1. The Insurrection

Martin

Martin stared at the larger-than-life portrait on the wall - saturating himself with the burden of responsibility shared with a man who had come before him many moons ago. He was deeply spiritual and intensely guided by his inner voice and had carefully and thoughtfully chosen which portrait he wanted to display in The Oval. When it was all said and done, he had chosen just one: Abraham Lincoln.

He fixed his eyes on Lincoln’s - taking in the portrait in its entirety. His eyes averted back to the briefing from the National Security Administration that had been delivered to him just minutes earlier. A single television suspended adjacent to the hanging portrait recounted in real-time the carnage taking place 2 miles down on First Street. Martin’s attention went from the briefing to the television then back to Lincoln. He glared intensely into the eyes of his distant predecessor. Like Lincoln, Martin was weighted down with a decision that could bring unimaginable state violence against the State itself. Like Lincoln, every decision made hereafter would either preserve the Union or bring it to its knees.

Like Lincoln, Martin wold have to deal with the question no President wanted to answer: How do you deal with the a traitor to The Republic?

Martin rubbed his finger across his eyes, freeing the tension attempting to build up behind his left temple. He turned back to the television - the images of intense violence searing into his consciousness with each passing image. He looked on in horror as thousands of the nation’s most unhinged poured into the Capitol. From what he could tell, The Capitol Police were being overrun and the angry mob that assembled in DC had come to enact their rage through senseless violence. They smashed windows. They decimated offices and heirlooms. They scaled the walls and tore down doors.

The United States Capitol was under attack by a mob of white supremacists.

Martin had asked for some time to be alone. A few minutes passed and he knew it was just a matter of minutes before his National Security Advisor would be looking for a decision from him. He knew he likely had even less time before the Secret Service removed him from the Oval for his safety. With each passing minute, every passing second, The Capitol fell further into chaos. Martin knew that that mob - fueled by the fumes of racism and white supremacy- would no doubt murder every congressman in that building if given the opportunity to do so.

He knew that their blood would be on his hands.

My God.

Martin’s spirit cried out.

For the last three years, he had grown used to threats of violence as he worked tirelessly to demilitarize the nation’s police forces - a position that alienated even the most left of liberal. He angered conservatives with a slew of executive orders that severely limited and regulated policing budgets. Even some of his most loyal cabinet members felt that he was gambling his political future by coming after the police with such fury.

Martin faced backlash and even had a member of his Cabinet threatened to quit after he unveiled his plan to close every overseas base by the end of his second term. He absorbed the unrelenting attacks from a united political enemy when he railed through comprehensive and sweeping housing and healthcare reform. Martin didn’t bat an eye nor miss a beat in his commitment to America’s most vulnerable - vetoing a $900 Billion military budget in his first year while championing for a Universal Basic Income and Student Debt Relief for the same price.

In his first three years, Martin had already confronted poverty and militarism of America - just as he had promised. Still, here he was watching in horror as the United States Capitol burned, and the arsonists responsible were those refusing to accept where the vastly changing nation was headed. In their eyes, their country was stolen by a radical Black socialist.

They had come to collect their country and now, Martin faced the impossible decision to activate the National Guard - a move that would undoubtedly bring chaos, carnage, and bloodshed for the world to see. The threat of violence was insurmountable and would just be a matter of time before the violent mob turned their rage to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Non-violence was no longer an option.

Martin stood up and walked to the middle of the room. He dropped to his knees, positioning himself to speak intimately with his Savior. With his back to Lincoln’s portrait, King searched for his spiritual answer to the problem he was facing - and he was running out of time.

“Father God….” he began. “Where do I go from here?”