Dear Alternative Fact,
You wear a suit now.
You speak at podiums.
You smile for cameras.
And somehow,
you keep getting invited to dinner.
You’re not just a lie.
You’re the lie –
dressed in confidence,
perfumed with plausibility,
and flanked by pundits nodding like bobbleheads.
You’ve turned truth into a debate club.
Once upon a time, facts had mass.
They landed like bricks.
They built things.
They stood.
But you – you hollowed them out.
Now they float.
Now they waver.
Now they’re “one side of the story.”
You made evidence optional.
You made memory a battlefield.
You made gaslighting a national pastime.
You’ve worn us down.
We’re exhausted.
Not just from arguing –
but from doubting ourselves.
From wondering if we really saw what we saw.
If we misunderstood.
If we’re the crazy ones.
That’s your greatest trick, isn’t it?
Not convincing us you’re right –
but making us question what’s real.
You don’t shout. You whisper.
You speak in polite tones.
You say “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
You say “It’s complicated.”
You say “What even is truth these days?”
And you smile,
while the house burns behind you.
But we still remember the smell of smoke.
We remember the weight of facts.
We remember the clarity of honesty.
We remember when truth had edges.
And light.
So don’t get too comfortable.
Because we’re not done fighting.
Not for sides.
Not for spin.
But for the sacredness of reality.
The kind you can’t edit.
The kind that survives even you.
Unfaithfully yours,
The Radical Left