Brent LaRowe

I have no love for capitalism. The engine grinds endlessly, extracting value from people, from the planet, from the very things that make life worth living. It pulls apart a kernel of corn into parts and sells each at a markup. Yet here I am, alive in this time and place where participation is not optional. If you want shelter, community, or even basic dignity, you must step into the harvest.

I've come to respect capitalism in the same way I respect a massive, roaring machine operating in a field. You don't throw yourself into its path. You don't romanticize it. You watch it with wary respect and, when necessary, you step forward to gather grain alongside it. This is survival, not adoration.

The Chessboard We Can't See

Recent headlines surrounding Disney, ABC, Sinclair Broadcasting, and the Federal Communications Commission read like chaos.

• Jimmy Kimmel was suspended indefinitely after making disparaging comments about Charlie Kirk, who was assassinated recently.
• Sinclair, the largest ABC affiliate group, has loudly declared that this suspension "isn't enough" and is replacing Kimmel's slot with a Charlie Kirk tribute special.
• FCC figures are making public threats about "public interest" obligations, while social media is aflame with boycotts and virtue signaling.

From the outside, it looks like an utter mess. It looks like a machine out of control. But I see something different.

I don't play a lot of chess, and I'm certainly not good at it, but I do know that there are phases to play. When opening, don't make a colossal error, and work hard set yourself up for success while noticing or forcing opponent weakness. In the mid-game, respond to a dynamic situation using ideas that you had taken the time to think through previously, or be extremely clever as to make up new ideas on the spot. And in the end-game, if you did it right, execute on the now-cleared board to achieve victory.

In that middle part of the game, though, a lot of chess pieces are lost. It looks like chaos; like a machine out of control.

Surviving a Geopolitical Storm

Disney is not in the business of protecting any single show, personality, or affiliate relationship. Its sole purpose is to emerge on the other side of any geopolitical reality still able to earn revenue and generate profit.

Right now, the U.S. market is too big to ignore and too chaotic to understand. Nine months into a second Trump administration, federal regulators are unpredictable, powerful affiliates like Sinclair are flexing their muscles, and the rules of engagement are shifting underfoot.

This is existential to Disney. They don't need just to survive the quarter, they need to ensure future rules of broadcasting, streaming, and intellectual property favor their long-term survival.

That means:

• Short term sacrifices are acceptable, even necessary.
• Public backlash is a tool, not a threat, if it ultimately stabilizes the system.
• Silence and apparent weakness can mask strategic positioning.

Sinclair as a Piece on the Board

Consider Sinclair's current behavior. They've made themselves the face of outrage by:

• Demanding apologies from Kimmel.
• Publicly pressuring the FCC to take action.
• Replacing his timeslot with their own programming.

This might seem like Disney either being humiliated by or capitulating to its own affiliate. But it could just as easily be useful theater to Disney.

By allowing Sinclair to rage publicly, Disney ensures the chaos has a clear villain. The public's anger flows toward Sinclair and the FCC, not toward Disney's leadership. Moderate voters who crave stability are quietly reminded why corporate regulation must be predictable and neutral. And that message will matter in the 2026 elections.

Respecting the Machine

This is where my conflicted respect for capitalism comes in. I don't like that human lives, jobs, and health are the "pieces" on this board. I don't like that profit is the ultimate measure of success. But I can't deny the vision and discipline behind the moves.

Disney isn't flailing. It's doing what any master strategist must do in the mid-game. It's sacrificing pieces that cannot be saved, it's provoking predictable reactions from opponents, and it's staying the course while the storm of the unpredictable starts up. This combine harvester is roaring through the field, and while it destroys much along the path, it also ensures there will be food on the table tomorrow. To survive, you respect its power and, when it's your turn to participate, you do so with eyes wide open.

Our Role as Witnesses

For those of us on the outside, it's tempting to reduce these stories to outrage or applause. But whether you cheer or jeer, the machine will keep turning. The better question is this: what does the mid-game tell us about the endgame?

Disney's objective is not to "win the news cycle", to "protect Jimmy Kimmel", or to survive through sniveling servitude. Its objective is to secure its future in a landscape where regulation, politics, and culture are colliding. If they succeed, it will look inevitable in hindsight. If they fail, it will look like chaos all the way down.

For now, we are watching the pieces move, wondering who is being sacrificed, and whether the combine will leave enough grain behind for the rest of us to survive.

Why I Like Stability

As I watch this mid-game unfold, my thoughts turn not just to strategy, but to why I personally crave stability in a world that seems addicted to chaos. The image of a people hoping that capitalism leaves enough on the ground for our survival is grim, and one that does not bring me joy. While the evidence of a cold world that does not care if one lives or dies is ample, it prompts me to exemplify aspects of Great Compassion that are antithetical to the combine grinding through the field. But even that is misleading, because compassion does not demand anything, not even action. It just is. Holding compassion creates humanity.

The youthful heart yearns for explosive bursts of pure beauty, like the Old Bailey exploding to the triumphant blast of the 1812 Overture in V for Vendetta. It wants the catharsis of the scream and the euphoria of adrenaline while all the old ways crumble into rubble. But what then? What comes next? If every grocery store explodes because it is a corrupt part of a corrupt system of exploitation, where will you get your next meal?

And, truly, I respect the people who pivot quickly and talk of mutual aid, because that is a thing that can be next. Those who understand that happiness is not contingent on an Amazon Prime subscription rightly point to community as the source of "what's next". There's a shared acknowledgment that, though hard, it would be satisfying. But even this vision is callous in its own way, because it quietly assumes there will be those who thrive, and those who are left behind. Such as system is not intrinsically better, by that measure.

As such, you will never get me to agree to an action that destroys a thing without a clean understanding of what will be built in its place. As dangerous as a combine is, unless there is a realistic replacement plan with ample evidence of success, you will not convince me that it needs to explode in a shower of cinders.

Unfortunately, I see too much evidence that people assume once the combine explodes, people will pick up their sickles with great joy and walk in harmony out into the fields. As someone who has worked in agriculture, and who is observing the strained labor markets in agriculture today as short-sighted immigration crackdowns take root, trust me when I say, "No, they won't."

They will blame each other, play the victim, insist that it isn't their job to worry about, and begin to use violence in order to secure their petty view of what they are "owed".

Is the combine dangerous? Very dangerous, and destructive, and uncaring. Should we let it wander without guidance over the field and into our encampments and through our schools and into our homes and across our religions? No, that is insanity.

I respect the capitalistic engine, and I see evidence of the engine in full effect in this mid-game. It brings me comfort, because it's predictable, and I can make plans with something that is predictable. The next, necessary step is to reclaim our roles as guides. To tell the combine exactly where it may and may not go, before it wanders unchecked through our homes, schools, and communities.