Damnatio Memoriae at Caesar’s Superdome
NFL’s quiet removal of “End Racism” signage from the stadium field
Opening Scene: The Emperor’s Murderous Deeds
Crispus, Roman Emperor Constantine the Great’s oldest son , was murdered by his father through poison.
Then came Fausta. By execitive order of her husband, Fausta was locked away in the bathhouse, and boiled to death.
But death for his family members was not enough. Their names had to be purged, their statues detroyed, their existence stricken from the grand architecture of the empire.
Constantine the Great did not simply kill his wife and son. He erased them.
Their images, once chiseled into marble, were clawed away by stonecutters. Their names, once etched in triumphal inscriptions, were scraped from history’s ledgers. The bust of Crispus — the proud heir — vanished from public squares, leaving only the faint impression of a forgotten face. Temples once commissioned in Fausta’s name were rededicated, their purpose rewritten, their memory hollowed out like a ghostly whisper in the corridors of power.
This was Damnatio Memoriae — the punishment more enduring than death. It was not enough that they had ceased to live. They had to cease to have ever been.
Cut to the Present: A Different Kind of Erasure
The field at Caesars Superdome gleamed beneath the floodlights, a temple to modern spectacle. But something was missing. A quiet removal, a subtle purge.
For the past three seasons, “End Racism” had been stenciled across Caesar’s Superdome in New Orleans, a nod to justice in the empire of professional football. It was a message, a promise — perhaps even a shield. Now, it will be gone. Scrubbed from the field. Not with fanfare, not with debate, but in the same quiet way Constantine’s stonecutters had chipped away at the names of his family.
No statement. No acknowledgment. Just absence.
The league had chosen Damnatio Memoriae — not of a fallen prince, but of a cause once loudly declared. The movement was not slain by a sword, nor drowned in a bathhouse, but simply erased.
The timing could not have been more suspicious. Just days before a sitting U.S. president, a man whose rhetoric has long been entangled with racial controversies, was set to arrive, the words vanished from the field. There was no official directive, no public announcement, no policy shift issued by the league. Yet, the absence spoke volumes.
Was it a coincidence? A quiet concession to power? A tacit signal that certain messages were no longer welcome in the empire of sport?
Why is Trump Baiting Iran?
At the same time, Trump’s rhetoric against Iran reached a fever pitch. In a recent speech, he openly suggested that he had left explicit instructions for Iran’s obliteration should an assassination attempt on him succeed. His words, delivered with the same theatrical bravado as a triumphant Roman consul, were meant to provoke, to challenge, to draw the enemy into a confrontation.
But why now? Why, on the eve of his grand spectacle at Caesars Superdome, was he once again invoking the specter of war?
Trump, like the emperors of old, understands the power of Bread and Circuses — to distract, to entertain, to command attention. The Super Bowl is not merely a game, it is a modern Colosseum, where the people gather in their millions, eyes fixed on the spectacle. And there, in the grandest of arenas, the former president arrives not as a mere spectator, but as the orchestrator of the narrative. If the people are watching him, they are not watching something else.
The echoes of Rome are unmistakable. Julius Caesar, when his political standing was fragile, gave the people games, grand displays of power and dominance. Augustus did the same, using festivals and spectacle to secure his rule. Trump follows the same script. Whether it be the promise of war, the erasure of past messages, or the spectacle of his presence at the Super Bowl, the objective remains the same: keep the people enthralled, keep the story on him.
It is a strategy seen before — on the silver screen as well as in history. The 1977 film Black Sunday imagined a terror attack on the Super Bowl, a blimp turned into a weapon, a nightmare unfolding in front of millions. The story tapped into something primal: the idea that in an empire where entertainment reigns supreme, a disruption of the spectacle becomes the ultimate act of rebellion. Today, with global tensions simmering, Trump’s saber-rattling at Iran casts a long shadow over the games. Whether coincidence or calculation, the message is clear: nothing upstages the emperor.
History Threatens to Repeat Itself
And now, in the Caesars Superdome — where a sitting U.S. president would soon arrive, where gladiators of the modern age would battle beneath roaring crowds — history threatens to repeat itself.
Because in every empire, whether Rome or America, Constantine or the NFL, power is not measured only by what is built. It is measured by what is erased.
Take Action: Do Not Let History Be Erased
Do not let the current reigning Caesars commit Damnatio Memoriae to our history. One important way to resist is to write your district federal judges and urge them to stand their ground. There are 1,700 federal judges across the country, many of them in your state. Reach out to them. Make your voice heard.
