Donald Trump. His obsession with brute imagery, pomp, and hollow grandeur is not a projection of power, but a confession of weakness. This is not leadership. It is theater for the insecure And “We the Sinners – A Mirror to Power”.

 

Let me speak plainly.

It’s easy—convenient, even—to point fingers at royalty, the elites, and the so-called Powers That Be, blaming them for the state of the world. 

But let’s be honest with ourselves: we—the working class, the marginalized, the everyday citizen across all races and creeds—are not innocent. We are complicit in the decay we condemn.

Sinners rarely self-reflect. It’s a truth as old as time. 

The sacred texts say it best: “Let those without sin cast the first stone.” 

But the modern world is filled with stone-throwers and very few mirrors.

We see the hypocrisy clearly—children of immigrants who, once they feel accepted or validated, turn on migrants with venom. 

You know the names: Kemi Badenoch, Priti Patel, Vivek Ramaswamy, Ted Cruz—figures who stand on the shoulders of struggle only to pull the ladder up behind them. 

This is not new. It is human. And it is tragic.

Now look at the United States—a country that once sold itself as the torchbearer of modernity and moral superiority—now being dragged back, not just politically, but aesthetically, to the 1930s. 

Back to fascist pageantry, military parades, and hollow displays of strength.

Ironically, even in the 1930s, America resisted such theater. 

Now, in 2025, it’s being encouraged by a man of shallow instincts and deep insecurities: Draft dodger Donald Trump. 

His obsession with brute imagery, pomp, and hollow grandeur is not a projection of power, but a confession of weakness.

This is not leadership. It is theatre for the insecure.

Anyone seasoned in the true management of people—royalty, elites, power brokers across centuries—knows: Such displays are performative disasters. 

They may serve cosmetic purposes for a moment, but they cheapen a nation’s soul and reduce its stature globally.

America today?

 Economically fragile, socially fragmented, morally exhausted—and yes, if it weren’t for its white-majority demographic, the nation would likely already be categorized as “third-world” by global standards. Harsh? No. Honest.

And to understand this descent, it’s worth looking not just at Trump, but at where he comes from. Because the roots of a man can sometimes explain the shape of his tree.

👩‍🌾 Mary Anne MacLeod Trump: The Root of the Drum That Roared

Donald Trump’s mother, Mary Anne MacLeod, was born in 1912 in Tong, a remote Gaelic-speaking crofting village on the Isle of Lewis in the Scottish Outer Hebrides. 

The youngest of ten, raised in harsh poverty and collective trauma—post-WWI loss, highland clearances, and subsistence living in what were called “blackhouses.”

She emigrated alone at age 17, arriving in New York as a domestic servant, with little English, armed only with ambition and Gaelic tenacity. 

She worked in the homes of Manhattan’s elite—places like the Carnegie Mansion—before eventually marrying Fred Trump, a rising real estate developer.

She became a U.S. citizen in 1942, mother to five children, and by all accounts, carried herself with polish, resilience, and propriety. 

She was philanthropic, religious, and never abandoned her Scottish identity—visiting home often, speaking Gaelic, staying grounded.

So how, then, did a woman of such grounded strength give rise to a man like Donald?

The truth is, the echo of poverty can produce either humility or hubris. Some rise with empathy. Others rise with vengeance.

Trump admired his mother’s elegance and showmanship, but he did not inherit her restraint. Instead, he channeled her survivor instinct into something performative and vindictive. 

The irony: the son of a crofter’s daughter now stages parades like a banana republic general.

In Scotland, they say: “Empty drums make the loudest noise.” And oh, how loud this particular drum has become.

What Now?

We've got to stop pretending that the enemy is always “above” us. Often, the enemy is us. The comfortable ignorance, the misplaced pride, the selective memory, the refusal to reflect.

Let me say this clearly: Power is not inherently corrupt—but people unwilling to self-reflect make corruption inevitable.

The elites are not saints, but neither are we. Until we own that, we remain part of the problem, not the solution.

And if we fail to learn, fail to do better, and fail to hold ourselves to account, then we deserve the leaders we get—loud, empty, insecure men performing strength while dragging nations into the past.