In the Year of Our Lord, the Great Atlantic, and the Most Magnificent Imperial Historical Retelling, Imperator Donaldus Trumpius Caesar has decreed that Christopher Columbus was not merely a sailor.
No.
He was apparently an explorer, nation-builder, civilization courier, theological advance unit, proto-American patriot, and honorary Founding Father — all several centuries before the United States even existed.
A truly tremendous résumé.
More than five centuries ago, according to the Imperial Palace, Christophorus Columbius Maximus Navigatus sailed westward across unknown waters and discovered the New World.
The fact that people were already living there was apparently filed by the Imperial Department of History under:
Existing Local Infrastructure.
With three mighty vessels — the Ninia Minor, the Pinta Gloriosa, and the Sancta Maria Maxima — Columbius crossed the Atlantic through storms, uncertainty, bad food, treacherous seas, and, most tragically of all, absolutely no Wi-Fi.
Still, he pressed forward.
Partly because courage demanded it.
Partly because turning around would have looked terrible in a presidential proclamation written centuries later.
Eventually, Columbius and his crew reached islands in what are now the Bahamas and believed they had arrived in Asia.
In ordinary geography, this might be described as a navigational mistake.
In the Trumpius Empire, however, it is known as:
Visionary Alternative Navigation.
Because according to Imperial history, the moment Columbius stepped ashore, the entire future of Western civilization apparently began accelerating at once.
Knowledge expanded.
Horizons widened.
Jamestown could almost be seen forming in the distance.
The Declaration of Independence began warming up backstage.
And somewhere in the clouds, an eagle was probably already rehearsing with a brass band.
The proclamation also reminds the Empire that Columbius raised a cross upon arrival, honoring God and the Spanish Crown while demonstrating the ancient European custom of reaching already inhabited land and immediately reorganizing the paperwork.
Imperial efficiency at its finest:
Arrive.
Plant flag.
Install cross.
Update ownership records.
Done.
But Trumpius Caesar goes further.
To him, Columbius is not merely a historical figure.
He is a legendary pre-American American, born in Italy, sailing for Spain, arriving in the Caribbean, and somehow helping create the United States nearly three centuries ahead of schedule.
Imperial historians describe this as a complicated chain of historical developments.
The Palace calls it:
A direct highway to 1776.
Preferably gold-plated.
To make sure nobody misses the message, Trumpius Caesar even installed a statue of Columbius on the grounds of the Great White Imperial Palace — a replica of the statue that once stood in Baltimore before being pulled down and thrown into the harbor.
Trumpius therefore achieved something uniquely imperial:
What others threw into the water, he put back on the lawn.
This is not merely monument policy.
This is historical bottle-deposit recycling.
The Imperial proclamation also celebrates Italian Americans, presenting their patriotism, faith, family traditions, and contributions to the Nation as part of the grand Columbian inheritance.
At this point, Columbus Day becomes less a holiday and more an imperial banquet of seafaring, religion, immigration, national mythology, marble, flags, and ceremonial eagles staring nobly into the middle distance.
Even Pontifex Leo Tertius Decimus is summoned from the archives to praise the greatness of Columbius’ mind and heart.
For the Imperial Palace, this settles the matter completely.
Pope quoted.
Statue installed.
Flags raised.
History concluded.
And so, by the majestic authority of the Constitution, the laws of the Republic, and presumably several extremely shiny pens, Imperator Donaldus Trumpius Caesar proclaims Columbus Day once again.
Citizens are invited to celebrate the man who sailed toward Asia, landed somewhere else, and centuries later received a retroactive promotion to chief historical project manager of the American Republic.
Because in the Trumpius Empire, history is not a complicated story of discovery, conflict, conquest, exchange, migration, violence, ambition, faith, and consequences.
History is much simpler.
There are heroes.
There are statues.
There are flags.
And if something in between becomes inconvenient, it is either ceremonially ignored or scheduled for a future proclamation.
For under Trumpius Caesar, one eternal law of navigation now stands above all others:
You can discover the wrong place, misunderstand where you are, and still become a national legend — as long as, five centuries later, the Emperor likes your statue enough to put it in his front yard.
