I know I’m stepping out on a ledge here, but look around—have you noticed them? The SS. No, not just in the history books. I mean here, in your streets, your neighborhoods. The same uniformed arrogance, the same cold-eyed menace that once marched through Nazi Germany, now reborn in whispers and boots and fists. They don’t wear swastikas this time, but their hatred is unmistakable—harassing, humiliating, brutalizing. You know who they are: they keep you up at night with loud car backfires, etc.

And people? Some have snapped. Others vanish into the background, keeping their heads down, praying the knock doesn’t come at night. Don’t be surprised if one day you find yourself packing a bag in silence, fleeing across a border like it’s 1942 again. Or maybe you’ll need to find a trapdoor, a crawlspace, a hiding place—just like Anne Frank, scribbling hope in the shadows while the world outside grows colder.

History isn’t repeating. It’s resurrecting.