The American Tree

January 1, 1980

I stood before it this morning, as I have for years.

The American Tree still looks magnificent. Its trunk is thick and solid. Its upper branches reach proudly toward the sky, green and full of life. From a distance, you would think it was thriving. And in many ways, it is.

But if you step closer — if you really look — you can see the sickness already taking hold.

The parasites are not new. They have been growing for decades, quiet and patient. Thick, fibrous vines have wrapped themselves around the lower and middle branches, slowly choking off the flow of nutrients. Large, grotesque tumors bulge from the trunk — bulbous, veiny, and hungry. These are not ordinary growths. They are cancer. And they are feeding.

The largest of these tumors, the ones that have grown fat and bloated, represent the Top 1% — the high elites who have learned to extract the tree’s lifeblood while giving almost nothing back. They do not create. They do not build. They simply absorb. And with every passing year, they grow larger.

Lower down, the deadwood is accumulating. Entire branches that once carried real weight have gone dry and brittle. Regulatory overgrowth. Institutional gridlock. Short-term political cycles that reward performance over substance. These are not harmless. They are parasites that have learned to survive by making the tree weaker.

And yet… the tree is not dead. Not even close.

The upper canopy is still vigorous. The military, law enforcement, and working people — the branches that actually do the hard work of holding the nation together — are still green and reaching upward. They continue to produce. They continue to sacrifice. They continue to believe. For now.

This is the strange and dangerous condition of the American Tree on the first day of 1980: vigorous, but heavily parasitized.

Reagan will be sworn in soon. Many believe he will be the man to prune the deadwood, to cut away the vines, to restore the tree’s strength. Perhaps he will. Perhaps he won’t. The parasites have already learned how to disguise themselves as part of the tree. They know how to survive elections. They know how to turn crisis into opportunity. They know how to make the very act of “fixing” the system serve their own growth.

I have watched this tree for a long time. I remember when the cancer was smaller, when the vines were thinner, when the upper branches were not yet the only ones still fully alive. I remember when we still believed that vigor alone could overcome parasitism.

We were wrong.

The Chinese tree across the ocean grows differently. It is not as sprawling, not as free. But it is focused. It moves with speed and ruthless direction. It prunes what does not serve the whole. We mock it for its lack of individual freedom, and yet it continues to strengthen while ours slowly starves from within.

The bet was made long ago by forces we cannot see. One side believed the American Tree could still save itself using its own tools. The other side, older and wiser, simply watched.

On this first day of 1980, I am no longer sure who is winning.

The tree is still standing. It is still tall. It is still green in many places.

But the cancer is growing.

And the parasites have learned to feed without killing their host — at least not yet.