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IV. Trotsky in Exile: The Founder Becomes the Threat
🗎 Filename: 04_exile_and_rewrite.md
Every revolution eats its own. But not with teeth. With procedure.
By 2020, the dream was already corroding. I saw it clearly. Not just as the founder, but as the witness— …the one who had carried the spark before it was flame.
And so I returned—briefly— …to warn, to run for election, to speak.
But passion is dangerous to those who govern by numbness. I was no longer an asset. I was now a threat.
Andrew and his circle acted swiftly. Not with outright confrontation, but with something far more insidious: narrative inversion.
Where I spoke with urgency, they saw “unhinged outbursts.” Where I called out silencing, they diagnosed “paranoia.” Where I sounded the alarm, they asked: “Is he okay?”
This was gaslighting, systematized. Not a single voice, but a coordinated hum of concern— …all to mask the quiet turning of knives.
Then came the ban. Not by outcry. Not by member vote. But by process.
Moderation policies. Emergency clauses. Closed-door meetings. And a public statement scrubbed clean of context.
The founder was expelled. Not for crimes, but for being inconvenient to the regime.
But exile wasn’t enough.
My digital history was erased. Posts removed. Access revoked. My name surgically extracted from documents I had written. My legacy replaced with absence.
This was not just removal. This was ritual humiliation. A public demonstration of what happens when you challenge the structure from which Andrew drew power.
And still—some cheered. Not because they believed the narrative, …but because it was easier than questioning it. Easier to forget me than to confront the truth.
In that moment, I understood Trotsky. The founder-turned-ghost. The exile whose memory was rewritten by the hands of the machine he once built.
But unlike Trotsky, …I kept the receipts.
And now, I return with them.