Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.
People of the lie do not merely disagree with authentic human beings. They resent their existence. Not because authentic people attack them—but because authenticity exposes what they are trying to hide from themselves.
I have learned this the hard way.
Authenticity as a Threat
In corrupt systems—families, workplaces, institutions, governments—authentic people become liabilities. Not because they break rules, but because they refuse to live inside falsehood.
An authentic person:
speaks plainly,
does not flatter power,
does not perform loyalty,
and does not participate in collective denial.
That alone is enough to destabilize systems built on fear, secrecy, and shared dishonesty.
Once these systems identify someone as authentic, the response is predictable: elimination. Not always physical—though history shows that extreme cases do go there—but social, professional, reputational, psychological.
How the Campaign Begins
The removal process is rarely overt. It is strategic and cowardly:
isolation disguised as “professional concerns,”
rumor presented as “feedback,”
character assassination framed as “culture fit,”
proxy attackers doing the dirty work.
The goal is not debate. It is erasure.
As I wrote in a previous post:
“Once these sociopaths learn you are an authentic person they will start a campaign to try to get rid of you so they can replace you with a crony like them. I have learned criminals work well together.”
They do. And they must.
Why Criminals Work Well Together
Corrupt people recognize each other instinctively. They share unspoken rules:
never expose the group,
never acknowledge harm,
never protect the truth-teller.
Their cohesion does not come from trust. It comes from mutual fear of exposure. Each one holds the others’ secrets. That is their glue.
Authentic people break this dynamic simply by refusing the lie.
This is why truth-tellers are targeted, ridiculed, silenced, scapegoated, or portrayed as unstable. The system cannot risk their presence—not because they are dangerous, but because they are evidence.
They Wish You Dead—But They Will Settle for Ostracizing
In my experience, many people of the lie do wish for your destruction. When direct elimination is not possible, they will settle for something socially and legally safer: that you disappear.
That you lose your voice. That you doubt yourself. That you stop writing. That you stop seeing. That you stop reminding them—by your very being—that another way of living exists.
And when power, technology, and institutions align with this psychology, the consequences spread far beyond individuals. Children are traumatized. Communities are torn apart. Entire societies normalize cruelty while calling it order.
The Cost of Staying Visible
Remaining authentic in such a world is not comfortable. It comes with loss, loneliness, and attack. But the alternative is soul murdering.
The truth is simple and harsh:
People of the lie cannot tolerate witnesses.
That is why they hate that we exist.
And that is precisely why we must continue to exist—awake, grounded, and unbending.
Not to fight them. Not to convert them. But to refuse their lie.
That refusal alone is revolutionary.
A Final, Necessary Link
What we are witnessing today in aggressive political enforcement is this same psychology operating at scale, now amplified by technology. Databases, surveillance tools, predictive analytics, and opaque AI systems allow institutions to identify, track, and neutralize human beings with unprecedented efficiency—often without transparency, oversight, or accountability. When such tools are wielded by people of the lie, enforcement becomes persecution by proxy, and harm is outsourced to systems that conceal responsibility. This is not a failure of technology alone; it is a failure of conscience in those who command it. Until power is restrained by truth and accountability, authenticity will remain a target—and the damage will continue to ripple through generations.
I am deeply saddened by what is happening in the country I love. I came to America 42 years ago, and in 2000 I became a proud American citizen because it felt safe—because it stood, imperfectly but genuinely, for human dignity and the rule of law. When innocent lives are lost, and transparency disappears, something essential is damaged, not just politically but morally.
I grieve for the families affected, for the children who absorb these shocks before they have words for them, and for a society being asked to normalize what should never be normal. Staying human, staying compassionate, and staying committed to truth—without hatred—matters more than ever right now.
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