I know collapse. I’ve seen it in wildfires, in dried riverbeds, in eyes that no longer blink at sirens. And I’m seeing it now—just wearing a red tie and holding a pen.

MAGA isn’t the end of the world. But it’s a rehearsal for it.

Surveillance wrapped in patriotism. Troops on U.S. streets. Ecosystems of trust breaking down. Not with one explosion—but with thousands of quiet, daily fractures.

And here’s the thing: collapse doesn’t start when the roof caves in. It starts when you forget how to tell the truth.