Tucker Carlson’s true achievement was not persuasion but sanitation: he took the raw sewage of white grievance and filtered it until it could be poured at the dinner table without offending the silverware. He perfected the art of pretending to be curious while issuing instructions, of feigning persecution from a position of immense power, of turning cruelty into “common sense” and fanaticism into vibes. The screamers like Nick Fuentes were never the danger; they were the proof of concept. Carlson was the distribution system—calm voice, lifted brow, Ivy League diction—teaching millions that resentment is wisdom, that democracy is suspicious, and that empathy is weakness. This was not journalism, skepticism, or populism. It was nihilism in a blazer, power cosplaying as victimhood, and propaganda that smiled while it hollowed things out.
