How to Build a Ball Room

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You wake up to find that the White House — the supposed temple of democracy — is being demolished. Not metaphorically. Literally. His Imperial Kumquat, patron saint of ego and marble countertops, has decided that history’s East Wing wasn’t big enough to contain his self-regard. And so the bulldozers came — grinding through 125 years of walls that once sheltered Eleanor Roosevelt, turning them into fine patriotic dust for a new ballroom.

Because nothing says republic like a dance floor.

And oh, there will be dancing. Not waltzes, mind you — not even a two-step of democracy. The floor will throb with the national pastime of decline: The Gator. If you’ve never seen this fine cultural export, imagine a country bar where the good ol’ boys toss their cowboy hats into a pile and then proceed to make passionate love to them to the beat. That, dear friends, is the new choreography of Washington — men in suits, humping their own symbolism while the band plays “Hail to the Chief” in three-quarter time.

Meanwhile, out beyond the palace gates, the so-called “No Kings” movement — teachers, nurses, Mennonites, Marines — are being branded as Antifa. Yes, the nation trembles before the terrifying menace of the PTA. According to the Royal Court and its Fox-fed heralds, every retired postmaster is a potential insurrectionist, every Sunday-school singer a subversive. You can’t make this up — but they do, daily, and call it governance.

Our Leadership’s logic is exquisite in its lunacy: demolish the people’s house while accusing the people of treason. The East Wing comes down, replaced by a temple of self-worship — a marble mausoleum for humility. And across the country, they accuse grandmothers with gratitude letters and pacifists with hymnbooks of plotting the overthrow of civilization. The true enemy isn’t disorder; it’s dignity.

Picture it: His Imperial Kumquat presiding over the opening ball in his new cathedral of kitsch, sequined senators and lobbyists writhing in time to the Gator. The chandeliers sway like the Republic’s last breath. Each thrust a new executive order. Each stomp a blow against whatever is left of shame. And somewhere in the night, a teacher in Roanoke writes a thank-you note to a school board member, and is put on a watch list for subversive gratitude.

It would be funny if it weren’t so operatic in its idiocy. The same government that can’t fill potholes somehow finds time to label Mennonites as terrorists and build dance halls on the ruins of democracy. When historians look back — if they still teach history by then — they’ll say this was the era when America mistook demolition for renewal and dancing for leadership.

But don’t think for a second that Our Leadership doesn’t know what it’s doing. Fear keeps you glued to the screen, keeps you from showing up. They call you Antifa so you’ll stay home. They build a ballroom so you’ll forget the rubble. And while you’re laughing, they’re rewriting the blueprints.

So yes, let them dance their Gator in the ashes of the East Wing. Let them hump their hats and call it heritage. Out here, among the teachers and nurses, the old Marines and Mennonites, something quieter is stirring — a reminder that no matter how loud the band gets, the floor still belongs to the people.

Joining me now is Tim Murphy, national correspondent at Mother Jones, where he covers government and politics, civil rights, and LGBTQ+ issues with a focus on diversity and inclusion.

Why Upgrade? Now that government funding has been yanked, many of us public radio vets will continue to provide unfiltered insight, irony, and the kind of “why” reporting that refuses to kiss power’s ring. Corporate coffers can’t buy integrity, but your subscription can.

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