Brandon Taylor delivers a searing cultural critique that reframes the erosion of democratic norms not as a sudden political shift, but as a recurring historical pattern where the powerful discard the vulnerable to preserve their own image. By weaving together the psychedelic rebellion of Grace Slick, the tragic radicalization of Leon Czolgosz, and the political capitulation of Utah Governor Spencer Cox, Taylor argues that fascism is not an external invader but a systemic toxin that turns allies into enemies when their utility expires.
The Acid Queen and the Disappearing Public
Taylor opens by invoking the legend of Grace Slick, the Jefferson Airplane frontwoman known for her sharp wit and countercultural defiance. He recounts a story where Slick, arrested for public intoxication, challenged the officer's authority by asking, "Drunk in what public? . . . What do you mean? What are we talking about, the trees, these deer here, these leaves on the ground? What public? You're the only public here." This anecdote serves as a metaphor for the disconnect between the state and the citizenry. Taylor writes, "When the men on the chessboard get up and tell you where to go," referencing Slick's lyrics, to illustrate how authority figures impose order on a reality that no longer matches the lives of ordinary people. The author suggests that the system's indifference is the first sign of decay, noting that Slick's "acidic" nature was not just about drugs but about a "sarcastic" refusal to accept the oppressive definitions of reality imposed by the state.
The commentary effectively uses this cultural touchstone to set a tone of disillusionment. By linking 1960s counter-culture to modern political despair, Taylor creates a bridge for readers who feel alienated by current events. However, one might argue that equating a rock star's arrest with systemic political violence risks trivializing the specific dangers of authoritarianism, even if the emotional resonance is undeniable.
The Acid Corpse and the Working Class
The piece then pivots to the grim history of Leon Czolgosz, the laborer who assassinated President William McKinley in 1901. Taylor details how Czolgosz, fired for striking and blacklisted, turned to anarchism after hearing Emma Goldman speak. Goldman's defense of the accused, which Taylor quotes extensively, is a powerful reminder of the human cost of patriotism: "We love America, we love her beauty, we love her riches... But that must not make us blind to the social faults of America." Taylor uses this to argue that the system's love for the country is conditional on the suppression of its workers. The author notes that after Czolgosz killed McKinley, the president's dying words were to "Go easy on him, boys," yet the state executed Czolgosz and dissolved his body in sulfuric acid to ensure he left no trace.
The system and its followers didn't care about this working class man in life, and they didn't care about him in death. They don't really care about us.
This section is the emotional core of the argument. Taylor's assertion that the state literally disintegrates those who threaten its order is a visceral way to describe the erasure of dissent. The historical parallel is striking: the administration's response to labor unrest then mirrors the current administration's response to modern social movements. Critics might note that Czolgosz's assassination was a singular, violent act that cannot be fully equated with the structural violence of modern policy, but Taylor's point is about the reaction of the system, not the justification of the violence. The system's refusal to care, whether in 1901 or today, remains the constant.
The Two-Faced Coin of Political Betrayal
The most potent part of Taylor's analysis focuses on Spencer Cox, the Governor of Utah. Taylor recounts a personal conversation from 2020 where Cox expressed genuine concern for LGBTQ youth and criticized the former president as "neither kindness nor goodness." Taylor writes, "I felt sincerity from him... I was sure he was the singular 'good Republican.'" This sets the stage for a devastating critique of Cox's subsequent political evolution. Taylor points out that after an assassination attempt on the former president, Cox wrote a letter claiming, "Your life was spared. Now, because of that miracle, you have the opportunity to do something that no other person on earth can do right now: unify and save our country."
Taylor argues that this shift represents a moral collapse, stating, "When you hitch your pioneer-stock wagon to fascists, you are complicit in fascism." The author highlights Cox's recent support for a bill banning pride flags in schools and his refusal to veto it, despite previously claiming to care about queer mental health. Taylor notes Cox's justification that such flags are "politically divisive symbols," a stance that Taylor dismantles by pointing out the sponsor's explicit intent to target the LGBTQ community. The author observes, "Cox outsourced his free will to chance—after all, everyone else is doing it!" This metaphor of the "two-faced coin" suggests that politicians like Cox are not changing their minds but are simply flipping a coin to decide which side of their identity to present based on political expediency.
You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.
Taylor's use of the Two-Face metaphor from The Dark Knight is apt, but it also raises a question about the nature of political survival. Is Cox truly a villain, or is he a pragmatic politician navigating a hostile environment? Taylor seems to lean toward the former, arguing that the "fruit has gone rotten." The author's personal connection to Cox adds a layer of betrayal that resonates deeply, making the political critique feel like a personal wound. However, the argument could be strengthened by acknowledging the immense pressure on moderate Republicans in red states, which might explain Cox's shift without excusing it. Taylor dismisses this nuance, focusing instead on the outcome: the abandonment of vulnerable communities.
The Imperial Boomerang and the Fear of Power
In the final section, Taylor broadens the scope to argue that this "two-faced" dynamic is not unique to one party or one era. He writes, "The Democrats aren't immune to this two-faced coin, either," citing the "Imperial boomerang" where foreign policy aggression leads to domestic despotism. Taylor points to drone strikes and the suppression of student protests as evidence that the system's fear of losing control drives its actions. The author concludes that "Fascism is perpetuated by fear," and that the system's leaders are "unwilling to admit" that their power is supported by the very fear they cultivate.
Fascism is acidic, toxic. The acid t
The piece ends abruptly, cutting off mid-sentence, which Taylor likely intended to symbolize the disintegration of the narrative itself. This stylistic choice reinforces the theme of fragmentation and the inability of the system to tell a coherent story about its own values. The argument is that the system is not just failing; it is actively dissolving the truth to maintain control. While the critique of both parties is a bold move, it risks diluting the specific urgency of the current authoritarian threat. Yet, Taylor's insistence that "they don't care about us" serves as a unifying thread that ties together the historical and contemporary examples.
Bottom Line
Taylor's most compelling contribution is the framing of political betrayal not as a sudden turn, but as a predictable cycle where the powerful discard their allies to preserve their image. The piece's greatest vulnerability is its tendency to conflate personal disappointment with systemic analysis, which may alienate readers looking for a more detached policy critique. However, the emotional weight of the argument—anchored in the specific, painful experience of watching a "good Republican" become complicit in fascism—makes it a necessary read for anyone trying to understand the current political landscape. Watch for how other moderate figures navigate this same pressure, as their choices will likely determine whether the "acid" spreads further or is contained.