Diary of an Imperial Stormtrooper in the Age of Trump

In my Star Wars allegory, I am a stormtrooper assigned to midlevel management on the Death Star (a gigantic moon-like construction that has the power to destroy entire planets). I never chose this role…I was born into servitude and in return I get to lead a pretty comfortable life, even as I live every day in violation of my own values.

I learned to love myself through realizing that my station didn’t preclude me from doing good work just because I don’t get to fly an X-wing with the Rebellion. To the contrary — I’ve got access to the Imperial socket wrench that can be used to discreetly loosen the inner workings of (and sometimes directly sabotage) the Death Star from the inside. I can also quietly recruit other stormtroopers to rebel. This is really important work, and I am perfectly positioned to do it.

But after Tuesday, I’m starting to think that stormtroopers like me cannot *only* see our work as quietly dismantling and sowing seeds on the inside. There are going to come times when we, too, will have to suit up for the Rebellion and fly escort for the freedom fighters. We will have to risk something beyond what we have previously known.

Because the Rebellion has been winning, and so the Empire is terrified, going into full offense mode, powering up the Death Star’s giant laser to destroy something, anything, everything. Laser turrets swivel. TIE fighters scramble.

But rebels were born for this moment.
We ready. We comin.

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