The Iliad of Our Age: A Pageant of Masks and Power

Prologue: The Gods Depart, the Masks Remain

In Homer’s Iliad, the gods meddled in mortal wars not out of justice but vanity. They played favorites, seduced heroes, and stoked conflict for sport. Mortals bled for causes they barely understood. Today, the gods are gone, but their masks remain. What we call politics is not governance but theater: a Greek tragedy repurposed for prime time.

Act I: The Rise of the Warriors and Elders

The stage fills with figures who claim gravitas, each donning a mask from myth:

• Donald Trump enters as the Aging Actor, a faded Agamemnon who refuses to exit, mistaking bluster for command.

• Bernie Sanders speaks as Nestor, weary yet insistent, urging the assembly toward forgotten ideals.

• Alexandria Ocasio‑Cortez stands as Cassandra, warning of looming crises, but condemned to be mocked or ignored.

• Chuck Schumer plays Dolus, the trickster spirit, feigning concern, weaving masks of care but revealing only hollow gestures.

• Tammy Duckworth embodies Achilles wounded yet unbowed, her scars a reminder of sacrifice.

• Mark Kelly appears as Ajax, the warrior‑senator, invoking duty and law against unlawful commands. His defiance is not rebellion but fidelity to the code, yet he is punished for speaking the truth aloud.

Act II: The Pageant of Illusion and Image

The spectacle shifts from warriors to illusionists, image‑makers, and opportunists:

• Marjorie Taylor Greene shrieks like the Harpies, swooping in to unsettle order.

• Pete Hegseth blusters as Thersites, loud but empty, mistaking noise for wisdom.

• Karoline Leavitt echoes like the cursed nymph, repeating borrowed words without conviction.

• Kristi Noem appears as Circe, the enchantress of image, weaving charm into power plays, but her spells reveal farce more than transformation.

• JD Vance wanders as Odysseus without honor, shifting loyalties for optics rather than survival.

• Gavin Newsom shines as Apollo in modern dress, radiant and polished, a master of image and presentation.

• J.B. Pritzker looms as Plutus, god of wealth, shaping the stage through resources and patronage.

Act III: The Chorus of Outsiders

The chorus murmurs as outsiders enter, complicating the script:

• Erika Kirk becomes a modern Helen, glamorous and grieving, suddenly central to the spectacle.

• Usha Vance lingers as Penelope, silent and sidelined, her loyalty threadbare and no longer useful to the plot.

• Robert F. Kennedy Jr. shifts as Proteus, cloaking himself in prophecy and persuasion, but slipping between forms so often that truth itself becomes unstable.

• Rob Reiner exits as the Director, a storyteller whose passing should have inspired reflection. Instead, his death was repurposed by Donald Trump as another line of grievance, not mourning but monologue.

Act IV: The Chorus Awakens

The chorus, the people, watches, half‑entranced, half‑aware. Some begin to see the seams in the costumes, the stage lights, the script rewritten nightly to flatter the leads. They recognize that this is not governance but theater: a tragicomedy of ambition and betrayal, where the masks of gods conceal only mortals desperate for applause.

Curtain Call: From Spectacle to Governance

The play has run too long. The masks are cracked, the stage lights harsh, the script exhausted. We have cheered, jeered, and gasped at the spectacle, mistaking theater for leadership. But we the people were never meant to be passive spectators.

It is time to rise from the seats. It is time to demand governance, not entertainment. It is time to strip away the costumes and insist on substance.

The Harpies may shriek, the Circe may enchant, the Proteus may shift, and the Aging Actor may cling to his role, but we hold the true power. The tragedy ends not when the actors exit, but when the audience refuses to be fooled.

The curtain must fall. The pageant must end. And we must insist: govern us, do not perform for us.

Folklore as a Mirror of the American Psyche

This essay began with holiday traditions. I was curious about how different cultures celebrate the season, expecting quirky contrasts. What I found instead was a window into how societies tell stories and enforce values. European traditions lean dark, full of consequence. American traditions lean whimsical, full of reassurance. That contrast led me to Grimm fairytales, Disney adaptations, and ultimately to a broader critique of the American psyche.

Introduction

Folklore and holiday traditions are not just seasonal amusements; they are cultural artifacts that reveal how societies understand morality, consequence, and identity. A comparison of European and American traditions shows a striking divergence. Europe embraces fear and consequence, while the United States sanitizes stories into charm and nostalgia. This difference illuminates broader patterns in national personality and political rhetoric.

Folklore and Consequence in Europe

European traditions such as Krampus in Austria, Père Fouettard in France, and the Yule Lads in Iceland embody a pedagogy of fear. These figures mete out punishment proportionate to misbehavior, reinforcing the idea that actions have tangible consequences. The original Grimm fairytales followed the same logic: stark moral lessons, often violent, designed to instill discipline and caution. In Europe, folklore acknowledges nuance—good behavior earns reward, bad behavior earns punishment.

Sanitization in the United States

When these tales crossed into American culture, they were transformed. Disney softened Grimm’s brutality into charm, replacing punishment with magic and optimism. Holiday traditions followed suit. Rudolph the Red‑Nosed Reindeer and Frosty the Snowman are not warnings at all; they are feel‑good stories, designed to delight rather than discipline. Even the Elf on the Shelf, which gestures toward surveillance, rarely delivers consequence.

This reflects a deeper cultural instinct: Americans resist narratives in which “we” suffer punishment. Our folklore reassures us that we are good, loved, and destined for happy endings. Consequence is erased, replaced by charm and nostalgia.

Cultural Implications

This divergence mirrors national personality. Europe accepts that misbehavior deserves punishment, even for “insiders.” America casts itself as the eternal good guy, deserving of triumph, while punishment is displaced onto outsiders—the villain, the scapegoat, the “illegal.” This tendency aligns with political messaging that thrives on nostalgia and innocence. Reagan’s “feel‑good” era projected warmth even amid Cold War tension. Contemporary slogans such as “Make America Great Again” resonate because they echo this sanitized storytelling—promising a return to greatness without reckoning with consequence.

The American Psyche

Our refusal to accept consequence shapes not only children’s stories but adult politics. When crises arise, the instinct is to externalize blame rather than confront systemic accountability. Folklore thus mirrors the national psyche: optimistic, nostalgic, resistant to punishment, and reliant on the construction of an “other” to bear the burden of failure.

Author’s Note

If our traditions mirror our national personality, then perhaps it is time to rewrite the script. We need to acknowledge when we are wrong, when we fall short, and when consequences are deserved. Looking inward is uncomfortable, but it is the only way to grow.

We must stop being seduced by messages that sound good but lack substance. Nostalgia and slogans may feel comforting, but without a plan, they are just stories—no different than Frosty or Rudolph. Real progress requires responsibility, not just reassurance.

Folklore teaches us that consequences matter. The lesson for America is clear: accountability is not something to fear—it is something to embrace.

Needful Things and the Politics of Manipulation: When Desire Becomes Division

Stephen King’s stories have never been about monsters—not really. They’ve always been about people. About what fear does to us. About what we’re willing to sacrifice for security, for power, for the things we think we need.

In the early ‘90s, I devoured his books, captivated by his ability to strip humanity down to its core—the choices we make when tested, the thin line between good and evil, the battle between fear and reason. The Stand was the ultimate cosmic struggle, a story about the forces that pull people apart or bring them together.

But lately, one of his lesser-known works, Needful Things has been tapping me on the shoulder, reminding me of something unsettling. The fractures in Castle Rock—the way fear turned neighbors into enemies—feel eerily familiar. I look around, and I see my own country splintering. Families divided. Once-clear truths are buried beneath the weight of misinformation.

“There were people who lied for gain, people who lied from pain, people who lied simply because the concept of telling the truth was utterly alien to them . . . and then there were people who lied because they were waiting for it to be time to tell the truth.”

― Stephen King, Needful Things

And I wonder: Have we all made a bargain we don’t understand?

Stephen King’s novel unfolds like a cautionary tale for our time: a charismatic outsider arrives in town, offering exactly what each person has long desired. He promises happiness, belonging, and purpose—if only they will pay his price. But what they don’t realize is that the price isn’t just money; it’s loyalty, it’s division, it’s a slow, corrosive turning against one another. And in the end, the town burns.

The parallels are impossible to ignore.

The Charlatan’s Promise

Leland Gaunt understands human nature too well. He doesn’t force Castle Rock’s citizens into conflict—he simply nudges them, exploiting their personal grievances and turning them into weapons. He convinces them that the trinkets he offers—the things they’ve always wanted—are priceless, though in reality, they’re nothing more than junk.

In American politics today, the same strategy plays out in a larger, more dangerous arena. Political figures craft a narrative where only they hold the key to restoring the country’s lost greatness. Only they can provide safety, strength, prosperity—if their followers remain loyal, if they ignore dissent, if they turn against those deemed outsiders. The promises sound grand, but just like Gaunt’s worthless trinkets, they are hollow.

Turning People Against Each Other

Gaunt doesn’t need to directly destroy Castle Rock—he knows that if he poisons the town’s relationships, people will do it themselves. Friends become enemies. Longstanding resentments are given fresh fuel. The town collapses not because of external destruction, but because the people themselves unravel the fabric of their own community.

We’ve seen the same thing happen in America: manipulated fears turned into battle lines. Immigrants, journalists, educators, entire communities labeled as threats to prosperity, scapegoated until the divide feels irreparable. The strategy is simple: convince people that what they have—whether it’s tradition, power, or identity—is being stolen, and they will fight to protect it. They will fight even if their perceived enemy is their own neighbor.

The Fallout

In Needful Things, the ultimate realization comes too late: the town burns to the ground, and the objects people fought over—their supposed treasures—are revealed to be worthless. They destroyed everything for nothing.

This is the warning we should heed. When manipulation takes root, when division becomes a weapon, when people sacrifice real values for imagined grievances, the result is destruction. The country fractures, communities weaken, and in the end, all that’s left is the wreckage of what was once a shared identity.

The Urgency to Speak

History will remember this time. Whether future generations look back and recognize the warning signs or continue down the same path will depend on whether people speak up, whether they document, whether they refuse to be silent.

I choose to write because silence is complicity. I write because I see the patterns. And like those watching Castle Rock burn, I refuse to stand by and let the flames consume my community without saying something first.

Final Thoughts & Call to Action

History is shaped not just by the leaders who rise, but by the people who allow themselves to be divided. Fear convinces us to fight over illusions—over things we are told we must protect. But the truth is, what we need most isn’t found in fear, in loyalty to a singular figure, or in turning against our neighbors. What we need is each other. What we need is the willingness to listen, to reject manipulation, to find our common ground. If we refuse to be divided, we refuse to let history repeat itself.