Dear America, 

In order that We the People never again fall prey to a figurative foul witch as described in my previous letter, I think it is wise that we revisit the scene of the crime and examine how she managed to get us into her clutches in the first place. Since we were all under her spell, we should help each other remember the sequence of events that led to our near demise… 

For the sake of creative expression, let’s assume “you” in the story that follows is We the People collectively. Yet another mask! 

That first day, you had fought with your wife. Why? Something about how you were making your money and how to raise the children. 

“What difference does it make how the money is made?” you screamed. “You’re all well fed because of me. Get off my back!” 

In reality, your wife shook you to your core. You knew she was right, but you walked away regardless. Into town for a breather to sort yourself out. 

That’s when she found you in the street, asking for help. A pretty girl. Totally different from your wife, but maybe that was a good… Wait, what were you thinking? 

Shaking it off, you realized it would be rude not to lend assistance. A new friend. 

Fast forward. She seduced you. Begged for your protection. Her house was deep in the woods. Not so deep, you wondered if this was a come-on. It was. And then you arrived at her place. She fed you, sexed you, and made you feel wonderful. 

Well, looking back, all of it felt a little off. Right? Something was wrong, but you couldn’t place it. 

By the time you figured it out, things had progressed too far. From there, everything degraded rapidly. She clouded your senses, and you began to think this strange reality was not so bad—maybe even normal. 

What’s that, you say? The stench wafting your way from the corner of the room? That was just some old rot she needed a carpenter to fix. “Actually, no,” she whispered. “It’s just your imagination. Let’s have fun.” 

And you did. Then she drugged you, disrupting your body’s systems. Your arms no longer moved easily. Your fingers were thick and clumsy. Your legs were heavy. Your vision blurry. But that was your body’s fault, she insisted. Give her a chance, and she could perfect you. The perfect slave, suiting her purposes. 

And her purposes, you ask? To kill you? Heavens no. She wanted you to love her. She wanted to own your heart, your soul. When she knew you couldn’t resist her, she attacked. 

First, she stole your voice, so you could not call out. 

Your weapons were her next target. If you suddenly regained consciousness, those just wouldn’t do. For some reason, though, she couldn’t pry the sword from your right hand no matter how deep the illusion drew you in. You never let go even when the blade cut your fingers. 

She relented. The weapons could wait. Instead, she weakened your heart, both physically and spiritually. She convinced you that your home and your family were not so great or special. She showed you a better way to live. One with fewer obligations, at least on the surface. Your mind was hers. And your body? Just in case, she conjured a simple heart worm, a creature sure to keep her victim compliant. 

The witch knew well after so many failed attempts at finding a lasting mate that some insurance was necessary. This way, even if you woke up, you would be too weak to fight. 

Somehow, though, you resisted even this. She could not fail again! 

And she has failed many times before. The corpses lay scattered in her house even now. Back then, you could smell them, hear the flies, and maybe catch glimpses, couldn’t you? But the witch’s illusion was so enrapturing… 

Thoroughly satisfied that you could no longer harm her, she began to rifle through your belongings. She knew, of course, that it always helps a predator to know everything about their prey. Again, just in case. 

Seeing your sorry state in its fullness, she judged you guilty. The sentence? 

“A choice,” she crooned (or “croned”). “Live with me forever. Your new body will never want. I will care for you. Love you. Make love to you. And certainly more. Just love me.” She paused, realizing that if she pressed too hard, your mind might sense the illusion. But she decided the risk was worth the reward—went further. “Forget your wife. She never existed anyway. Well, it was never great. Just let her go.” She paused again, a wicked grin crossing her face. (The author saw it all, by the way. Gruesome.) “Be rid of her forever. Love me. Only me. Kill her.” 

Something in you rose up when she said this. You knew it was wrong, but for you the difference between right and wrong wasn’t clear anymore. Sensing your inner turmoil and fearing it, she told you, “Please don’t resist me. You know this is all for your own good. After all, when you were free, you abused everything. You hurt yourself and others. So, follow my rules. Okay, baby? If you do, all the hurt will go away. Your belly will always be full, and your needs satisfied. I’ll treat you like the god you are. Just kill that evil woman and prove you love me.” 

And that’s when the Man in the Blue Suit found you… 

So, America, what is this story really about? Let’s review. 

In the following bullets, let’s assume “they” are the Great Evil seeking to subvert the American System and American Culture for the sake of wealth, power, and control. They exist on both sides of the political aisle. They know no allegiance other than self. They are behind the mob. Ironically, they also wear the mask of We the People. But they are not for Us and they loathe being of Us. 

Anyway, let’s juxtapose the Witch’s Attack and the American Story: 

• The Fight. The Civil War shook us to our bedrock. Perhaps We never really recovered, and the cracks in Our society’s foundation borne of those days are simply widening as time passes. If so, Our end truly was in Our beginning. Either way, the 1860s left Us changed.
• The Curiosity and Seduction. We began to wonder if maybe Our way of life was wrong. As the cliché goes, “The grass is always greener.” Caught by Modernism, We began to look towards Europe for the first time in a long time, against the advice of Washington and our better senses. 
• The Appeal to Stomach and Sex. Then, with the 16th amendment, Federal Reserve Act, New Deal, and the Great Society, the government came to own Our “stomachs.” Next was sex. What more needs to be said? 
• The Body Poisoned, Altered. By the end of the 1960s, We were contented, drugged, and tingling with sex. Wait, is this the witch’s illusion or something else? Something is wrong. But it feels good, so it must be right.
  
  Our economy, Our government, Our schools, Our family, Our culture. All of Our systems by this point had been rewired, retooled, and repurposed. Our governmental body and economic limbs no longer worked as they should. All the while, their mouthpieces told us the original design of Our systems was flawed. Our Declaration. Our Constitution. Especially Our Bill of Rights. And, most especially, God himself.
  
  Fix those things, and all would be well. Communism? That’s just a distraction and a lever for them. After all, every Communist is a Capitalist peddling their ideology for money and influence.
  
  
• The Attack Begins. Then, as with the witch, they decided We were ready for Our end. When was this? Who can really say?
  
  My answer? A question: When did their attacks begin on the remainder of the Bill of Rights? They, who stoke the mob, know that if any amendment in the Bill of Rights falls, the whole thing collapses. As with Scripture, the American System is an all or nothing proposition.
  
  
• The Warrior Disarmed. What evidence is there, you say, that they would prefer we were disarmed?
  
  Relentlessly in the media, the refrain is that We the People cannot be trusted with firearms. “The Second Amendment was never meant to… blank, blank, and blank. We need more controls!” This is all untrue of the amendment’s meaning if you put it in context.
  
  But, to me, what is true—were safety and security the sole value targets we were aiming for—is that taking away guns could help. The criminals. To wit, the man in the story would not have cut his fingers had he let the witch take his sword away. Conversely, had he given up his sword, and had he suddenly awakened and needed it to fight off, say, a witch...
  
  This is the great debate. That said, consider this: Does killing the Second Amendment solve the frustration, the anger, and the unrest of the mob? No. To solve these problems, We must stop feeding the mob’s anger and help the individuals within the mob experience self-actualization and accomplishment, safety and financial stability, and the confidence and hope that comes with those things. The witch—I mean, they—do not have a good track record throughout history in this regard. They like profit without work, so someone must work without profit.
  
  
• The Heart Weakened. We often overlook the third amendment. But I like to think of it as placing protections around the home—the hearth, or heart, of the family and civilization. They may not seek to quarter soldiers in our homes, but let’s put things in a modern context. Do any of We the People really feel fully safe (much less have feelings of privacy and sanctity) in our own homes? It’s bad enough that churches, schools, and the digital world are preyed upon, but We have literally no sacrosanct space left on Earth. If any American is okay with this, I wonder if it is because, this way, they feel cared for.
  
  
• The Belongings Searched. Again, to keep Us safe and cared for (tailored ads and everything else, anyone?), they know everything about Us. Our data can be saved, searched, analyzed, leveraged, altered, etc. I do not know the specific pieces of legislation or administrative edicts that enabled it, but the surveillance state is fully out of hand, increasingly so for decades.
  
  We should not by default ask ourselves, “Do I have anything to hide?” I remember hearing people answering this question often during my childhood. “Hell no, I don’t have anything to hide. Let ‘em look!”
  
  Letting ourselves play out a scene in which that question was taken seriously at all is what led us here.
  
  
• The Judgement Passed. Lawfare, anyone? No? The ultimate pissing contest, where the contestants face off on raised platforms directly above the spectators.
  
  
• The Unreasonable Price of “Freedom.” Lawfare, anyone? Oh, we did this already… 

Time to mix things up! 

When the Man in the Blue Suit found We the People, they had Us dead to rights. It was only a matter of time before the Bill of Rights disintegrated. The Gordian Knot burning. The dominoes tumbling. You get it. 

But then he appeared. 

Who is he, though, really? Is he Donald Trump? Well, I think sometimes Trump has been. Because I believe that the Man in the Blue Suit is really the American in the Blue Suit, a vocation that any of Us can inherit. And it is a special one. 

I believe the Blue Suit is bestowed upon those with a deep love of this country. The American Culture, the American System, and We the People. And the deepest hopes of We the People—given up to God for Our State, Our Family, Our Countrymen—are how the Blue Suit is summoned. At times, when seeing the buffoonery or ruthlessness of the person wearing it, We may ask, “Why that person? There are so many who are better.” 

With the Blue Suit, I believe God chooses the right person for the moment. Catalyst for change. Herald of a paradigm shift. Guiding light or repulsive blight? 

The Blue Suit does not come to its wearers because they asked for it or because we asked for them. Often, neither we nor they will understand why it came to them, but We the People must all be ready when the moment comes. To fight for ourselves and our future. To build a better future. Florence Kelley wore the Blue Suit. Kennedy did. Earhart did. Reagan. Tubman. Washington. Parks. King. And so many throughout history of equal and lesser renown, most of whom we never knew wore the Blue Suit at all. 

It might be corny, but in a sense, We are all real life superheroes waiting to be handed the mask, bestowed the costume. 

Because of all those Americans who have worn the Blue Suit, the illusion we lived under for so long has been shattered, and now we have a real chance. We can flee the rotted cabin in the woods and return to our wife and family. We can live in peace. And, God willing, they—the witch of the flickering illusion—will leave We the People alone to heal the damage they have done. For, if the witch again comes, we will stand at the door sword in hand. 

Finch Fries