Goebbels enters the room with the controlled precision of a man who understands the weight of what has already occurred and the futility of trying to reverse it. The door closes behind him, sealing a silence that is no longer tense, but conclusive, the silence that follows something that has died without a proper burial. He does not greet the President, does not offer unnecessary ceremony, and does not wait to be asked anything. His presence is not that of a messenger bringing updates. It is that of a final witness delivering the summary of collapse.
He begins speaking without hesitation and without even a gesture toward reassurance. The executions have already taken place. The government bloggers were removed earlier that morning, not because they were politically dangerous or disloyal to the state, but because they did something worse in his world, they destroyed the last illusion that power depends on. They failed not just to protect the regime but to make it look like it was still capable of protecting itself. They mishandled the very craft of propaganda with such embarrassing recklessness that what should have been fear became theatre, and what was intended to control instead exposed fragility.
Without raising his voice, Goebbels lists their crimes in full, his words sharp and deliberate. They did not craft narrative, they shouted into the void. They did not frame public emotion, they insulted it. They threw around words like “anarchy” without preparing the ground, labeling peaceful citizens as threats and turning the government’s vocabulary into a dictionary of panic. They confused volume with impact, and in their desperation to be seen defending power, they instead revealed that even those tasked with defending it no longer believed in its stability.
He steps closer to the President, and what he says next carries no emotion because it is not intended to persuade. It is meant to be understood as the final assessment of a failing structure. The regime no longer owns the story. It has lost not only control of the message but the belief that the message still matters. The people are not confused. They are not misled. They are not waiting to be corrected. They have moved on. The state speaks, but no one listens. It threatens, but no one blinks. It deploys words, but those words no longer land anywhere. That is not a communications failure. That is the death of narrative. And when narrative dies, so does the regime that depended on it.
There is no more time to recalibrate. There is no strategy that can be fixed. There is no slogan that will be believed again. It is time to resign. Not as an act of recovery, not as a gesture of humility, and not even to preserve legacy, but because even the architecture of the lie can no longer support your weight. The machine has failed. The audience has turned. The stage is empty. And when the story ends, the silence that follows is not peace, it is collapse.
#OccupyStateHouse
