have, for years, felt a growing unease when I look at the United States. It is not panic, and it is not open revolt. It is something quieter and heavier. From the outside, America still appears to function. Elections are held. Markets trade. People go to work. Yet beneath the surface, something has fractured. The sense that Americans are on the same team is fading.

To me, this carries the clear signs of an unrealised civil war. Not soldiers in the streets, but a country that no longer agrees on what is real, who is legitimate, or which rules apply.

There was a time when Americans could argue fiercely while still sharing basic facts. Who won an election. What the courts decided. What science said. That common ground has disappeared. Millions now live in separate information worlds, each convinced the other is lying or cheating.

You cannot govern a country that does not share reality. You can only fight over it.

Politics has also become existential. It is no longer about tax rates or budgets. It is about survival. If they win, the country is destroyed. If we lose, democracy dies. When losing feels like annihilation, people stop accepting outcomes. Courts become enemies. Compromise becomes betrayal.

Trust in institutions has collapsed. The media, the justice system, the election process, even doctors are now seen by many as partisan actors. When no referee is trusted, politics turns into a street fight.

So why has it not exploded?

Because the internet absorbs the conflict. People rage, organise, threaten, and radicalise online instead of in the streets. It keeps the war unrealised but not resolved. It feels as if all it takes is a spark. A disputed election. A shocking verdict. A major crisis. One deeply unjust act caught on camera.

For me, there can only be one sad conclusion: America is not at peace. It is simply waiting.