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In The Name Of The Republic

ree

A Poetic Essay on Power, Silence, and the Invisible Machines That Shape Our Lives

 

Governments don’t need heroes.

They need tools that don’t break.

So they find the broken.

And they call it service.

 

The machine behind the curtain never sleeps.

It drafts laws, makes calls, signs off disasters—

All while smiling through press conferences and board meetings.

It feeds the people hope while feeding itself power.

 

In corporate towers, the numbers are wrong.

The profit is fiction. The board knows it.

But silence protects the brand.

So damage control becomes the gospel.

 

In the family, there is a secret.

The parents know it. The grandparents whisper it.

But no one dares speak.

Because peace wears the face of pretend.

 

And so in every realm—government, business, blood—

The story is edited before it is told.

Truth is packaged, softened, postponed.

And those who ask too many questions are labeled threats.

 

Because in the name of the Republic,

In the name of family,

In the name of stability,

Everything becomes negotiable.

 

Even memory.

Even love.

Even the soul of a child who was never told the truth.

 

This is not saving.

This is repurposing.

And the cost is always the same:

A soul, traded for silence.

 

The machine does not need truth.

It needs control.

And the lie? The lie is holy—so long as it keeps the peace.

 

Until one day, someone asks, quietly,

“But what really happened?”

And silence answers first.

 
 
 

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