Her name was Arena Zaretska. She was twenty-three years old. A beautiful kid. She fled a goddamn warzone, Ukraine, to come here, to America, the great, shining city on a hill, the land of the free and the home of the brave. She came here looking for a peaceful, prosperous life. And she found it, for a little while. She was working, she was living, she was doing the whole damn thing.
And then, on a train ride home from her shift in Charlotte, North Carolina, a man with dead eyes and a heart full of poison decided to end it all. He stabbed her. Brutally. For no goddamn reason. A beautiful, innocent, twenty-three-year-old girl, bled out on the floor of a commuter train.
A tragedy, right? The kind of thing that should stop the whole goddamn country in its tracks. The kind of thing that should have the news anchors weeping on air, the politicians thumping their chests and promising justice.
But it didn’t.
There was just… a quiet, polite, and completely deafening silence.
And in that silence, you can hear the whole goddamn lie.
You see, there’s a video. An eight-minute video that’s been viewed billions of times, not on their news channels, but in the dark, honest corners of the internet where the truth still manages to crawl out of its cage every now and then. And on that video, you can hear the man who did it, the monster who took this beautiful, living thing and turned it into a piece of meat on a cold slab, you can hear him say it. Not once, but twice.
“I got that white girl.”
Let that sink in for a minute. Let it crawl around in your skull. “I got that white girl.”
Now, let’s play a little game. Let’s pretend for a minute. Let’s pretend that Arena Zaretska was a beautiful, young black girl. And let’s pretend that the man who stabbed her was a white man. And let’s pretend that after he did it, he stood there, with the blood on his hands, and he said, “I got that black girl.”
What do you think would happen?
You know what would happen. All hell would break loose. The mainstream media, that great, beautiful, and completely corrupt machine of propaganda, it would have a goddamn field day. It wouldn’t just be a story; it would be a crusade. The Catholic University of America would have a mural of the Virgin Mary cradling her broken body up on their walls by lunchtime. Every corporation in America would be posting a white square on their Instagram, a quiet, pathetic little symbol of their own manufactured grief. The riots would have started by nightfall. The cities would be burning.
Remember George Floyd? A man with a rap sheet as long as my arm, a man who died with a belly full of fentanyl, a man who, by all accounts, was not a racial act, but a case of a bad cop being a bad cop. And for that, we had a summer of love, a summer of burning cities and toppled statues and a whole goddamn country on its knees, apologizing for a sin it didn’t commit. CNN has forty-two thousand stories about George Floyd on their website. Forty-two thousand.
And how many for Arena Zaretska? For the first few days? Zero. A big, fat, beautiful, and completely honest zero. The Wall Street Journal, that great bastion of journalistic integrity, they waited days to weigh in, and when they finally did, it was on page five.
And the headline? “Woman’s Stabbing Death Becomes MAGA Talking Point.”
Do you see it now? Do you see the goddamn machinery?
They don’t hate racism. They fucking love it. It’s their bread and butter. It’s the fuel for their whole goddamn machine. It’s the holy scripture of their new, ugly, and completely joyless religion.
No, they don’t hate racism. They just hate white people.
And that, right there, that’s the last great, unspoken truth of our time. You’re not allowed to say it, of course. It’s the ultimate blasphemy. The second the words leave your mouth, they come for you. The priests of the new church, the ones with the blue hair and the dead eyes, they scream at you, they point their fingers, they call you a heretic. A “racist.” And that’s the end of the conversation. That’s the beauty of their new religion. It has a built-in kill switch for any thought that doesn’t fit the approved narrative.
But we’re here, in the dark, just you and I and the bottle. And in the dark, we can tell the truth.
The truth is, this isn’t a news story. It’s a goddamn programming memo. It’s an instruction to the masses. And the instruction is this: White lives do not matter. A dead white girl is not a tragedy; it’s a talking point for the enemy. Her life, her story, her beautiful, tragic, and completely unnecessary death, it’s just an inconvenience. It doesn’t fit the narrative.
And what is the narrative?
The narrative is that white people are the oppressors, and everyone else is the victim. The narrative is that the world is a simple, ugly, and completely dishonest cartoon of good guys and bad guys, and the color of your skin is your uniform. The narrative is that the only racism that exists is the one that flows downhill, from the powerful to the powerless.
And that’s how they get you. That’s how they keep you quiet. Because if you, a white man, stand up and scream about the injustice of a dead white girl, you’re not a crusader for justice. You’re a racist. You’re a bigot. You’re just trying to protect your own “privilege.”
So where are the white squares? Where are the riots? Where are the marches in the streets for Arena Zaretska?
They’re not there. Because white people are the only group of people on the planet who have been successfully brainwashed into feeling guilty for their own goddamn existence. They’re the only ones who have been taught that their own self-preservation is a form of hatred.
And that’s the whole point. They don’t want you to unite. They don’t want you to push back. They want you to sit there, in your quiet, comfortable, and completely soul-crushing little cage, and you’re supposed to watch them burn your house down, and you’re supposed to apologize for the smoke.
And the most beautiful, ugly, and completely honest part of this whole goddamn tragedy?
It’s a wake-up call.
The media, in their own disgusting, and completely transparent way, they’ve done us a favor. They’ve shown us their hand.
They’ve pulled back the curtain, and they’ve shown us the ugly, little, and completely pathetic man who’s been pulling the levers all along. They’ve made the lie so big, so bold, so goddamn obvious, that even the sleepwalkers are starting to stir.
This isn’t just about one dead girl on a train. It’s about the death of a country. It’s about the slow, quiet, and completely deliberate murder of a culture, of a people, of a whole goddamn way of life.
And they’re doing it right in front of our eyes. And they’re telling us we’re not allowed to see it.
So you ask me for my opinion.
My opinion is that the house is on fire. My opinion is that the clowns are the ones holding the matches. And my opinion is that any man who sits there, watching it all burn, and still pretends that this is all just a normal, healthy political disagreement, is either a fool, a coward, or a goddamn traitor.
This isn’t about politics. This is about survival. And in a war for survival, the first casualty is always the truth. And the second is always the innocent.
Rest in peace, Arena Zaretska. You were a beautiful, innocent, and completely inconvenient victim of a war you didn’t even know you were fighting.
