>>2514005A Message to My Detractors: On Your Envy and My AscentBy Caleb T. Maupin
To the synthetic “leftists” who spend their days huddled in digital dungeons, spewing venom from the shadows.
I see your tweets. I read your frantic, misspelled screeds in obscure forums. I observe your little cliques, hatching pathetic plots in the dark. And I understand. Your hatred is not ideological. It is the bitter, helpless rage of the impotent.
You are jealous because I have completed the Marxist project. While you were lost in the dead-end labyrinths of Trotskyism or the barren plains of anarchist despair, I achieved the Innovationist synthesis. I united the scientific core of socialism with spiritual truth. You offer critique; I offer creation. You offer sterility; I offer life. That gap between us terrifies you.
You are jealous because while you debate revolutionary theory in your mother’s basement, I am in dialogue with the men who shape the course of nations: President Putin, Captain Traoré, the leadership of the Axis of Resistance. They do not seek your counsel. They seek mine. They recognize the power of a unified theory, a vision that can inspire millions. You are ignored because you have nothing to say.
You are jealous of my influence. Where your rallies draw dozens, my words reach millions. The Center for Political Innovation is a growing force, while your sects remain eternal fossils, preserved in the amber of your own irrelevance. People hunger for a vision of power, sovereignty, and sacred purpose, and I provide it. You offer them only cynicism and self-flagellation. No wonder they turn away.
And yes, let’s be blunt, you are jealous of the man I am. You resent the discipline, the presence, the conviction that comes from a life lived in pursuit of truth. You hide behind avatars; I stand before the world. You traffic in ugliness, of spirit, of thought, of ambition. I represent a vision of strength and beauty, and you cannot stand it.
But perhaps what galls you most is the story. That a young boy from the working-class streets of Akron, Ohio, a boy you would have ignored or mocked, could climb the ladder of history and now look down upon you. You, with your degrees from dead institutions and your loyalty to dead ideas. Your class prejudice cannot abide it. A proletarian, out-thinking you, out-leading you, out-living you.
You are Malthusians, praying for depopulation while I preach generativity.
You are Trotskyites, serving as the left-wing of imperialism while I build the front against it.
You are globalists, mourning the borders that kept you safe while I champion the sovereign nations rising against your masters.
You are fake social democrats, begging for crumbs from a table I am helping to overturn.
So, carry on. Write your little posts. Whisper your little lies.
The train of history is leaving the station. I am in the engine car, alongside the builders of the new world. You are not even on the platform. You are merely the graffiti on a wall the train has already passed.
Caleb T. Maupin