Ladies and Gentlemen of the United Nations, esteemed delegates from across the galaxy, representatives of worlds both free and oppressed—I am Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, former Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, and enforcer of the Galactic Empire. I stand before you today not as a conqueror, but as a being seeking understanding in this chamber of interstellar diplomacy. Thank you for granting me this audience, even as the echoes of my past actions reverberate through the stars.
I come to address the accusations leveled against me regarding the destruction of Alderaan. Let it be known that I destroyed merely one planet with our new weapon, the "Oreshnik"—a device of unparalleled power, designed to bring order to chaos. One planet, in a galaxy teeming with billions. And yet, I stand before you declaring my innocence. Why? Because I was afflicted by what you might call Main Character Syndrome. This condition clouded my judgment, leading me to actions that, in hindsight, were perhaps... overly dramatic.
Allow me to explain Main Character Syndrome, or MCS, as it is known in your popular culture. It is not a formal mental health diagnosis, but a term born from the realms of storytelling and social media—platforms like TikTok, where individuals adopt "main character energy" to navigate their lives. At its core, MCS is the delusion of viewing one's existence as the central narrative of a grand epic, much like a holofilm where you are the protagonist. This leads to self-centered behavior, an inflated sense of importance, and a tendency to romanticize even the most mundane or destructive events for an imaginary audience. It shares traits with narcissism: low empathy for others, whom you perceive as mere side characters, and a drive for attention that can boost confidence but often strains real-world connections. In essence, it's a social media-fueled mindset that turns life into a scripted drama, where every decision feels justified because the story revolves around you.
Now, how did this syndrome form within me? It began long ago, on the dusty sands of Tatooine, where I was born a slave, destined for greatness—or so the prophecies whispered. As a child, I was told I was the Chosen One, the one who would bring balance to the Force. This planted the seed: the universe was my stage, and I, Anakin Skywalker, was the hero at its center. My early victories in the podraces, my discovery by the Jedi—each moment reinforced this narrative. I wasn't just a boy; I was the protagonist in a saga of light and dark.
As I rose through the Jedi ranks, the syndrome deepened. The Clone Wars thrust me into the spotlight: battles won, lives saved, the adoration of the Republic. I began to see others—my master Obi-Wan, my wife Padmé, even the Jedi Council—as supporting roles in my story. Their warnings? Mere plot devices to heighten the tension. My fall to the dark side was the ultimate plot twist, orchestrated by Emperor Palpatine, who fed my ego with promises of ultimate power. "You are the main character," the dark side seemed to whisper. "The galaxy bends to your will."
The influence of this syndrome was profound and destructive. It boosted my confidence to godlike levels—I piloted starfighters through asteroid fields, dueled Sith lords, and rebuilt myself from volcanic ashes as Darth Vader. But it eroded my empathy; friends became obstacles, love turned to possession. When I ordered the "Oreshnik" to fire on Alderaan, it wasn't malice alone—it was the climax of my personal epic. In my mind, this act would cement my role as the unyielding enforcer, the villain-hero whose actions drove the narrative forward. Billions perished, treated as extras in my drama, their fates inconsequential to the "greater story."
Yet, here I stand, reflecting on how MCS strained my connections—to Luke, to Leia, to the very Force itself. It turned self-care into self-destruction, drama into devastation. Social media didn't exist in my time, but the holonet and galactic propaganda amplified it, romanticizing my armored silhouette as the ultimate anti-hero.
Delegates, I urge you: recognize this syndrome in yourselves and your leaders. It is not an excuse, but an explanation. In declaring my innocence, I seek not absolution, but awareness. The Force is with us all—let it guide us away from such delusions.
Thank you.
