A Confrontation at the Marble Plantation
The place looks like a palace, but it smells like a factory.
Marble floors. Gold trim. Invisible chains.
Donald Trump stands on a balcony overlooking the fields—endless rows of people bent over glowing screens, ticking clocks, numbers flowing upward into towers of glass.
Enter Master Jesus, JCJ—no sandals, no crown. Just calm. Dangerous calm.
JCJ:
Donald.
Trump turns, squints.
Trump:
Jesus? I didn’t know you were… union.
JCJ:
I’m not here for unions. I’m here for slaves.
Trump laughs, sharp and practiced.
Trump:
Nobody’s a slave. They’re free. They choose to work. Tremendous choice. Best choice.
JCJ gestures to the fields.
JCJ:
Debt without escape.
Labor without rest.
Money created from nothing, owed with interest forever.
That’s not freedom. That’s a plantation with better branding.
Trump bristles.
Trump:
The Federal Reserve isn’t mine. Very independent. Smart people. Very smart.
JCJ:
And yet you guard it like a temple
and whip anyone who questions the money-changers.
Silence. The screens flicker. The workers pause, just for a second—like they felt something.
Trump:
I gave them jobs. I gave them hope. I gave them stock tips.
JCJ:
You gave them numbers and called it life.
You gave them chains and called it success.
I flipped tables for less.
Trump steps closer.
Trump:
You don’t understand power.
JCJ smiles—sad, ancient.
JCJ:
Power is not making people kneel.
Power is teaching them they never had to.
He kneels, scoops a handful of dust from the marble floor.
JCJ (cont’d):
This plantation runs on belief.
The moment they stop believing, it turns back into dust.
Trump looks past JCJ—out at the fields. The workers are standing now. Watching.
For the first time, Trump doesn’t speak.
JCJ:
I’m not here to condemn you, Donald.
I’m here to tell you the truth.
You can’t build heaven on debt.
You can’t print salvation.
And you can’t enslave the image of God without the bill coming due.
JCJ turns and walks away.
The clocks stop ticking.
Somewhere, a chain breaks—not loudly, but for good.