It almost sounded comical, so I wrote it down.
Somehow, on paper, it’s even funnier: the government is eating children. The phrase dents the paragraph like a fallen tree. Destructive, out of place and impossible to ignore. It’s so abhorrently inconceivable that I question my own spelling, as if a typo might change the sentence altogether. It reads like the title of an avant garde Broadway production or some heavy-handed metaphor for censorship or public education, something symbolic or hyperbolic. But, no—the government is literally eating children.
How dare the sun keep rising? The government is eating children and time still has the audacity to pass. People are still going to work, paying taxes and making plans for the future. There are pregnancy announcements and weather reports. There are sports scores scrolling obediently across the bottom of the screen. How have, both, the sky and the ground managed to stay intact while the government is eating children.
Why do people stare at disasters in movies while we, the audience, yell opposite directions at the screen? Inactivity is due in part by disbelief. You can skim documents. View emails and JPGs. You can even go as far as to read the files to completion. Regardless the manner or amount you consume this information, the evil inside the Epstein files takes time to register.
How do you wrap your head around human beef jerky and breeding farms? How do even begin to conceptualize modern, industrialized cruelty at such a barbaric and elite level. You don’t. At least not immediately. Like your body, the mind will resist what it cannot metabolize.
So you laugh. The first stage of grief is denial. You make memes and TikToks. You conspire further; theorize about God and Baal. Rituals and sacrifices. You exaggerate because, these days, exaggerations feel safer than specificity. Because divine warfare makes more sense that pure evil. Because the real horrors need no embellishment.
You repeat yourself. Say the government is eating children until you start to see it. Then, you shake it off. Ignore it because it makes you sick. Unplug. Breathe. Go to work. Because someone somewhere will care enough for you and someone somewhere will actually know what to do.
But what do you even do when you find out your government is eating children? Tell the government? The censored press? The fascist law enforcement? The criticisms on America’s reaction to the Epstein files is frustrating because there is no precedence or unit of measurement to base this on. There is no historical template for how ordinary citizens are supposed to process and react to something like this.
Those inquiring about absent outrage are not any more outraged than you. You are proceeding on just as normally as the next because life is stubborn like that.
Outrage is easy. Anger is easy. Impulsive and immediate. It gives the body something to do. Something that feels like action but is nothing more than another emotion. But sustained engagement? Discernment? Demanding transparency without surrendering to paranoia? That’s harder. That’s slower. That requires patience in an age addicted to speed. To refuse to let disgust curdle into apathy or metastasize into fantasy.
What are we doing about the Epstein files? Some are investigating. Others litigating. And others still speculating. But collectively, we are in denial—and that’s something. That’s important. If there were no denial, no recoil, it would mean this is common knowledge. Expected. Conceivable. Acceptable. But it’s not. We genuinely cannot believe our eyes.
The government is eating children is not a simple phrase. It barely fits in my mouth. Barely sits on this paper. The government is eating children. Hmmm. Still doesn’t sound quiet right. And that’s the point.
When institutions falter to this degree, it feels like a death. Our country. Our home. No matter how much you already knew or think you knew, our reality is dead. However, for the first time in a while, we feel united in disbelief. United in disgust.
From the right to the left, from the conservative uncle to the blue-haired barista, from the government redactions to independent journalism, we can all agree this is some sick shit. We can all agree there is hell to pay to captain. And there’s nothing scarier and nothing more productive than states in America that are united.
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