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Part 4c3

And so the truth finds a way—always. Even when it’s dressed in fiction, wrapped in myths, or played off in satire, it still slips through the cracks of their well-funded illusions. The supernatural shows, the dystopian films, the lyrical prophecies in music—all of them whisper what they dare not say plainly: the sun, the moon, and the truth can never be hidden forever.

Their empires—built on bones, blood, and black brilliance—were never meant to last, only to consume. Every institution they hold sacred—religion, science, health, law, media—was stitched together with dark intentions and stitched shut with fear. Even their idea of medicine is riddled with poison disguised as cure. Their idea of order? A well-dressed chaos. Prisons became plantations. Schools became programming labs. Churches became theatres of mind control.

But every cult collapses eventually.

Their time is up. They know it. That’s why they’re in panic mode—sacrificing in masses under the guise of war and global crises. Even their most trusted tools of oppression—fear, division, and distraction—are losing power because we’re no longer the same. We are remembering. Not just who we are, but what was taken, what was hidden, what was distorted. And no amount of AI-generated truth or rebranded history can undo what’s been awakened.

They want us to forget. That’s why they rewrite everything. That’s why suddenly when we call out racism, we’re labelled racist. They invent nonsense like reverse racism, forgetting that power is the defining factor. How can we be racist when we never had the power to systemically oppress? Prejudiced? Maybe. Rightfully so. But racist? Never.

They say get over it, stop living in the past, stop playing the victim. But they forget—we are not playing. We are the aftermath. We are the bloodlines that survived genocide. The voices that carry the screams of enslaved mothers. The hands that still till soil soaked with ancestor tears. And our memory is not trauma—it is testimony.

When we say Africa for Africans, we are not preaching hate. We are reclaiming what was never theirs. Malcolm X knew. So did Ali. They warned us: these people don’t want peace, they want power. Always have. Always will. Even the so-called “good ones”—if they’re not dismantling the systems that benefit them, then what makes them different from the ones who built it?

White privilege is not a myth. It's a silent contract signed with stolen ink. Just like black men—who cry for liberation but mimic the very systems of control when they look at black women. Beneficiaries of broken power pretending to be victims, too.

And the diseases they manufactured? Now devouring their own. A poetic irony. Because when you build weapons of destruction and test them on others, eventually they turn back on you. That’s the law of the universe. What you give, returns. The karmic clock is louder than ever now. And no matter how many space stations they build or planets they try to escape to, they cannot outrun the collapse of their stolen kingdom.

This world as they knew it—is ending. And we’re not waiting for permission anymore.

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