On America’s disease, its protectors, and why exposure is not collapse
The world is no longer confused about America. What once passed as contradiction now reads as baked-in immorality married to pre-meditated corruption. What was framed as failure increasingly looks like preservation at any cost. The insistence that the system can be repaired without being confronted has worn thin, not because people are less patient, but because the evidence has become too heavy to carry quietly.
America is not a mystery. It is a structure. Economic power, political theater, corporate influence, and cultural myth braided together and defended as inevitability. But structures do not maintain themselves. They are held in place by people willing to mistake dominance for order and silence for stability.
White America has played that role most reliably.
Not every white person, but a protected class large enough to buffer consequence, shape narrative, and decide when discomfort is framed as danger. That insulation has allowed belief to persist long after proof demanded justice and accountability. It has made loyalty to power feel like reason, and withdrawal feel like threat.
This pattern repeats everywhere power is asked to account for itself.
Corporations are petitioned rather than abandoned. Politicians are excused rather than removed. Institutions are begged for reform rather than stripped of legitimacy. The hope is not that they will change, but that they will change just enough to preserve the system that made them indispensable in the first place.
And now, that logic is breaking down.
In recent weeks, renewed attention to the Epstein files—and public statements from political officials acknowledging that full disclosure would “destabilize” institutions and implicate powerful figures across nations—has made something plain. Not hidden, not speculative, but stated out loud: that truth itself is being treated as a threat to national and global order.
This is not a defense of victims. It is a defense of architecture.
What is being protected is not justice, but continuity. Not people, but power. The suggestion that exposure would “destroy the system” is not an argument against disclosure. It is an admission of what the system is built on. A structure that cannot survive sunlight is not fragile. It is rotten.
And this is where the story sharpens.
If revealing who was protected, who was complicit, who was paid to look away, and who was sacrificed would destabilize American dominance, then American dominance has been sustained by concealment. By the quiet understanding that some lives are expendable if the right people remain untouched. That harm can be absorbed by the powerless while the powerful remain intact.
Pawns.
Children. Workers. Women. Entire communities. Countries. Entire nations collapsed into silence under the promise that this is the price of order.
White America’s insistence, or rather the most powerful of their echelon of hierarchy, sending out directives that they must manage the fallout—decide what can be known, what can be released, what would be “too much”—is not stewardship. It is control. The same arrogance that insists it can reform corporations without withdrawing money now insists it can acknowledge abuse without dismantling the protections that enabled it.
The world is watching this moment with clearer eyes.
Other nations are not asking how to preserve the myth. They are asking how to limit contagion. How to stop feeding a system that demands human lives and livelihoods be sacrificed to sustain itself. How to cut off what is diseased rather than letting it continue to infect any remaining potential for something humane.
America, by contrast, remains convinced of its indispensability. That without its dominance, without its institutions intact, without its chosen gatekeepers guiding disclosure and repair, everything would fall apart.
That belief is the last lie.
If a system requires the protection of abusers, the silencing of victims, and the strategic ignorance of those who benefit most to remain standing, then collapse is not the danger. Continuation is.
So when officials warn that the truth would bring everything down, I hear something else entirely: an admission that what has been called stability was always built on harm carefully hidden and expertly managed.
If that is true—
Let it burn. We’ll rebuild.
Tasha Monroe
Founder, Simply Edyn & Co.