Marco Rubio’s Red Scripture: In the Beginning, There Was the Snitch Line

The Book of Sanctimonious Surveillance, Thou Shalt Report Thy Colleagues Anonymously, For They Might Secretly Be Inclusive.

Let us gather, ye faithful, under the flickering fluorescent light of our blessed cubicle kingdom, for the State Department has received new commandments — delivered not on stone tablets, but in a well-formatted memo, blessed be Microsoft Word.

Yes, under the divine guidance of Secretary Marco Rubio — Prophet of Persecution Cosplay and patron saint of dramatic overreactions — all U.S. embassies have now received holy writ: "Thou shalt surveil thy co-workers for signs of anti-Christian bias." Bonus if you can do it with a straight face and trembling finger on the anonymous reporting button.

This isn’t workplace policy. It’s a spiritually enhanced corporate tattletale system, dressed up like a revival tent and filtered through The Handmaid’s Tale, with all the charm of Gilead and none of the catchy choirs.

Let There Be Fear (and Paperwork)

The internal cable — sent under Rubio’s name, presumably while he gazed at a cross made of prayer cards and shredded First Amendment clauses — urges all staff to provide detailed reports of perceived anti-Christian behaviour. Think “names, dates, and locations,” like it’s CSI: Church Edition. Or maybe Survivor: State Department — outwit, outplay, outpray.

All that’s missing is a gospel jingle and a pop-up confession booth in the embassy cafeteria. “Forgive me, Secretary Rubio, for I have tolerated religious diversity.”

The initiative is based on Trump’s February executive order — Operation Oppression Envy — which aims to expose rampant anti-Christian discrimination in a country where Christians dominate the legislature, the judiciary, and roughly every nativity scene in a 12-mile radius. But apparently, winning everything still feels like losing when someone says “Happy Holidays.”

This isn’t the protection of religion. It’s nostalgia for a time when everyone prayed the same, voted the same, and knew exactly where to burn the heretics.

Blessed Are the Paranoid, For They Shall Inherit the Email Thread

To be clear, the cable insists the snitching applies to “all religious bias.” But only one group is mentioned more times than a Hillsong hook at youth group karaoke: Christians. The memo practically sings “What Would Jesus Sue For?” in gospel harmony.

The signal is clear: if you’re a Christian who feels a bit uncomfortable because someone at work didn’t kneel before your John 3:16 desk calendar, fear not — salvation comes in the form of an anonymous feedback box. But if you’re a Sikh, Muslim, Wiccan, or atheistic vegan just trying to vibe in peace? Sorry, you’ll have to wait until Heaven has a diversity committee.

Somewhere in an embassy abroad, a diplomat is whispering, “I think Karen from HR blinked judgmentally at my crucifix mug,” while scribbling on a government-issued Holy Incident Report Form (Form 777-B: Blessed Are the Snitches).

Meanwhile, an actual Christian asylum seeker is being deported for failing to demonstrate sufficient Christmas spirit on their refugee application. But of course, we’re here to defend Christians. The right kind, anyway.

Gilead: But Make It HR

One State Department official, speaking off the record (and possibly under a pew), called the whole thing “very Handmaid’s Tale-esque.” Which sounds dramatic until you realise the parallels are less literary metaphor, more strategic blueprint.

Think about it: ideological loyalty tests? Check. Surveillance masked as spiritual safety? Check. High-ranking officials mistaking dominance for martyrdom? Big check.

This isn’t governance — it’s theatre. And not the good kind with popcorn and intermissions, but the kind where you accidentally end up as an extra in a live-action production of “God’s Workplace Rules: Judgment Day HR Edition.”

And while we’re on theatre — mark your calendars for April 22, when a task force of holy adjudicators will gather in a candlelit conference room (or probably just a Zoom call with dramatic lighting) to sift through these reports. Think Britain’s Got Talent, but make it America’s Got Persecution Fantasies.

They’ll be grading entries on a scale of:

• 1. “Said Happy Holidays”

• 2. “Rolled eyes during morning prayer circle”

• 3. “Owns a book not sold at Hobby Lobby”

• 4. “Believes in church-state separation”

• 5. “Once hosted a yoga retreat”

In the Temple of Holy Contradictions

Let us also marvel at the divine hypocrisy on display: only months ago, a Christian minister suggested Donald Trump try that radical thing called mercy — you know, like Jesus preached? Republicans promptly tried to have her deported.

Her crime? Reminding the flock that turning the other cheek isn’t just a TikTok challenge. (Also, she was born in New Jersey. But who’s counting?)

At the same time, the administration mused aloud about deporting millions of Christian immigrants. Because it turns out being Christian isn’t enough if your skin doesn’t match the nativity scene.

So, let’s not pretend this is about religion. This is about power wrapped in a Bible and dipped in insecurity. It’s the faith equivalent of someone owning the entire Monopoly board and still crying because someone else has the utilities.

And Lo, the Narrative Was Constructed

The real goal here isn’t to stop discrimination — it’s to fabricate a culture war where none exists. To pretend the ruling majority are the silent victims. To confuse equal treatment with targeted persecution, and loss of unchecked privilege with divine injustice.

This is grievance cosplay — performative piety for the spiritually fragile.

And it’s deeply dangerous. Because when the most powerful faith in the country demands special treatment on the basis of imagined oppression, everyone else is left outside the temple, holding their prayer beads and wondering if they’ve just been made the villain in someone else's persecution fan fiction.

The Gospel According to Willy: Closing Benediction

So what have we learned, congregation?

That oppression is a branding strategy now. That victimhood is the hottest accessory in conservative Christianity. That the State Department has traded diplomacy for doctrinal drama.

And that when your faith is so insecure it needs a government hotline to survive a rainbow screensaver, maybe it’s not God who’s under attack — it’s your Wi-Fi signal.

So go forth, dear reader. Hide your yarmulkes. Mute your mindfulness podcast. And for the love of all things bureaucratic, don’t say “Season’s Greetings” near the vending machine.

Because in Gilead-on-the-Potomac, salvation has a complaint box — and it’s looking straight at you.

If you enjoyed this dive into dystopian absurdity with a side of bureaucratic blasphemy, don’t forget to subscribe. Because nothing says “freedom” like staying informed via satirical dispatches from the front lines of logic's slow collapse.

Subscribe now — before the Faith Compliance Task Force adds irony to the banned list.