When U.S. President Donald Trump declared on February 19 that Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky—not Russian President Vladimir Putin—was the real dictator, he wasn't only spouting inflammatory rhetoric. He was launching a calculated assault on our collective memory and shared reality. From our reality-star king-in-chief this is not just another chaotic distraction that we slap the word unprecedented on—it's an active threat that puts millions of Ukrainian lives at risk and fuels violent instability across Europe.
But it's also a direct insult to the American people, who witnessed these events unfold in real time just two years ago. Most voters can recall the horror of watching a sovereign nation be invaded by an army. Trump's audacious attempt to rewrite current events follows the authoritarian playbook to the letter: Deny reality, rewrite the narrative, and weaponize chaos and confusion until the public's grip on truth begins to slip. The end goal is crystal clear: total power, sacrificing democracy and millions of lives in the process.
The strategy is painfully familiar because we've already lived through it. Within hours of his inauguration, Trump continued his rewriting of January 6—yet another event we all witnessed in real time. The pardon he issued is far from popular or celebrated by voters, as 83% of Americans disapprove of this decision, disapprove of this rewriting of history. We watched his supporters, inflamed by his lies, storm the Capitol to block the peaceful transfer of power. That poll indicates that the American people know what we saw no matter how many executive orders he signs. We recall how the violence was methodical: smashed windows, destroyed barricades, ransacked offices. The human cost was devastating: lives lost, lawmakers running for safety, democracy itself under siege. For 187 excruciating minutes, Trump—then still the sitting president—ignored pleas to stop the violence, instead making calls to senators urging them to object to the election while watching the chaos unfold on Fox News. When he finally spoke, it wasn't to condemn the violence but to validate it: "We love you... I know your pain... the election was stolen." He watched democracy burn and poured gasoline on the flames. And now, he's reaching for the gas can again.
Fact-checking isn't just a journalistic practice—it's an act of civic resistance that each of us must embrace.
This pattern isn't just about misstatements or confusion. This is about the systematic dismantling of shared reality—a tactic many authoritarian heads of state have relied on. In Romania, where I was born, the brutal dictator Nicolae Ceaușescu didn't just control the present; he rewrote the past. His regime banned books, silenced histories, and maintained lists of names that couldn't be spoken aloud. The goal wasn't just censorship—it was the eradication of collective memory. It was also necessary for his attempts to target specific communities. If our histories were not honored it was easier to deny our human rights.
Putin's Russia shows us this same pattern. He claims Ukraine has no legitimate history as a nation, that it was "entirely created by Russia." These aren't just words—it's the groundwork for invasion and occupation. When Trump echoes these lies about Ukraine and Zelensky, he's not just parroting Putin's propaganda. He's signaling his allegiance to the authoritarian practice of bending reality itself to serve power.
And of course, we need to talk about Hitler's Germany. Not only because the Nazi salute is suddenly being flaunted before conservative audiences in the U.S., but because that is exactly what we are seeing unfold right here in the United States. When the White House posts an ASMR video of an undocumented person in chains being taken to a concentration camp, we need to talk about Nazi Germany. Like Trump, the Nazi regime didn't begin with death camps; they began with propaganda, with book burnings, with the systematic rewriting of history to support their white supremacist ideology. North Korea too maintains its grip on power through absolute control of information and historical narrative. These aren't distant cautionary tales—they're blueprints being followed by Trump.
The architects of alternative facts fear one thing above all: truth told boldly and repeatedly. Since 1848, when the Associated Press was founded with an emphasis on factual reporting, journalism has served as a check on power. It's no coincidence that Trump has now banned AP reporters from the White House press corps for their factual reporting about the Gulf of Mexico. When facts become the enemy, we're watching authoritarianism in action. But defending truth isn't just the job of journalists, though their freedom remains essential to democracy's survival. The front line in this battle runs through every conversation we have, every social media post we share, every time we choose to speak up rather than stay silent. Fact-checking isn't just a journalistic practice—it's an act of civic resistance that each of us must embrace.
The more chaotic and overwhelming these attacks on truth become, the more essential it is that we refuse to normalize them. Speak up. It matters. It makes a difference. Each book banned, each journalist silenced through intimidation or exile, each historical event rewritten—these are not isolated incidents. They are coordinated strikes against our collective power to resist.
It often feels like we are at the point of no return, especially when we look at the complicity of Congress. Congress' willingness to surrender its constitutional role has become apparent to many Americans. Rather than draft legislation or serve as a check on executive power, Republican lawmakers have chosen to let Trump rule by decree. Why bother with the messy work of democracy when you can simply allow a demagogue to issue orders? This isn't just institutional failure—it's institutional surrender and they are betraying every American by doing so. The Republicans in Congress have traded their dignity and our democracy for positive tweets from Elon Musk and Trump.
Though this is undeniably bleak, I don't believe it means defeat. It means we must make a collective decision: Will we perform what Timothy Snyder calls "anticipatory obedience" (especially since a majority of the orders are unjust, unconstitutional, and illegal), or will we hold onto our shared reality with fierce determination? History isn't just a record of what happened—it's a guide for resistance. When we allow our past to be rewritten, we surrender the lessons that could save our future. When someone thinks they can rewrite the past, they believe themselves to be God in control of events. We have to make sure we declare that Trump is no King nor God.
The path forward isn't through individual action or protecting our personal freedoms. This moment demands collective resistance, a tall order in a country that is being told it must destroy its neighbors to survive. But we know better. We love our neighbors. We see the labor and care our national park service workers are investing and we believe the firing of the 100,000 federal workers who maintained our freedom is unjust and needs to be reversed. We know that in a democracy, an unelected billionaire does not have the right to treat Americans as pawns. We are smarter than Elon and Trump are acting like we are. Every time Trump attempts to rewrite January 6 or parrot Putin's propaganda about Ukraine, we must respond not with outrage (after all, this was all written in Project 2025), but with unwavering commitment to truth. We must refuse to let our shared reality be negotiated away in service of authoritarian ambition.
History is clear on this point: When leaders wage war on truth itself, silence equals surrender. We cannot afford to surrender now. Read the books. Refuse to obey in advance unjust, unconstitutional, and illegal executive actions. Gather with your neighbors and friends and speak the truth. Refuse to believe in the lie that we are now against one another, for our individual survival. We must gather and speak the truth in unison: Trump is no King nor God.
