Twelve hours. That’s how long it took.

Twelve hours after Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem announced a $200 million taxpayer-funded thank-you campaign for Trump—an order straight from him—he logged onto Truth Social. Urged Musk to “get more aggressive.” More destruction. Faster. Until the whole damn thing collapses.

Paralyze, then dismember the U.S. government. That’s the directive.

Why?

The agencies are bleeding staff. Even Trump’s enablers are looking away. But he doubles down. Because he knows something they don’t.

The backlash is coming.

He sees it outside Tesla dealerships, where protesters clutch signs: If Tesla Survives, Your Country Dies. In marches past shuttered government buildings. In town halls packed with furious Republican voters yelling at their own.

He’s always understood and feared this: ordinary people realizing they don’t have to take it.

In San Francisco, they stand outside Tesla showrooms with banners: Break Tesla, Break Musk. In D.C., protesters surround SpaceX, chanting for Musk to get out of government.

In places Trump never cared about—union halls, church basements—people are waking up.

And Trump knows what happens when backlash builds.

It starts with laughter—viral TikToks of anti-Musk messages projected onto Cybertrucks. A joke, at first. But laughter is a fuse, and when it catches, it moves fast.

To anger. Farmers in Wisconsin, Iowa waking up to find USAID contracts gone, crops rotting. Southern governors staring at FEMA’s gutted budget, hurricane season coming whether Trump believes in it or not.

Then, to action.

Trump sees it. Smells it. The fear of a man who’s spent his life breaking things and getting away with it, now faced with the people picking up the pieces.

So, he screams for more. Tells Musk to hit harder, move faster.

But it’s too late.

The backlash is already here.

Time Is Running Out

Trump doesn’t understand much—not the Constitution, not science, not spelling. But he understands this: time is running out.

Not just the clock on his second term. The patience of the people who put him there.

Even in the reddest states, murmurs are turning into something else. MAGA loyalty curdling. The stock market’s sliding, inflation creeping. Tempers rising, hotter than ever.

The fear, sadness, anger—it’s growing.

In federal workers packing up desks, service erased overnight. In families learning their medical research—Alzheimer’s, cancer, pediatric diseases—is gutted. Maybe forever.

Trump knows.

He knows when frustration turns to anger, it doesn’t go back. It spills into picket lines, the streets. Stops traffic. Stops business. Stops the machine.

Jon Stewart gets it. He’s calling for a national “24-Hour Economic Blackout” on Feb. 28.No spending. No feeding the billionaires, their big-box stores, their banks.

And while Trump golfs, soaks in sycophants’ applause in rented ballrooms, the reptilian part of his brain twitches.

Trouble.

Big trouble.

And when Trump senses trouble, he lashes out.

Every nonprofit needs to understand this: If you help people instead of exploiting them, you’re a target. If you ease suffering instead of profiting from it, you’re a threat.

Trump and his billionaire backers will smear you, lie about you—until the backlash finds them too.

It’s already happening. Iowa’s Republican governor smeared a huge and highly respected nonprofit—called it a money-laundering front—until she got dragged into a congressional hearing and forced to eat her words.

The lies are unraveling. The people who bought them, believed in them, built their world around them—they’re waking up.

And it’s an ugly morning.

Musk? He’ll do what billionaires do. Try to buy his way out. Fund primaries. Bankroll challengers. Flood midterms with money, thinking cash can drown out the anger.

But it won’t be enough.

Because the people are pissed.

And they’re rising.

Now is the time for nonprofits—not just to ask for money, but to tell the truth. Show donors the damage, the people being hit hardest. Then ask for action.

Call a representative. Show up at a town hall. Attend a school board or town council meeting. Talk to friends and neighbors.

Because history reminds us: what seems impossible today can become inevitable tomorrow.

But only if enough people choose to act.

No one person will save us.

But together, we can save each other.

Roger