There’s a song from home that keeps looping in my head David Rudder’s refrain, “This is not a fete in here, this is madness.” He sang it as social commentary, a Caribbean parable about chaos dressed as celebration. And yet, today, it sounds like the soundtrack of a nation that has mistaken excess for leadership, and moral bankruptcy for strength.
We live in a moment where federal workers have been furloughed, contractors sit unpaid, and families scrape together the last month’s rent while billionaires toast themselves under golden chandeliers. Courts are backlogged, attorneys brace for an onslaught of bankruptcies, and government offices gather dust behind locked doors. Meanwhile, the richest among us thrive. Donald J. Trump the self-proclaimed man of the people reportedly earned over $1.6 billion during his presidency. Millions in taxpayer funds flowed to his properties. And now, as the government sits in gridlock, a $300 million “privately funded” ballroom rises from the rubble of the East Wing. The White House insists it’s all donor money. But who will pay to maintain it? We will the people footing the endless bill for the pageantry of privilege.
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Show Me the Money Trail, This Is Not a Fete, This Is Madness
There’s a song from home that keeps looping in my head David Rudder’s refrain, “This is not a fete in here, this is madness.” He sang it as social commentary, a Caribbean parable about chaos dressed as celebration. And yet, today, it sounds like the soundtrack of a nation that has mistaken excess for leadership, and moral…
