Five years on, and the left is still worshiping at the altar of George Floyd. Like a twisted, modern-day cult, they keep his memory preserved under a polished glass dome, enshrined in murals and monuments, whispering their ideological prayers to their new patron saint of victimhood.
Never mind the inconvenient truth that Floyd wasn’t exactly the saint they’ve painted him to be—facts have long since been offered up on the altar of narrative.
It’s like the cult of Molech all over again, where families would willingly sacrifice their own to a cold, unfeeling idol. But today’s version has a new twist. It’s not just about burning children alive—it’s about torching the lives of decent men in the pursuit of some warped justice.
Three police officers, who were just doing their jobs, have been torn from their families, torn from their lives, dragged through the streets of public opinion as heretics against the new faith. Fathers, husbands, community servants—offered up to appease the great god of wokeness.
Why?