America doesn’t crush its radicals—it deburrs them. Like a machinist running a grinder over sharp metal, the state and culture don’t always smash rebellion outright. Instead, they smooth its edges until it no longer cuts. This is how dissent is turned into fashion, slogans into branding, and movements into memories.

Think about the radicals of the 1960s. The Black Panthers, the Weather Underground, even SDS—groups that once terrified middle America. Within a generation, the Panthers’ leather jackets became retro chic, stripped of their politics. Che Guevara, a guerrilla fighter who dreamed of continental revolution, became a T-shirt. The music of the era—once insurgent—was absorbed into commercials selling sneakers and soda. The system didn’t need to execute every radical; it just needed to sand off the sharp edges until what remained could be consumed without risk.

That’s the pattern. Radicals rarely get to keep their sharpness. Even when the state arrests or kills leaders, the real long-term weapon is deburring—reducing defiance to a flavor. Martin Luther King Jr. was harassed, bugged, and branded a communist while he lived, but in death he was transformed into a harmless dreamer, frozen in a single line from a speech. Malcolm X, once seen as a militant threat, now appears on posters with inspirational quotes stripped of his critiques of capitalism and white supremacy. Their radicalism was dangerous. Their memory is manageable.

You can see the deburring at work today. Pride parades, once defiant marches against police raids and legal persecution, are now sponsored by banks and defense contractors. Black Lives Matter, which began with raw street protest, now lives as hashtags, T-shirts at Target, and vague HR initiatives. “Radical” becomes “diverse,” “defiant” becomes “inclusive,” and the sharp edge is lost. The movements remain recognizable as artifacts, but their dangerous potential has been sanded down until they can be mass-marketed.

The Dremel doesn’t only come from government—it comes from culture itself. Hollywood, advertising, and social media do as much sanding as the police. Every sitcom that takes a radical idea and turns it into a “quirky character,” every corporation that wraps itself in slogans of justice while avoiding structural change, every influencer who sells rebellion as an aesthetic—all of them help to polish difference until it gleams like safe consumer choice.

It feels like racism, classism, or hostility when you’re on the receiving end. When the edges of your identity or politics are being ground away, the friction is real. But from the hegemon’s point of view, it’s maintenance. The machinery of pluralism requires deburring. A country that insists it is one people, one culture, one flag cannot tolerate jagged edges forever. So the grinder comes out: some radicals get destroyed, others get smoothed, but very few are allowed to stay sharp.

The tragedy is that this process breeds amnesia. Each generation thinks its radicals are unique, but the truth is they’re on the same conveyor belt as the ones before them. Yesterday’s revolutionaries become today’s branding exercises, while today’s rebels wait their turn in the machine. And because the edges are always ground down, the culture never really learns from the sharpness. It only digests the softened version, safe enough to consume.

So when people ask, “Why doesn’t America ever have a true revolution?” the answer isn’t just repression. It’s deburring. America doesn’t need to crush its radicals outright. It just needs to sand them smooth until they’re marketable, photogenic, and harmless. The radicals who refuse the machine get destroyed. The ones who survive get turned into logos. Either way, the edge is gone.

That’s the sound you hear in America—not just protest chants or police sirens, but the endless whir of the Dremel, grinding down difference, rounding off rebellion, polishing away sharpness until it shines.