We were driving earlier, talking the way you do when the news feels heavy and the road ahead feels uncertain. And in the quiet my husband suddenly said, “In the animal kingdom, it’s the strongest and smartest who lead the pack. But with humans, especially right now in the U.S.? That doesn’t seem to apply anymore.” And immediately I couldn’t get The Lion King out of my head. And just like that, I knew I was going to have to speak again, to the folks across the border. Because what’s happening there matters. It matters to all of us.
Now, I didn’t grow up with The Lion King, I’m far too old for that. But I do remember sitting in a movie theatre with my older son, watching it unfold as his very first film. Oh and then having to watch the VHS tape almost daily with him. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being a cartoon and started to feel like prophecy.
Because The Lion King isn’t just a children’s tale. It’s a story about power, illusion, betrayal, and the slow rot that happens when the wrong one wears the crown.
It begins, as all stories of kingdoms do, with a king who understands the weight of responsibility. Mufasa tells his young son: “A king’s time as ruler rises and falls like the sun.” That line stayed with me, even back then. Maybe because we all want to believe there’s dignity in passing the torch. That leadership is borrowed, not owned. That strength means wisdom.
And then comes Scar. Scar is charismatic, bitter, clever in all the wrong ways. He manipulates the truth, blames others, and uses fear as currency. He unleashes the hyenas, opportunists who thrive on leftovers and will tear down the land just to keep him in power. And then, in one final moment of pure arrogance, as he lets Mufasa fall to his death, he hisses: “Long live the king.”
It’s hard not to see echoes of that now, not just in one man, but in a movement. In a culture that mistakes cruelty for strength, chaos for strategy, and grievance for governance. Scar doesn’t build anything. He devours.
And here’s the question: Who is Mufasa now? Maybe Mufasa isn’t a single man anymore. Maybe he’s the last shred of leadership that remembers how to serve something bigger than ego. Maybe he’s the memory of leaders like Barack Obama or Ronald Reagan, different ideologies, but both capable of carrying the weight of the office without making it all about themselves.
And Simba? Simba is the American public. The people. The ones who left, who tuned out, who got tired, or disillusioned. The ones who were told to forget, or made to believe that nothing matters anymore. But Simba hears a voice from the past, a whisper that cuts through the noise: “You have forgotten who you are, and so forgotten me.”
That line, that’s where Americans are now. In the in-between. In the moment where remembering who they are is the only way out of this mess.
Because the hyenas are laughing. The land is crumbling. Scar is still on the throne.
And if they don’t remember who they are, not as parties, not as pundits, not as slogans, but as citizens with a responsibility to something bigger, then the sun’s not coming back. Not until someone decides it’s time to fight for the kingdom again.
And if that sounds dramatic, good. Because what we’re watching isn’t politics anymore, it’s a damn fable. And if we don’t turn the page soon, we’re all going to be stuck in the part where the villain wins.
Because let’s be honest: Scar isn’t fictional anymore. He lives in gold-plated towers and screams into social media voids. He feeds on division, hires hyenas to bark on cable news, and claims he’s the rightful king while everything burns behind him.
The hyenas? They’re everywhere, selling merch, stoking rage, rewriting history in real time. They don’t care if the kingdom dies. They only care that they get a seat at the table when the carcass is carved up.
Simba is still lost. Distracted. Waiting for someone else to fix it. But Simba has one job: to remember.
And Mufasa? Maybe he’s not coming back. Maybe this time, you don’t get to be rescued. Maybe this time, you are the ones who have to rise.
Because if Scar gets another sunrise, it won’t be a kingdom he rules, it’ll be a graveyard. And the hyenas will still be laughing.
Nancy's Notes 