Et Tu, America? Rome’s Worst Hits (Now on Tour in Washington!) --Chronicles of Collapse (with Jokes)
A Populist, a General, and a Spray-Tanned Caesar Walk into a Democracy…
Welcome to the Fall, Please Mind the Marble
Somewhere between a Caesar haircut and a Supreme Court ruling, you may have had the eerie feeling that America has become… Roman.
Not in a good way. Not in the “republic of civic virtue” way or the “spear and sandals” grandeur.
No, we’ve skipped the toga parties and gone straight to the constitutional arson.
The monuments are still standing (for now). The Senate still opens (in theory). And the rule of law still exists (on weekdays, before lunch). But if you squint just right—or stop squinting at all—you’ll notice something chilling:
The collapse doesn’t start with war.
It starts with the law obeying the wrong man.
So grab a goblet of wine or a lukewarm Monster Energy, and let’s stroll through history's red flags, all waving at once. We’ll walk beside three Romans—Sulla, Marius, and Octavian—and compare notes with their biggest American fanboy: Donald J. Trump.
If you're not nervous by the end, check your pulse. Or your voter registration.
ACT I: SULLA — The Blueprint for Vengeance with a Stationery Set
If you’ve never heard of Lucius Cornelius Sulla, don’t worry—Trump hasn’t either. But they’d get along famously.
Sulla was a patrician general who, finding himself mildly inconvenienced by Rome’s democratic machinery, decided to take the shortcut: he marched his army into the city and declared himself dictator.
Not a metaphor. Literally.
Picture the Secret Service helping Trump storm the Capitol while Fox News rebrands it as a “Freedom Stroll.”
Sulla didn’t just grab power. He redesigned it. Once in charge, he published “proscription lists”—legal documents that named his enemies and made it totally chill to murder them in broad daylight. Their property? Confiscated. Their legacy? Erased. Their heads? Public décor.
He made terror bureaucratic.
He made revenge legal.
He made dictatorship dignified, with Senate stationery.
Now let’s swivel the camera 2,000 years forward.
Trump hasn’t issued literal kill lists—though “lock her up” chants feel like a casual rehearsal—but the legal vengeance fantasy? He’s not whispering it. He’s campaigning on it. “I am your retribution,” he told a crowd.
He has an Attorney General who obeys him, a DOJ that prosecutes his enemies, and judges who rule with one eye on Truth Social.
Sulla did it first. Trump just does it with branding.
Sulla held elections too. He just made sure the winners were pre-decided.
Sound familiar?
Imagine if John Thune got to pick all the senators and their replacements, and you’re halfway there.
Sulla even retired after his purge—like a man leaving a restaurant after burning down the kitchen.
We’re not so lucky. Trump has no plans to retire. Just to rerun.
Dead People Would Be Alarmed: The “Sulla’s Ghost” Edition
Pliny the Elder, writing from a particularly wine-splattered scroll, would like to remind you: “If a man rewrites the law to hurt his rivals, he is not a reformer. He is a tyrant with a quill.”
Cicero, currently screaming from the underworld, adds: “Do not be deceived by their use of the word ‘Constitution.’ Sulla used it too, right before having me hunted by hired swords.”
Julius Caesar, smirking in the background: “Sulla taught me one thing: if you march once, you don’t have to march again. The people will remember.”
Modern translation? If a man campaigns on vengeance and gets power… he will use it.
And history will not be surprised.
ACT II: GAIUS MARIUS — The People’s General Who Burned the Ladder
Before Trump, before Twitter, before the red hats and broken glass on Capitol steps—there was Gaius Marius, Rome’s original populist disruptor.
He was, in modern terms, a “self-made man.” A “political outsider.” A general with a chip on his shoulder and a knack for rallying the forgotten man, which, in Rome’s case, meant landless poor who were excellent at stabbing things.
Marius didn’t start with revolution in mind. He started with reform. He looked around and saw a Rome where only landowners could serve in the military, which meant fewer soldiers, which meant more threats, which meant a fragile republic waiting to snap.
So he fixed it.
Kind of.
He opened the army to the poor. And in doing so, created the first standing army loyal not to Rome… but to Marius himself.
Oops?
These weren’t citizen-soldiers anymore. They were career fighters whose paychecks, pensions, and plunder came from him. Marius fed them, led them, and—eventually—unleashed them on his enemies.
And here’s where things start to itch with familiarity.
Because Marius was loved. Not by the elites (they loathed him), but by the people. The base. The masses. The angry crowd was tired of being told to wait their turn.
He made them feel seen. Heard. Armed.
And in return, they gave him what every autocrat dreams of: a cult.
Trump’s MAGA-Marius Vibe
Let’s not be coy—Trump’s not a war hero.
But he is a grievance general. And like Marius, he’s taken the disaffected—left behind by globalization, automation, opioid addiction, the smug laughter of coastal brunch—and turned them into an army.
Not a literal army (yet), but a movement ready to march.
Jan. 6 was the rehearsal dinner. He’s betting the next one’s the wedding.
Trump’s base doesn’t just support him. They belong to him. He’s their voice, their vengeance, their identity. And like Marius, he made them a promise:
“Stick with me, and I’ll destroy the people who made you feel small.”
What Marius did with swords, Trump does with tweets, Fox News rants, and capital-letter threats about “illegal votes” and “weaponized justice.”
Same playbook. New font.
The Seven-Time Consul and the Third-Term Whispers
Marius was elected consul seven times—sometimes legally, sometimes not. He ran again and again, arguing that only he could save Rome from the barbarians (external and internal). And the people believed him until it was too late.
Trump has only whispered about a third term. But his supporters? They’re shouting it.
They've tested slogans like:
“Trump 2028”
“King Donald”
“The Constitution is just a piece of paper, anyway.”
The ground is already cracked. All it takes is one more “emergency,” and the ladder back to democracy burns—just like Marius burned his.
Rome’s Capitol, America’s Capitol
Marius paved the way for the civil war. His reforms, however noble in origin, tore the old order down and replaced it with something much simpler: loyalty to a man, not a mission.
When Trump supporters stormed the Capitol, they weren’t defending America. They were defending him.
That is the Marius legacy, reborn.
ACT III: OCTAVIAN — How to Wear a Republic Like a Costume
If Sulla was the prototype tyrant and Marius the populist firestarter, Octavian—later known as Augustus—was the finish carpenter of autocracy. The guy knew how to kill a republic and make it look like a home renovation.
You see, Octavian wasn’t a blustering warlord. He was smooth. Calculated. When Caesar was assassinated, Octavian didn’t shout; he mourned. Publicly. Artistically. Strategically.
And then he got even.
He teamed up with Marc Antony just long enough to slaughter Caesar’s enemies, then turned on Antony when the time was right. He took down Cleopatra, ended a century of civil war, and brought peace to Rome—by owning every lever of power and pretending it was still a republic.
He didn’t destroy the Senate. He kept it. He just neutered it.
He didn’t abolish elections. He just made sure the only acceptable winner… was him.
He took the name Princeps—“First Citizen”—not Emperor. Which was cute, because he held absolute power, commanded the armies, controlled the treasury, and could exile or execute rivals with bureaucratic flair.
It was tyranny with manners. A hostile takeover with robes and incense.
Rome still looked like a republic—on the outside. But inside? It was Octavian’s playhouse.
Octavian with a Spray Tan
Now tell me this doesn’t sound familiar:
The government still functions… but only in name.
The courts still exist… but slowly bend toward one man.
The Senate still meets… but does nothing to restrain him.
The people still vote… but the outcome depends on whether he accepts it.
Octavian sold dictatorship as peace. Trump sells it as restoration.
Not revolution, no—he loves the Constitution. Just not the parts that limit him. Or the ones with “14th Amendment” in the title.
And let’s talk branding.
Octavian had statues, coins, poets, and temples. Trump? He has NFTs, gold sneakers, Bible photo-ops, and Fox News graphics that make him look ten pounds thinner and ten years younger.
Octavian manipulated religion to legitimize his rule. Trump has cornered the market on political Pentecostalism. Jesus is now wearing a MAGA hat, apparently, and offering tax breaks.
Both men understood that once the public believes the republic is still alive, it doesn’t matter that it’s already embalmed.
The Quiet Coup
Here’s the scariest part:
Octavian didn’t ask Rome to give up on itself.
He just made them tired enough to let him run things.
That’s Trump’s plan, too.
Keep the outrage machine humming, discredit every institution that resists him, and wait for the public to say, “Fine. Let him have it. Maybe he’ll shut up.”
We are one crisis away from “emergency powers.”
One terrorist attack away from “indefinite detention.”
One economic collapse away from “temporary martial oversight of elections.”
And when it comes?
The Constitution will still be on display.
The Capitol will still have lights.
And the TV anchors will still use words like normal and historic.
And somewhere in the shadows, the republic will exhale its last breath.
Final Act: Standing at the Rubicon with a Selfie Stick
Sulla showed us how to break the law from inside it.
Marius showed us how to bend the people into a weapon.
Octavian showed us how to kill a republic and make it look like it got a promotion.
Trump has studied all three—consciously or not. His genius, if we can call it that, is a kind of instinctual corruption. He feels where the cracks are. And he’s ready to split them wide open.
He doesn’t need to be smart. Just shameless.
He doesn’t need to be a general. Just adored.
And he doesn’t need to be a Caesar—just someone who convinces America that Caesar is a good idea.
So here we are.
At the Rubicon.
The river’s shallow now.
The bridge is paved.
And the crowd is already cheering.
The only question left is:
Will we cross it willingly?
Further Reading:
