The Panican Ledger

 

As the shelves grow bare and the ports fall silent, Secretary Bessent emerges — or rather wanes — in full spectral regalia. Once hailed as a steward of sober governance, he now haunts the checkout aisles of consequence, preaching the virtues of “strategic patience” while families barter canned beans for baby formula. His transformation from adult-in-the-room to ossified hype man for economic ruin is nearly complete.

With a bony digit pointed at Beijing and a press release flapping like funeral bunting, Bessent declares the collapse of trade a “testament to American resolve.” It is not resolve we witness, but rot — a dignified decay dressed in policy jargon and empty shelf signage. Call it what it is: the apotheosis of administrative cowardice, where reputations go to die, and Dignity Wraiths rise to take their place.

We can marvel at the audacity or stare in horror at the hollowness — but most of us haven’t the luxury. We’re too busy rationing groceries, dodging price hikes, and pretending powdered milk is a lifestyle choice. The spectacle of collapse has become background noise to survival. And while Bessent sermonizes about "resilience" from a podium made of vanished shipments and vaporous credibility, the rest of us are left to build dinner out of metaphors and markdowns. The American Dream, indeed.