On a steamy Sunday last July, at about half-past noon, a caravan of unmarked SUVs exited the FBI’s Washington, D.C., field office, an eight-story concrete building that exudes all the charm of a supermax prison. The cars moved swiftly across the city; speed was critical. There were indications that the target, who had canceled the lease on her apartment and packed her belongings, was about to take flight.
Regime Uncertainty in Wartime America
The absolute state of America in its late-stage empire era is perfectly illustrated by the weekly, sometimes daily, cultural event of checking social media to see what unhinged post the president has left for us this time. This week’s installment, as the latest...
