If I were an angel—tasked not with fire and brimstone but with insight—I would not crash into detention centers or pull apart razor-wire fences. I would not make a scene. No. I would go where the system breathes: the bureaucracy.
Because the terror campaign we now see building in front of us—the one ICE has been lavishly funded to carry out—is not sustained by brute force alone. It’s maintained by clerks, caseworkers, backlogged databases, and misplaced IDs.
That’s the real front line. That’s the vulnerable point.
With $75 billion now allocated to ICE—a figure that rivals the defense budgets of entire nations—one might think an unstoppable regime has been born.
But behind every dollar is a person. And behind every policy is a paper trail. And in that trail are the weakest links.
🧾 Where Empires Rot
If I were sent to bring disruption, I’d go to the engine room of the machine:
- The underpaid, overworked offices.
- The managers who don’t understand the new system update.
- The data clerks who leave early.
- The field agents who follow conflicting orders from disconnected superiors.
This is where evil often hides—not in shadows, but in shared drives and procedural errors.
This is how authoritarianism trips over its own shoelaces.
Terror, once institutionalized, needs precision. But it rarely gets it. Especially not from a workforce that’s often:
- Ill-trained,
- Morally checked out,
- Or just simply incompetent.
Even now, reports of poor morale, mismanagement, and operational confusion haunt ICE’s internal reviews.
So yes—the money has been delivered. The agenda is clear.
But the machine that’s meant to enforce it? Fragile. Rusting. Leaking at the seams.
⚖️ Judgment and Grace
The irony of ICE receiving enough funding to rival reparations—while Black Americans are still told justice is too expensive—isn’t lost on any of us. It is a cosmic insult.
And yet, the same God who saw Egypt’s arrogance also sees this.
God doesn’t always respond with fire.
Sometimes judgment arrives in the form of divine incompetence.
A spirit of confusion.
A program that fails to launch.
A policy that’s sabotaged by the very people paid to uphold it.
Let the racists celebrate their funding. Let the architects of fear gloat over their budget.
But understand this: what they’ve built is not a sword—it’s a house of cards.
🕊 The Spirit Moves Through the Cracks
If I were an angel, I would not rush the gates—I would jam the printer.
I would muddle the memo.
I would redirect the call.
I would delay the transport.
I would move within the inefficiencies already present and stretch them until the system folds.
Because in the halls of unjust power, grace doesn’t always come loud.
Sometimes it comes quietly…
With just enough disruption to remind the world that heaven sees everything, and justice doesn’t always wear a badge.
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