Desi Cortez

He didn’t light racism’s bonfire; he revved a leaf-blower, doused everything in jet fuel, and cackled like a frat bro torching the couch after homecoming.

It’s yesteryear’s slow-cooked Yankee Pot Roast stew of resentment finally boiling over, and now they’re spooning it onto the nation’s dinner plate and calling it a “return to greatness.”

Step to the microphone, sob about having “fallen short,” announce that Jesus stamped paid in full on your invoice, and accuse the Deep State of planting both the temptress and the lipstick on your collar.

How many Purple Hearts does it take to secure a seat at democracy’s table? Apparently more than America has minted.

The architects of this new era of terror are mainstream, buttoned-up, Bible-waving, regulation-cutting, golf-club Republicans.

America talks of liberty and justice, but most of its history is one long, vicious walk in the other direction.

We will continue to rise, to build, to demand a place at this table - even if they keep pretending it’s not set for us.

It’s time to either confront this country’s demons or allow them to destroy what remains of this so-called “house.”

I find any plantation where my ancestors were enslaved - now serving as event centers for lavish antebellum-themed galas - disgusting and morbid.