
These are the times that try men’s souls… Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered. ~ Thomas Paine, American Crisis, 1776
Sabrina Haake is a 25+ year federal trial attorney specializing in 1st and 14th A defense. Her columns are published in Alternet, Chicago Tribune, MSN, Out South Florida, Raw Story, Salon, Smart News and Windy City Times. Her Substack, The Haake Take, is free.
What America’s barely-elected president is trying to do to Ukraine and the world order is a disgrace, and I want you to know that most Americans are horrified. Even as Trump/Musk/Putin conspire to force their naked oligarchy on the world, most of us have grandparents who remember how fascism works, and we don’t like strongmen.
Within less than a month in office, the Trump administration exceeded its article II powers, diminished the role of Congress, and challenged the authority of the judiciary. Waving away his campaign pledge to lower the cost of groceries, Trump focused instead on maximal cruelty and political retribution dispersed with a wrecking ball.
Donald Trump’s unhinged proposal to take Gaza, “relocate” more than a million starving people to an unspecified locale, and turn their bombed homes into a resort for the wealthy didn’t go over well.
After repeatedly claiming that he has “nothing to do with Project 2025,” Donald Trump has signed warp speed executive orders to effectuate Project 2025.
Declaring himself anointed by God, Donald Trump said during his inaugural speech that God saved him from an assassination attempt to make America great again. Fusing God into MAGA and his own personage, through his words and post-inaugural deeds, Trump has made his monarchical intentions clear.
When a radicalized US Army veteran mowed down 15 people in New Orleans, Donald Trump wasted no time pointing his finger, blaming immigrants and a non-existent “open border” for the tragedy:
It’s morning, New Years Day, 2030. After a night of revelry, Americans are waking up to a dancing hologram, by now familiar, floating over their beds. Donald Trump’s three-dimensional image gyrates enthusiastically if irrhythmically to the dreaded YMCA song, tiny fists boxing the air as everyone grabs the covers. Swinging a flyswatter, throwing a shoe or spraying disinfectant at the specter does nothing; running is equally pointless as Trump’s hologram dances right along into the bathroom.
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