Rest in Power. Not rest in peace. Not “may the earth lie lightly upon you.” Not even the modest hope that the deceased finally stops answering emails. No—power. Because for a certain brand of activist, the afterlife isn’t a quiet garden; it’s a permanent tenure-track position with unlimited committee seats and the ability to cancel the living from beyond the grave. 

Jason Arday, the academic whose CV apparently is being exonerated by the woke from beyond the grave, is the latest exhibit. Claimed roles on shows filmed 20 years before his birth, endurance feats that would make David Goggins call himself a pussy and weak, university appointments that the universities themselves repudiated ever took place. 
Plagiarism so blatant it practically came with footnotes apologizing for the inconvenience. 

When journalists and academics started noticing the plot holes, the response wasn’t clarification—it was the police. Then, when the house of cards finally collapsed, and Arday’s cowardly and selfish self-induced exit from the planet that left a child behind. 

And the woke chorus rises: Rest in Power. As if the man hadn’t already spent years power-lifting phantom degrees and imaginary marathon medals. They frame it as lynching, as if the only hands involved weren’t his own. 
Victimhood is the currency of the DEI types—print it, counterfeit it, spend it to silence anyone who asks awkward questions about dates, distances, or whether a university has ever heard of you. 

It’s the same playbook that turns every complicated human failure into a totem-pole of systemic oppression into a sacred totem-pole of systemic oppression that must never be inspected for termites, then demands new speech laws so the rest of us can’t point at the emperor’s missing résumé. 
Rest in Power. 
The slogan that reveals the real appetite. Not justice. Not truth. Not even basic continuity of personal history. Power. The kind that clubs opponents; metaphorically preferred, though history shows the preference is flexible, the kind that floods the streets when Elon tries to unplug the NGO ATM from the public purse, the kind that treats free inquiry as violence against feelings. 
George Floyd got the treatment. 
Now Arday. Fraud or not, the corpse becomes vehicle used to counterfeit the currency spent to destroy others. Mint the false victimhood, spend it on silencing the people who open the curtains while the ideology is still brewing in the dark. Shut the curtains, they demand. Criminalize the sunlight. Then, once the lights are out and the vampires consolidate power, the rest of us can finally rest—while they wield it. Rest in Power. Make no mistake: the peace part was never the point. They tell you so openly. 
Rest in power.