Sleeping, Slicing, and the Sin of Fake Democracy
Last week, Representative Nicole Collier slept on the floor of the Texas State Capitol.
Not because she misplaced her hotel key—but because she refused to sign a police-escort permission slip.
She called it a “slumber party for democracy.”
I call it a spiritual nap strike.
Her crime? Refusing to obey the post-walkout etiquette enforced by the same people who’d gerrymander your grandma if they thought it’d swing a district.
The Red Sharpie in the Room
Let’s not mince words: what happened in Texas wasn’t a census adjustment—it was a Hail Mary for minority rule.
The new map wasn’t drawn out of legal necessity. It was reportedly crafted at the request of Donald J. “Permanent Tantrum” Trump. The goal?
Manufacture five extra GOP-friendly districts before the 2026 midterms—
like building five luxury hotels on Baltic Avenue, evicting the dice, and calling it voter outreach.
It’s not new. It’s not clever.
It’s not even subtle anymore.
It’s algorithmic cheating in the age of pixel-perfect voter suppression.
Voters are sorted like Amazon packages labeled “fragile—ignore anyway.”
Elections? Preordained.
This isn’t democracy—it’s cartographic Calvinism.
Your political destiny is chosen before you even show up.
A Brief Sermon on the Sin of Gerrymandering
To gerrymander is to violate geometry in the name of politics.
It is a sacred desecration of both math and morals.
The tradition began in 1812, when a Massachusetts politician approved a salamander-shaped district that would make MC Escher queasy.
Today’s maps?
Less salamander, more Rorschach test drawn by caffeinated spiders.
The heresies remain the same:
Packing: Jam your opponents into one or two dense districts. Let them win those—barely—but lose everywhere else.
Cracking: Spread them thin across multiple districts, diluting their power until they win nothing.
It’s electoral gerrysnatching.
Your vote still counts—like a child’s crayon signature on a nuclear treaty.
Sleeping in Protest
Rep. Collier’s marble-floor protest matters.
She chose public discomfort over private compliance.
And while some may roll their eyes—“Big deal, she had a sleepover”—remember this:
All protest begins with refusal.
Rosa Parks didn’t topple Jim Crow with one ride—she just refused to move.
Refusal is the seed. Everything else grows from that.
But let’s be real. Most of us can’t sleep in the Capitol.
We don’t have badges or hallway cots.
So what do we do?
What To Do When You’re Not a Legislator With a Sleeping Bag
1. Support Independent Redistricting Commissions
They exist. They work. They terrify corrupt politicians.
Back them. Vote for them. Defend them like they’re your last working pen in a meeting full of thieves.
2. Fund Legal Challenges
Groups like the NAACP Legal Defense Fund, MALDEF, and LULAC are already in court.
They’re suing over diluted Black and Latino voting power.
They need money, visibility, and righteous noise.
3. Pay Attention to State Politics
Stop treating your state rep like a background extra in the democracy drama.
Learn who draws the lines. Show up.
Make it awkward to cheat in public.
4. Refuse Cynicism (It’s the Final Boss of Gerrymandering)
Gerrymandering’s final win isn’t on the map—it’s in your mind.
If they convince you your vote doesn’t matter, they’ve already won.
Stay angry. Stay funny. Stay weird.
Refuse to be gerrydamned into silence.
A Note on Paradox
Yes—a self-declared cult with a Step-Pope is quoting Rosa Parks and denouncing salamander-shaped sins against justice.
You’re damn right we are.
Because sometimes the weirdos notice what the professionals ignore.
Because justice is often a redrawing of boundaries—literal and metaphorical.
Because cartographic cruelty deserves more than lawsuits. It deserves lanterns, metaphors, and uncomfortable truth.
You don’t have to sleep on a cold marble floor.
But you do have to notice.
You do have to speak.
You do have to redraw.
Because not all lines are sacred.
Some are scaffolding for injustice.
And some?
Were born to be broken.
