The Tale of Trumplestiltskin
A Fairy Tale
There once was a nation conflicted with itself. This is because it had such a vile and racist past. Many of the citizens were still angry that they could no longer own slaves, and now the worst thing ever had come to pass. Somehow the citizens had elected a great black man named Barack Obama to be their king.
Obama was nearly a perfect leader. He was charismatic, intelligent, and kind. He wanted to usher his nation into the future. But across the countryside, the citizens recoiled in disgust any time they saw his beautiful face and smile. They burned effigies made to look like the king. They hung marionettes from trees carved in his image, trying to incite more racial divide. They booed and hissed and cried.
In the capitol, they found representation from those willing to take up their cause. Among them was the snakiest of crooked snakes, who promised to end Obama’s reign. His name was Moscow Mitch.
Moscow Mitch walked like a turtle who had grown too tall for his shell. His chin drooped and sagged and disappeared into his neck. Moscow Mitch was an evil man with sabotage in his heart. All he wanted was to ruin Obama, because he was a black man, and Mitch hated black men for no other reason than the color of their skin. Mitch came from a long lineage of slave owners and old wealth. He longed for a return to that life.
Moscow Mitch worked day and night to thwart the goals of the king, and he knew that soon the people would want to replace him. But he looked all through the land for a suitable pig and could find no one brazen and crude enough to satisfy the roiling hate the had encompassed the nation.
Then one day, a door opened and a disgustingly pudgy troll walked in. His face was blotchy and bloated and red. His hair was dyed a ghastly gold, and thinned so it had to be combed in a ridiculous swirl to cover his bald and pimpled head. His lips puckered in a permanent sneer.
“Who are you, and what do you want?” Mitch asked.
“I’m Trumplestiltskin, and I will be your king,” the troll said with a grueling grin.
“I’m not sure. Are you piggish enough?” Mitch wanted to know.
“I rape women for fun and I blame everyone else for my mistakes. I’ll run on the promise of greatness for the one superior race!” shouted Trumplestiltskin.
“Oh, that sounds nice,” Mitch said, folding his hands on his chest, “but what do you want in return?”
“Nothing, nothing at all, I’m already a billionaire! But you must never ask to see my taxes,” he said.
And Moscow Mitch gleefully agreed.
And so it came to pass that the nation fell in love with Trumplestiltskin, finding his hideousness to be the perfect mirror reflection of their own inner wishes. They ate his promises like candy and delighted in his garishness. They reveled in his simpleness, the way he called the other races names like rapist, thief, terrorist, and rat. They did not mind that he was fat. They did not mind that he cheated on everything, including his wife. They did not mind his ignorance, his arrogance, his sinful disregard.
Under the reign of Trumplestiltskin, the people were free to be as racist as they wanted. They banned other religions from even entering the country. Along their borders, they built a great wall as a warning to immigrants with darker colored skin. They allowed their police to shoot unarmed men. Even as the nation grew poorer, and poorer, the people did not care, they did not even want to know where their money was spent.
And a great disease swept through the world, including the nation of Trumplestiltskin. The people were at first afraid, but Trumplestiltskin lied and told them there was nothing to fear, the disease was trifling as the common cold. And the people died by the thousands, as Trumplestiltskin stood by and laughed, and told his people to continue to gather in the largest of crowds.
Because of this, a new leader arose, and his name was Joe. Joe could see that the disease had to be stopped. He asked the people to trust him with their votes. And miraculously, they did.
Moscow Mitch came to deliver the news.
“Trumplestiltskin, I’m sorry, but it seems your reign has come to an end,” he told him.
“Not true! Fake news!” shouted the troll, clutching his cellular phone.
“I’m afraid so,” said Moscow Mitch, “and while I’m sorry to see you go, it seems the country is now so poor because all you’ve ever done is stole.”
And Mitch held up some papers to show the troll. They were his tax returns. They showed that the troll was never truly a billionaire, and that he was massively in debt to other nations. They showed that he agreed to destroy the kingdom in return for forgiveness of his debts. They showed that great sums of money had been pilfered from the nation’s coffers, and funneled directly to Trumplestiltskin.
“You fool!” shouted Trumplestiltskin. “I told you, never to look at my taxes! Now, you will never be rid of me! I’ll take over this country by force, and put all who oppose me in cages, just like I’ve done to Mexico’s children!”
But Trumplestiltskin looked around, and saw military men standing at the ready with their rifles. He realized his game had come to an end. With that, he hissed a stream of venomous spittle and jumped out the window, never to be seen again.
The military men then lowered their barrels, pointing directly at the chest of Moscow Mitch.
“I know,” he said. “This is all my fault. I allowed this to happen, and I’m ready to pay my dues.”
And Joe ascended to the throne of the nation, with a long road to recovery ahead of them, and long path to redemption and healing of disunity. But the nation never forget the lessons they learned from the grotesque history of the Reign of Trumplestiltskin.