Cat Kawaii

THE TRIBUNE AND THE MIRROR

T H E S P E E C H A S A W I N D O W I N T O T H E U N C O N S C I O U S

"A man who has no control over himself has no control over others."
— Socrates

Something more than protocol and diplomacy broke on that tribune of the UN General Assembly. A thin layer of sanity broke, one of those masks that politics uses to hide the truth behind a facade of order. "Your countries are going to hell," US President Donald Trump blurted out, and the room, that amphitheater of diplomatic hypocrisy, plunged into a freezing silence. It was not a silence of respect, but of shock. It was the sound of a diagnosis, the echo of a mind that had reached its breaking point. In that moment, the words were not a speech, but a visceral cry, a projection of an inner world in which order and stability no longer existed.

The reaction of the attendees is the first layer of this analysis. The surprise and discomfort were not just due to the lack of decorum, but to the revelation of a naked truth. It was as if a doctor, in the middle of a conference, were to tear off their white coat to shout to the audience that they all had a mortal illness. The silence was not one of obedience, but of shock. It was an instant in which the audience was forced to see the raw reality that was hidden behind the grandiloquence.

The second layer, and the deepest, is the psychological analysis of the speaker himself. The words "are going to hell" were not a geopolitical critique, but a projection of an internal trauma. For a leader who has spent his entire life building an image of power and success, the idea of decay is an existential fear. The "hell" is not a place, it is a state of mind, a nightmare that manifests itself in his own country. What is heard in the speech is not a warning to others, but a lament for a world he feels is out of control. The speech was not for the UN, but for himself, a mirror where he saw reflected the decay he so feared.

The speech is not a tool to persuade, it is a weapon to express a truth that is inside the person, a reflection of their subconscious.

The third layer is the response of the collective unconscious. The audience, despite their differences, has something in common: the fear of uncertainty. Trump's cry touched a nerve, a fear that the institutions that have maintained order for decades no longer work. The leaders present, with their own problems and demons, were confronted with a truth they were trying to bury. The audience's silence was a confession, an acknowledgment that, despite their differences, they all share the same fear. At that moment, the UN tribune was not a place to debate policies, but a collective therapy session, where the neuroses of humanity were projected.

Could it be that his speech was not a mistake, but a truth that only he had the courage to shout?