The ICE Machine Will Not Stop Without A Reduction of Rewards
Those perplexed by the tireless forward motion of ICE—despite outrage, funerals, and the sort of historical comparisons that usually prompt solemn museum exhibits—have misdiagnosed the problem. The obstacle is not condemnation. Condemnation is plentiful.
The fuel is reward.
Consider the recent canonization of the agent involved in the killing of Renee Nicole Good, a mother, poet, and citizen whose death has been rebranded as an opportunity. Crowdfunding pages bloomed immediately, heavy with praise and heavier with cash, attracting sums that would impress a mid-sized startup. This occurred even as the platforms hosting the collections pretended not to notice their own rules, and as the Department of Justice announced, preemptively and with admirable confidence, that there was nothing worth investigating. Thus, the lesson is delivered efficiently: violence in the service of authority is not merely excusable; it is profitable.
The ritual is familiar. Sanctify first, verify later, and monetize throughout. Accountability, like a shy guest, never makes it past the foyer.
If the public wonders why it feels poorer despite the unceasing declarations of “dominance” and “greatness,” it is because arithmetic has betrayed the narrative. Energy bills have risen, sometimes sharply, in places that winter still insists on visiting. Families have adjusted by trimming food, sleep, and dignity, while being told, cheerfully, that their discomfort is imaginary, a hoax. This is a daring position to take against utility companies, invoices, and cold weather.
The cause, alas, is not mystery but method. Demand was inflated, supply was constricted, cheaper alternatives were discouraged, assistance was cut, and then surprise was expressed when prices behaved exactly as predicted. Having engineered the spike, the administration now denies its existence. It is governance by gaslight, warmed by a space heater many cannot afford.
Meanwhile, mercy has been modernized. Pardons now function less as acts of grace than as loyalty rewards, complete with repeat benefits. Convictions are temporary inconveniences for the well-connected, reversible upon sufficient demonstration of usefulness. Justice, once blind, now squints at donor lists.
And then there is the Nobel—polished, photogenic, and gratifyingly hollow. A prize meant to honor resistance to authoritarianism has been transformed into a prop for it. The medal changes hands; legitimacy does not. Peace remains unmoved. The photograph circulates anyway.
What binds these episodes is a devotion to objects over outcomes: money over morality, trophies over truth, confidence over competence. Authority is insulated by cash and myth, while ordinary people absorb the costs in bills, distrust, and the unsettling realization that the rules have been reallocated.
Yet even here, a stubborn residue persists. Memory resists erasure. Documents remain. Photographs and videos persist. Patterns insist. And clarity, however bleak, still illuminates. It may not stop the machine today, but it denies it the comfort of being forgotten—which, in this age, is the only mercy power truly seeks.
