The fuel that drives the machine is the rage of the oppressed. That rage must be coerced to be directed at ‘others’, rather than those engaging in the oppression. The machine then immolates the ‘others’. Thus it’s a self-fueling vehicle of the very oppression the oppressed rage against. (I’m channeling many before me of course.)
We wish to wash ourselves clean of the dirt, grime and putrid odour of late stage democracy. We wail and gnash our teeth at the injustices perpetrated on us by a narcissistic buffoon. We rise with clenched fists and demand that the voice of reason, the voice that calls for compassion and understanding, the voice of the righteous, be heard in the dark caverns of peak stage capitalism. We will not tolerate the incoherent bleating of the fake tanned, floating haired Satan. So we peer into the cavern and call the names of our former puppet masters. Please, please come out, come out and denounce the demigod and lay plunder to his to his vacuous nonsense.
Current and former Kings and Queens are quick to heed the call, lest the oppressed venture further into the cavern seeking clarity. They denounce the intruder, and we are scoured and scrubbed clean by their words of scorn for him. Our indignant wounds have been temporarily salved and dressed. We wait with baited breath for another tongue lashing to be directed at the heathen in the oval shaped office.
Yet when the curtains are closed, our former overlords know that their denouncements are not on behalf of the oppressed, but a desire for us to return to our slumber, to keep our dispirited sleepwalking gait in stride. For you see, the machine requires a steady driver at the helm, and its fuel is the rage of the oppressed. We scowl at Trump, he is the ultimate ‘other’, and our rage fuels our own continued repression.