Courtesy Resignation 2025: When the King Demands Courtesy Before the Guillotine

There’s something charming—almost poetic—about being politely asked to step into your own firing line. “Courtesy resignations,” they call it. Like being handed a thank-you note before your eviction. Like being broken up with via scented stationery. It’s governance by ghosting—but with manners.

And oh, what timing. The king’s popularity is dipping, and suddenly, it’s the court’s fault the crowd is booing. Not the decisions, not the mirror—just the reflections. So now it’s time for the grand reshuffle. Not a purge, mind you, just a “realignment.” Because we wouldn’t want to sound tyrannical—we just want results. And nothing says “results” quite like rearranging the same deck chairs on a sinking narrative.

Let’s be clear: this is not about personalities, the King insists. It’s about “performance.” But only after the performance failed to get a standing ovation. Strange how urgency is always retroactive. When the people whispered discontent, it was politics as usual. But when they screamed at the polls, suddenly we hear violins and feel the need to… recalibrate.

This is the governance equivalent of blaming the ensemble cast after the play flopped—while the lead actor fumbles monologues and still demands a spotlight.

Because you see, “alignment” in this kingdom doesn’t mean shared vision. It means synchronized nodding. It means knowing when to clap, when to kneel, and when to disappear quietly. The problem isn’t the policies—it’s that the audience had the nerve to expect coherence.

But the real comedy? The idea that this is bold. That this is brave. No, it’s not bravery to clean the mirror hoping your reflection improves. It’s not leadership to rearrange the choir when the hymn is still hollow. And it’s not meritocracy when merit is measured after public mood swings.

Let’s call it what it is: a royal purge, with jazz hands. A loyalty test disguised as performance review. If you were useful once, that’s nice. But usefulness has an expiration date when optics start to rot. And those who stay? Congratulations. You’ve passed the vibe check of fear-based management.

And so, the machine continues. The nation watches, half-amused, half-exhausted. Not because we’re shocked—but because we’ve seen this play before. Same theater. Same king. Different scapegoats.

Because in this country, leadership is often just well-dressed denial. And when the applause fades, someone has to be thrown to the silence.

Preferably, politely.