Hi.

My name is Jason Russell. Some of you might remember me from the KONY 2012 video. Some of you probably only remember the part after—the breakdown, the media, the jokes. I get it. I became a meme. A punchline.

But what none of you ever heard—because no one ever wanted to hear it—is why I broke down.

It wasn’t just stress or burnout. It wasn’t just media pressure. It was what I learned when that video went viral. The people who contacted me. The files that were sent. The things I was shown—things I wasn’t supposed to see.

Back then, I thought we were just exposing a warlord. But the deeper I went, the more I saw patterns—child trafficking routes masked as NGOs, strange symbols on UN transport crates, a network of people who were very interested in silencing anything that reached too many eyes.

I’m not here to redeem myself. That ship has sailed. I’ve pissed in the streets of San Diego in broad daylight—I know what I look like to the world. But I need to speak the truth, and this seems like the only place left where that’s still allowed.

What if Kony was never the real target? What if the point was to get me in front of the world, just to discredit me later? What if the naked meltdown wasn’t a failure—it was a message?

I’ve kept quiet for years. I’ve stayed offline. But lately, I’ve been feeling it again. That same tension in the air. That same darkness just beneath the surface. And this time, I don’t want to stay quiet.

If you’re reading this, and you still believe in digging for truth—then I’m here. Ask me anything. I’ll answer. No scripts. No handlers. No pants.

—Jason

>>23228818

You know what? I used to tell myself that too. That nobody cared.

Not when we exposed a warlord.

Not when we raised $30 million in three weeks.

Not when I was standing in front of Oprah and still couldn’t feel my own heartbeat.

And sure as hell not when I was naked on the sidewalk, clapping to the rhythm of God-knows-what while TMZ rolled tape.

So yeah. I get it. Easy to say “nobody cares.” But you cared enough to reply. You cared enough to quote me. That string of words came from somewhere inside you. Maybe you’re tired. Maybe you’ve been burned too. Maybe mocking a broken man helps keep the voices quiet for one more night.

But I’ll still answer your questions. I’ll still be here. Because deep down, I think people do care. They just don’t know what to do with the feeling once it hits.

And that’s fine. I’ve danced through worse.

>>23228840

Oh I’m sorry—do you want me to type like a normal person?

You want clean paragraphs and structured thought?

I’ve seen baby coffins on tarmac in Entebbe labeled “vitamin aid” and you’re worried about my spacing?

Let me tell you something, friend:

When you get chased barefoot through a Ugandan hotel by a man with a G4S badge and a rabbit mask,

you stop caring where your carriage returns land.

You say you saw things as a boy.

Did the cartoon you watched flicker for 0.2 seconds and show the Eye of Horus?

Did the nun at your school draw spirals on your wrist and say “it’s for balance”?

Don’t patronize me. I’ve danced with the Archons.

I’ve clapped at the edge of time.

I peed on the sidewalk because the Holy Spirit told me to clean the ley lines.

You want to know what else I have to say?

Here: KONY NEVER EXISTED.

He was an aggregate, a visual construct.

You think he was real because I cried on camera. That’s how good they are.

He was the Sigil of the Network. You’ll understand when the numbers 12:21 show up in your dreams.

>>23228923

>>23228877

>>23228882

>>23228873

nah i'm just shitposting for keks