Today is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day in America, and I typically write a retrospective post this day as a way to give myself a day off from blogging as well as work.  However, today is even more important, as it is Inauguration Day.

I cannot help but note—with a great deal of mildly vindictive relish—that the Inauguration of GEOTUS Donaldus Magnus falls upon a holiday that, let’s be honest, has become something of a high holy day of identity politics and progressive radicalism.  MLK was a courageous man—the sordid details of his tawdry personal life notwithstanding—and a martyr to the cause of racial justice, but the idea that he was the “aw, shucks” racial harmonialist that is often depicted is a fairly outdated idea.  King was moving towards more progressive, overtly racialist politics as the civil rights movement moved from its early, legitimate gains to become a grift for race hustlers; King was trying to stay relevant in an era when black nationalism and political violence were en vogue, and his brand of nonviolent resistance was losing its appeal.

But King and Trump are not so different in one important way:  both suffered real oppression—politically and physically—to achieve goals that fundamentally shifted American history.

King was fighting against an entrenched system of segregation that was, frankly, already living on borrowed time.  That said, a dying system will fight with all its might, just as a sick animal will lash out unpredictably, especially when cornered.  Trump, similarly, faces a sclerotic system that is well past its prime, but which has fought him tooth and nail.

What is rather remarkable in both cases is that, once real resistance to the system was applied, the respective systems collapsed relatively quickly.  Look at how the tech bros suddenly became friendly puppy dogs following the assassination attempt on Trump.  Once it became clear that the king would not be beheaded, they quickly rolled onto their backs, presented their soft bellies, and curled up to Trump like a golden retriever.

Even the usual outcries from the Left and mainstream media have been muted.  There is a general sense that we are entering a new era, and all the hysteria of the past nine years is exhausted.

As a rare treat to my non-paying readers, I’m going to share with you the entire text of Saturday’s post as it appears on my SubscribeStar page, “A New Hope is Dawning.”  It is a bit of a contrived comparison between Trump and the original Star Wars trilogy, and I often loathe ham-fisted comparisons between popular film franchises and contemporary politics (and as much as I love Star Wars, the moralizing of the original trilogy is rather fascile), but I think the post captures something of the triumphs, tragedies, and comebacks of the Trumpian Age.

With that, here is 18 January 2025’s “A New Hope Dawning”:

Several Internet memesters and commentators have drawn parallels between Trump’s rise, fall, and return to the original Star Wars trilogy:  his first term was A New Hope (1977); his stolen re-election bid was The Empire Strikes Back (1980); and his triumphant return (in just two days!) is Return of the Jedi (1983).

I’m not one to reduce all of human experience and history to pop culture touchstones—it drives me crazy when people reduce their entire understanding of the world to Harry Potter references—but I think the comparison is apt here.  Trump won election in 2016 against all odds, taking on an Establishment that at first dismissed him as a political sideshow (myself included), then came to fear him.  Much like the scrappy group of Rebel X-wing fighters blowing up the massive Death Star—a symbol of the Establishment’s massive, overwhelming power and reach—Trump and his allies blew up the Clinton regime, to the point that the juggernaut of the Clinton machine was utterly destroyed.

2020 saw the Establishment wise up, pulling out every crooked tactic at their disposal to assure Trump would not see a second term.  Just as Lando Calrissian betrayed our heroes to Darth Vader to save his own skin, many fair-weather Trump supporters abandoned him in his hour of need, and even supported lesser “alternatives” in a morally compromised bid for relevance.  This era would last well into the 2024 Republican primaries.

Then came 5 November 2024, the best Guy Fawkes Day in modern history.  It was The Return of the Jedi, with Trump boldly marching directly into the wicked, venal, degenerate palace of the Establishment to free the J-6 political prisoners—and America—just as Luke strode confidently into Jabba’s Palace to confront the lugubrious crime lord over the capture of Han Solo.

We’re at the beginning of that flick now.  The momentum is on Trump’s side.  He’s already redeemed the fallen Tech Bros, just as Luke led his father to redemption.  More machine than men, the tech oligarchs have fallen dutifully behind Trump.

Now:  can they destroy the Emperor?

Okay, okay—that’s probably all a bit much.  Reality is far more complex than Star Wars.  But there is a symmetry here, in part because the original trilogy follows the classic archetypal story of the Hero’s Journey.  Similarly, Trump has endured the arduous process of this journey.

Consider:  Trump toyed with the idea of running for president for years, even decades.  But he always demurred.  I remember hearing talk of Trump running in 2012 and dismissed it as a novelty; when he did not run, it seemed to confirm my suspicions.  I didn’t take him seriously in 2015 for the same reason.  I vividly recall attending the South Carolina GOP’s State convention that spring, before Trump descended the golden escalator and changed history forever.  There were two young men handing out Trump paraphernalia, much of it overdone in that amateurish way that non-serious contenders for public office tend to do.  There were no MAGA hats yet; just black stickers that read, “TRUMP” in white (those actually looked cool) and a pin with Trump’s face in the middle.

I remember asking the two guys if they actually thought he was serious this time.  They obviously said yes—they wouldn’t have been there otherwise—but I remained skeptical.

When he made his announcement, I figured he was done before even getting out of the gate.  It is hard to remember now, but America nine years ago was extremely racially sensitive; saying even true, factual, statistically-accurate things about other ethnicities could ruin a white person’s life forever.  These were the Obama years, after all, and everyone with a deep tan after a week at the beach was demanding reparations and preferential treatment.

But he wasn’t.  Trump had denied the call to action in the past, but this time, he crossed that threshold and began his hero’s journey.

To take the Star Wars comparison further, Trump had some Yodas helping him out:  Newt Gingrich, Victor Davis Hanson, Ann Coulter (although she’s probably more of a feisty Leia who, sadly, has now rejected Trump).  These sages helped explain Trump to those of who were skeptical—and helped us to make sense of the phenomenon that most Americans understood at a gut level.

There were betrayals along the way—many of them.  Trump’s inexperience in politics often led him to make questionable appointments.  But who can forget the fun-filled, heady days of early 2017, when Trump was banning travel from Islamist nations and just generally wreaking merry havoc?  They were the exultant celebrations of an unlikely, miraculous victory.

Trump has endured his low point, dangling from a moisture antenna beneath Cloud City, clinging on as his alleged allies turned against him.  But his true friends were always there, chief among them the American people.  He endured the Biden years with us, and we slowly rebuilt.

When a cackling Kamala Harris seized the throne from Joe Biden—like Bib Fortuna seizing control of Jabba’s crime syndicate after the Hutt lord’s demise at the hands of Luke Skywalker and his friends (it sounds like Trump’s devastating debate performance against Biden)—it seemed that the forces of woke diversity and feminism might seize the day.  But Trump survived an assassin’s bullet—his ear, perhaps, being the hand Luke lost in his duel with Vader—and a second botched attempt.  He surged in the polls, and embraced the bro culture of podcasters like Joe Rogan and Theo Von.  Elon Musk jumped with autistic glee at Trump rallies in Pennsylvania.  The Amish—perhaps the primitive Ewoks in this increasingly ridiculous comparison—came out in droves to vote for Trump.

Then New York officials murdered Peanut the Squirrel, it was all over.  Never had such a stupid, arbitrary display of government incompetence and overreach inspired so many.  That squirrel died so that America might live.

Now here we sit, about to cross another threshold.  Trump will be President again.  It will be the greatest sequel in American political history.

And this time… it’s personal.