. “Pretending to play along. I truly was at a loss, you see. Would people believe the nasty, so-called evidence that had been concocted about me? Was my life of service at an end? I confess that -- to my everlasting shame -- the temptation to cave-in, though nauseating, did occur to me. I felt trapped. The possibility of prison or public humiliation can break some men...
“...or else anger can steel the mind!
“And so, I got past my moment of weakness. Discretely, I did some research. and came to a stark, horrified realization.
“I am not the only one!”
Senator McDean gripped the edges of the lectern so hard that I heard the wood audibly complain with a faint crack.
“Let me ask you all something,” he said in a voice suddenly gone both tense and hushed. “Have you ever stopped to wonder why our politics started getting so weird, about a generation ago? I’m not just talking about the cable, web and mesh hate-jockies who keep dividing the people into ever smaller classes of mutual resentment, suckling on the teat of indignant resentment. Nor do I mean the tsunamis of cash that flood through this town, both overt and covert. Indeed, the Big Deal is supposed to partly resolve or reduce that part of things. We can hope. But don’t hold your breath.
“No, by weird, I’m talking about the way some politicians, leaders, civil servants and other figures of importance keep saying one thing and then doing another. They claim to maintain consistency... adherence to a steady philosophy and agenda. Yet, whatever they touch actually winds up heading in a different direction! Social conservatives who claim to be vigorously “pro-life” or anti-gay, but who never deliver anything real and always seem to sabotage their side with some ill-chosen words. Did you ever wonder how they could be so stupid? Or negotiators wrangling new deals for health care or the environment... who somehow leave in place a loophole that lets frackers and frokkers and big pharma companies free to do whatever they please?
“That’s the sort of thing my blackmailers wanted me to start doing! Maintain my public pose as a fighting reformer! But effectively make sure their subtle agenda kept moving forward! And I realized, it would kill me. I would die inside, if I went along.
“So I looked around.
“Hey, you all know I had a background in computer tech, before seeking public office. I dusted off some of those skills and did a pretty darned sophisticated statistical analysis, based on existing studies of cause and outcome here in Washington. And what do you know? I found clear signs!”
He leaned forward, intensity in his eyes. “There are hundreds of cases... maybe more! And that’s when I started putting it all together.
“While we were all obsessed trying to pass legislation to reduce the poisonous effects of money in politics -- from campaign contributions to outright bribery -- we forgot that blackmail is more powerful than other forms of corruption. If you bribe an official, he may then say “that’s enough for this year.” She may be satiable. There will be limits to how far they’ll sell out their principles.
“But envision this. What if you have pictures of an under-secretary with a donkey?”
That roused titters of nervous laughter, especially from prudish Lorenzo.
“Or a congressman caught with -- what’s the expression? With a live boy or a dead girl? Suppose you have evidence that can send a major official to prison?
“Do you actually send him to prison? Or do you use it for leverage. Make him work for you, forever?
“That’s probably how it all started. Take some starry eyed idealist determined to clean up this town... a freshman congressman or a brilliant administrative appointee. Invite him or her to a high-class party on a yacht. Separate him from the ones who keep him steady or who provide wisdom in his life. Maybe slip him some drugs or cater to a brief-bad impulse, snap some incriminating pictures, and you’ve got him in your pocket!
“Realizing this, I looked back at the number of times that I must’ve almost fallen for that kind of trap. In fact, as many of you know, I did fall once, many years ago, back when I was in the State Assembly! Though it was a simple, clean, consensual lapse, it still makes me twinge with shame. Only the forgiveness of a good woman -- and the people of my district -- let me put that episode behind us and -- with God’s help -- I’ve been a straight arrow, ever since.”
The Senator shook his head and suddenly veered in tone. I half jumped out of my seat when he pounded the lectern. Bang-echoes bounced around the auditorium.
“That’s why they resorted to faked evidence, using fantastic tools of image processing, so good that...”
McDean stopped, perhaps realizing how whiney he was starting to sound. Petulant and self-pitying. So he stood up straight. Letting go of the lectern, he took a couple of breaths, then resumed in a deeper timbre of flat determination.
“... fakery that’s so masterful, I hold out zero hope that my denials will be believed. I am resigned to facing a firestorm. Denunciations in the press. Repudiations by my colleagues. The curses of betrayed constituents.... And then there’s my faithful and beloved wife, who will endure hell standing by my side --”
His voice cracked at that point. Looking down at his hands. And I felt awed.
Either he is one hell of an actor... or else psychotic... or the bravest man I ever saw.
Silence ensued. It bore on and on. Mere seconds that felt much longer, till Sean McDean finally lifted his gaze to sweep the room, steely-eyed.
“So why am I here? What reason could I possibly have to hector you fine, skilled professionals with this sad tale? The answer is simple.
“You see, I know my career is toast. I have just now sacrificed it, rather than succumb to evil plotters and become their tool. Their toy. But I don’t matter. Let me say that again. I don’t matter at all!
“I’ve come here today, spilling my guts and proclaiming the likelihood -- though I cannot prove it -- of a terrible conspiracy. Or maybe it’s being done by several different groups. My analysis was pretty crude and subjective. But I brought my accusation here, because you, here in this room, may be America’s last, best hope. Because, if I’m right, our republic is being suborned, and has been for a long time. And the plotters by now have inveigled their way through all the paths and portals and gears of power, taking control over the greatest nation on Earth.
“I came here today in order to spring their trap upon myself, before your very eyes, daring them to do their worst, and hoping that you --” he pointed into the audience, somewhere on the left side. “-- or you --” he pointed again. “Or you, or you, will be stirred to investigate all this, perhaps out of curiosity or patriotism or both, despite whatever your superiors tell you! Because some FBI officials may have good reasons to divert you from this matter. And others may be among the suborned... but they can’t get to all of you!”
Turning left and right, I saw a great many faces transfixed. Captivated. So -- apparently -- was Deputy Director Molly Ringwreath Rogers, who sat staring at the Senator, a look on her face that combined amazement and fascination with... could it be admiration? Was she actually swallowing this fantastic story? I saw her hand go to her ear, listening to something being said by a speaker bud. Muscles tensed along her throat and jaw as she subvocalized a reply, sensed by the pretty -- and functional -- hematite necklace that she wore. The sole accessorized adornment of her severe skirt-suit.
“I came here...” McDean continued, in a tone I recognized. That of an experienced stump speaker, cranking up the drama toward a big, concluding climax. “I came to ask some of you -- as many as may accept the challenge, the risk, the duty -- to investigate the charges that I’ve raised today! Find proof. Uncover the conspiracy! Reveal this plot and pillory the bastards in the harsh light of truth.”
McDean spread his arms.
“But there is another group I’m appealing to right now. Folks who aren’t in this room, but who will doubtless see the recordings later, as they splash and slosh around the world.
“I’m talking about... I am talking to... all you other blackmail victims out there. Men and women who now find yourself mired in a snare of threats and despair.
“Perhaps you thought you were the only one. Or among just a few trapped souls. You may even have joined the conspirators by now, rationalizing that their goals are somehow right, as a way to escape self-loathing. A psychological retreat -- your own, personal Stockholm Syndrome.
“Still, in your heart, you know it’s wrong. And beneath it all, you felt helpless, alone... so terribly alone!
“But let me tell you now -- you aren’t alone! Moreover, there is still redemption, it can be yours!
“Just follow my example. Stand up for your country. Find a way to turn the tables. Denounce the sons of bitches and take the resulting heat bravely.
“Who knows, there may be rewards beyond reckoning, for the first few to come forward! Whistleblower prizes? Book deals? Even forgiveness for whatever drove you to desperate submission. Especially if you’re among the first to step up.
“The biggest reward of all? The wondrous feeling that will come with release from your prison! From doing the right thing at last.
“You don’t believe it works that way?
“Look at me!”
At that point, Senator McDean surprised us all by smiling. By grinning.
“I am about to be ruined, yet I have done my duty ... and I am the happiest man right now on the face of this Earth.”
30 comments:
Only a trained eye could tell that the jackets were made of new, bullet-resisting nano-weave.
An aside to be sure, but sadly, something like that might be the only answer to escalating gun violence in this country. Bulletproof clothing that is affordable for the general public.
A very well-written story that's not actually about blackmail, as the so-called 'blackmail victim' claims to be innocent & devoid of criminality, making him a target of slander rather than blackmail.
Plus there's no such thing as a 'blackmail victim', as the subject of blackmail is a criminal by definition, and that's why your 'Blackmail Subject Taking a Brave Stand Against Blackmail' story is a rhetorical non-starter.
Blackmail VICTIM; Innocent RAPIST; Honest LIAR; Peaceable JIHADIST:
This affectation for meaningless rhetorical constructs will be the death of the liberal progressive narrative and then we're really 'in-the-shit' because Social Unity & Conformity is tripartite construct of (1) narrative, (2) coercive control and (3) brute force.
For more information on Coercive Control techniques -- especially those coercive techniques which rely on the 'Illusion of Choice' -- I suggest Skinner's 'Beyond Freedom & Dignity' and Chomsky's 'Manufacturing Consent'.
Shamelessness will follow when we free ourselves from shame.
Best
Whil locum is right that many blackmail victims (not all) began the weaving of their cage themselves, he is an absolute ninny, defending the blackmailers who (I argue) are destroying America. But then, he shares their goal.
he is an absolute ninny, defending the blackmailers
As I recall from back when I was reading his posts, almost 2 years ago, his notion was that the only basis for blackmail was if someone had committed some crime. So anyone being blackmailed was de facto a criminal, and the blackmailer was handing out righteous punishment.
LH
you are being charitable.
I think that our host's seeking a single cause for the overwhelming majority of the GOP's cases of giving in to MAGA is a mistake. I think a perfect storm of unfortunate events is more likely. I think the reason for their supine behaviour varies from person to person.
The main reason why I am doubtful about the number of blackmail victims is that it doesn't scale well. You have to put a fair bit of effort into blackmailing each person. And there are a lot of people that you have to try to blackmail.
While the problems with it as an explanation are not as bad as, say, the problems with claims of in person electoral fraud they are still serious. A combination of other causes which we already know are there seems more likely to me.
I think much of the problem is that people in the GOP who do not agree with MAGA feel isolated. They set themselves up for this a long time ago when they invented the term RINO. That was an announcement that their priority was loyalty to the party or the movement rather than loyalty to the country. Only people like them were to count.
So how can we reduce this feeling of isolation? Or can it only be dealt with by people within the party?
Lloyd is missing the point:
You cannot coerce, control or blackmail an individual who is not ashamed of their secrets, beliefs, actions or the potential consequences of their beliefs and actions.
That's why you can no longer silence your political opposition with accusations of racism, sexism, white supremacy and historical guilt because we are now as shameless as you are.
Best
Locum, I would be surprised if some were not blackmailed. And David and I were not talking about pressure from the Democrats. We were talking about how MAGA enforces conformity. If you misunderstood, then the only way that could have happened is that you were so eager to score points that you read what we wrote in a very rushed and careless manner.
A good little yarn. The motives of these villains is left a bit vague, but that's beside the main point,* which is to describe what is probably the only way to stymie a blackmail attempt.
One counter these (clearly organised) blackmailers might have to McDean's ploy is... not react. After all, by McDean's own admission, there isn't any there there, so why is McDean making these claims that subsequently do not materialise? Is he becoming paranoid? Clearly needs more time to spend with his family...
Oh, it would cause damage in that some of the ones already in the pocket would start looking around. However, the first thing a good fisherman does is secure his catch asap.
The FBI would investigate McDean's claims and analysis, but another thing to consider is how suborned the FBI and other security organisations have become.
Just some points that a snippet of this length can't be expected to cover.
* nanoweave suits still leave the head exposed, which gives marksmen, and the slaughterbots a clear shot. However, a variant on these inflatable bike helmets might come in handy there...
That chapter evokes one of the most compelling allegories: the dam breaking.
A conspiracy can seem water-tight, until suddenly it isn't.
There is something that I like about this extract. And that is the idea of looking for the possibility of large-scale blackmail through a statistical analysis. You would have to be very careful in how you framed the model, but it might be doable.
A lot of people WOULD have to be blackmailed to make it all work, but this is a self-supporting system. If you were the puppet master, you'd hire staff to do a lot of the tasks and use 'need to know' rules for who knew enough to see the big picture.
I assure you teams ARE being paid for this kind of work. Assume it is happening among some of the foreign intelligence folks. Assume it is happening at home to get leverage on some useful people abroad. It's not 'illegal' when the intelligence folks get involved, but the tasks are getting cheaper to complete with modern tech and that puts it all in range of motivated, funded private teams.
First time I saw this kind of modeling catching Ponzi schemers made my day. Of course those ROI's are too steady. See? Statistically unlikely at five sigmas. Much more likely some non-creating person is cooking in the kitchen. 8)
This Senator could do a lot for the nation by revealing his technique. That would force the blackmailers to adjust and possibly make mistakes... or just spend more money keeping all their puppets... or just make a little less money doing it.
You do have to be careful. I saw an analysis that claimed to show evidence of fraud in the 2020 US Election. It had some unobvious mistakes in it. It came across as the mistakes of someone inexperienced in statistics rather than someone acting in bad faith. There were genuine attempts to improve sensitivity which had subtle mistakes in them. As a result, they gave a false positive result.
Anti-blackmail ops are certainly a thing to do in a working democracy. It is certainly not a wonder weapon. It is in of many paths that each of itself require much blood, tears and sweat, like ...
1) Reducing Nationalism, including making amends for past atrocities
2) Tax Reforms and probably expropriations
3) Stronger Public Broadcasting systems, including social media platforms
4) Demilitarization of and better training for Law Enforcement
5) Electoral Reforms
6) Hedging in corporate power and strengthening labor rights
7) Abolition of capital punishment and torture;
8) Separation of church and state
9) Dilution of executive oowers
10) Limited terms or other Reforms for the USSC
11) Free Education, Health Care and a working social security system
12) Gun Control
13) Mandatory social, community, health care or military service for each citizen aged 18+
14) Reviews of the First Amendment to exclude hatte speech
15) Investment in infrastructure
16) Independent offices fighting corruption and providing accountability (the Inspector Generals were a good addition, after all)
17) Careful liberalisation of vice politics
For each point I could find additional reforms that each of their own would require titanic political struggles, and it would take a generation or two to bear fruits.
Unfortunately, your list is pretty much a list of things that the Trump Republicans will not do, or are in the process of doing the opposite of.
Tony Fisk:
nanoweave suits still leave the head exposed, which gives marksmen, and the slaughterbots a clear shot. However, a variant on these inflatable bike helmets might come in handy there...
For a long time, I've put forth the tongue-in-cheek argument that natural selection will eventually neuter the gun threat by evolving humans with dinosaur hide. The reason it is tongue-in-cheek is because natural selection doesn't work quickly enough, and because there would have to be some sort of genetic tendency already present for nature to select.
Bulletproof clothing of any sort might be a reasonable substitution.
"Homer was not written by Homer, but by someone else of that name."
"Donald Trump's card to Epstein was not written by Donald Trump, but by someone else of that name."
I disagree with Lloyd about the potential scale of blackmail. Yes, since each victim must be snared one at a time, since helpless loneliness in a major part of the enforcement hook. So yes the web expands incrementally and linearly and require meticulous care, of the sort that only a few orgs can take up to scale. The Mob and the KGB, for example.
Indeed, at the scale that I believe is happening in the USA, it has to be strining at the extremes of manageability... which indeed might be an added reason for the Project 2025 hurry-hurry campaign. But I see no reason why a few hundred well-placed victims/collaborators is not well within reach.
But none of you have commented on what ought to be obvious, the SELF_implication of Trump's ambitious gnat-nothing appointees, who would eagerly show up at a M-a-lag casita to spend just one hour giving him kompromat in order to ensure loyalty.
(1) In those cases there would be no will to use light to escape.
(2) TELL me how the scenario is unlikely? It is perfectly and exactly what a former casino mafioso who is obsessed with enforceable loyalty would want and easily achieve.
Finally, the orgies! OMG WHY has there been so little followup on the three GOPper reps who told of the Eyes Wide Shut wallowings that would both be very effective recruitment events and rewards for those who stay compliant.
---- Oh. Vitamins abound! L: "That's why you can no longer silence your political opposition with accusations of racism, sexism, white supremacy and historical guilt because we are now as shameless as you are."
The 'we' there is not Republicans in general but the genuine nasty-nazi horrors, like him. And yes, they feel liberated to wear their real skins instead of the g-strings that 'hid' their nazi-ness before.
L: "That's why you can no longer silence your political opposition with accusations of racism, sexism, white supremacy and historical guilt because we are now as shameless as you are."
Correct evaluations of MAGAts as racists, sexists, and white supremacists are not about silencing them. Haters gonna hate, and all that. It's about making clear to everyone else what they are.
What exactly are people on the Left shameless about?
It would be impudent of me, a non-American, to wear a blue kepi. However, I do often wear a NASA baseball cap. Similar message, gentler medium. 8)
Feel free. Your folks are probably better off if our modern-day Union forces win. WE won't show up demanding to turn you into the 51st state. WE are more likely to ASK each province to join AS a state so our Senate can be changed... and then let you go again if you wished.
I bought my blue kepi awhile back. Instead of crossed swords I've got rocket pins on it. You could probably find a symbol pin representing the digital side of a future conflict and then fit right in. 8)
There are some of his followers who would do that. But to do that you have to admit to yourself that what you are doing is corrupt. And most of them are probably too self-righteous to do that.
In the fictional dystopian world of the comic American Flagg!, the symbol of the Plex was a circle with a red star, a white star, and a blue star inside at triangular points.
When a Canadian province joined the Plex, they used the same symbol, but with tiny maple leaves instead of stars.
Surely, there's some way to alter the kepi to give it a Canadian flavor while still keeping it recognizable.
My blue union kepi bears the pin from THE POSTMAN movie! Totally apropos.
And the asking for compromising information runs a risk of backfiring. People might question whether they have picked the right side.
And I have doubts about organized crime having the competence to carry it out. The KGB or their Chinese equivalent perhaps, but they are operating in a foreign country and hence at a disadvantage.
I hope a Peace Corps pin on my kepi is also apropos.
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