The Trial of the Gods for Crimes Against Humanity
Where Justice Drowns, the Jury Bleats, and the Thunderbolt Pleads the Fifth
Light Against Empire - The Podcast
The marble pillars gleamed like justice. The gavel cracked like thunder. The stenographer already wanted hazard pay.
“All rise,” the bailiff barked.
Poseidon objected immediately. “I don’t rise,” he boomed, slamming his trident. “I flood.” The chamber filled ankle-deep in salt water. Senators in borrowed togas hiked their hems and cursed. Hera raised her hand to object but forgot whether she was the prosecutor, the defense attorney, or both. Zeus muttered something about executive privilege, then tripped over his own toga.
So began the trial of the gods for crimes against humanity.
It should have been a solemn moment. Millennia of divine misconduct were finally to be judged, from thunderbolt harassment to climate sabotage to wars waged for sport. Instead, it looked like a C-SPAN hearing staffed entirely by drunk relatives at a wedding.
Exhibit A: Zeus, the Untouchable
The indictment scroll was so long it rolled out the courthouse door. The first name was obvious.
“Charges against Zeus,” the clerk read, “included, but are not limited to: abuse of power, thunderbolting without due process, serial workplace harassment, impersonation of swans, bulls, and showers of gold, monopolizing executive privilege, and repeated violations of mortals’ consent.”
Zeus yawned. “I plead the Fifth,” he said. Then, sensing an opening, added: “And the Sixth. And the Seventh. I plead all the amendments, ancient and modern.”
The stenographer sighed and wrote, Defendant pleads everything.
Hera crossed the floor in her dual role as prosecutor and spousal grievance committee. “Is it true,” she snapped, “that you once transformed into a bull to abduct Europa?”
Zeus smirked. “Objection,” he said. “Leading question.”
“You led with horns!” Hera shot back.
The court erupted.
Exhibit B: Poseidon, Climate Offender-in-Chief
Next came Poseidon, who arrived dripping seawater and self-pity.
“Charges include: flooding coastlines, stirring hurricanes for sport, collapsing fisheries, and threatening to drown anyone who builds offshore wind turbines.”
Poseidon slammed his trident. “I demand trial by water!”
The chamber was waist-deep within minutes. Jurors floated on benches. The stenographer climbed atop a raft. A mortal chorus in the gallery shouted, “This looks familiar!” as if they’d seen Miami on the evening news.
Poseidon sniffed. “I’m the original climate event. Don’t blame me if mortals can’t swim.”
Exhibit C: Ares, War Profiteer
When Ares swaggered to the stand, the bailiff confiscated three swords, two grenades, and a small catapult.
“Charges include: unnecessary wars, ceaseless bloodshed, permanent subscription to conflict renewed without voter consent.”
Ares flexed. “War is my job description. You don’t indict bakers for baking bread.”
“Do you profit from it?” asked the prosecutor.
Ares leaned in. “Profit is victory. Victory is profit.”
The gallery groaned. One mortal shouted, “Iraq!” Another yelled, “Ukraine!” Ares shrugged. “Details.”
Exhibit D: Hermes, Tech Bro God
Hermes slid into the witness box wearing winged sneakers and a Silicon Valley hoodie. He set up a livestream mid-testimony, sponsored by ambrosia-coin.
“Charges include: insider trading, spreading misinformation, breaking supply chains, and moving fast while breaking everything else.”
Hermes grinned. “Innovation!”
“Do you deny selling mortals snake oil?” the prosecutor pressed.
“Correction,” Hermes said. “I branded it.”
The chorus muttered about Twitter, AI, and crypto bubbles.
Exhibit E: Dionysus, Perpetually Drunk
Dionysus arrived late, glass in hand, toga stained with last night’s wine.
“Charges: dereliction of duty, public drunkenness, inciting riots, inspiring reality television.”
He raised his goblet. “I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth—on this perfectly good vintage.”
The jury bleated. Not metaphorically. Literally. Every juror had turned into a goat. Hermes smirked in the corner.
Courtroom Chaos
By midday the trial was chaos. Apollo strummed a lyre loudly enough to drown out testimony. The stenographer gave up and switched to doodling caricatures. Hephaestus slammed the gavel so hard the bench cracked
Hera objected to herself. Zeus flirted with the bailiff. Poseidon refused to leave until the chamber was declared a protected wetland.
And yet—through the flood, the thunder, the intoxication—the mortal chorus leaned forward. They had seen this play before.
Leaders, divine or not, behave as if they answer to no one. They dodge questions. They weaponize privilege. They turn trials into theater and justice into farce. Mortals laugh at the absurdity, but the laughter curdles into recognition.
Because this wasn’t just a divine comedy. It was déjà vu.
Closing Arguments
The prosecutor, soaked and exhausted, rose. “Your honors, the gods stand guilty of crimes against humanity. If even Olympus can’t be held to account, what hope is there for mortals?”
The chorus erupted: “Guilty!” The jury of goats bleated in agreement. For a brief and shining moment, it seemed judgment might finally fall on the untouchable.
Verdict Deferred
Athena, presiding judge, raised her gavel. “Sentencing will now commence—”
Thunder roared. Zeus filibustered with a lightning storm. Poseidon drowned the evidence. Hermes bribed the goats with consulting jobs. Dionysus declared a recess at the nearest tavern.
The gods rose, laughing, dripping seawater and wine, walking free into the marble halls. The trial was adjourned.
The mortals mopped up the flood. The stenographer burned his notes. And the chorus, left in the wreckage, whispered the only truth that mattered:
Impunity is older than empire. And we are still living under its rule.
Dino’s Homilies and Poetry Site
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