Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
David T. Cloft 
You want a career with adventure? DHS can send you to “beautiful locations.” And by “beautiful locations,” I mean the kind of places where people scream in your face while filming you vertically like they’re making an audition tape for America’s Next Professional Victim.
So if the Earth is flat, then Greenland is basically… what? A decorative corner of the map? The unused part of a board game? The place you accidentally fold over when you’re stuffing an atlas back into the glove box?
Before the World Was Soft Civilization did not create the warrior brain. Civilization survived because of it. Long before laws, courts, or polite abstractions about peace, human beings existed in a world where violence was not exceptional—it was routine. Hunger, predators, rival tribes, and scarcity were constant pressures. The human nervous system evolved not to be calm, but to be ready.
By any honest accounting, the pandemic did more than disrupt daily life. It rewired cultural instincts, reshaped how Americans relate to authority, and quietly altered how dissent is treated in a society that once prized it. The damage was not limited to lost lives or lost income; it extended into trust, neighborliness, and the very idea of personal agency.
I was a general’s aide-de-camp, which meant my actual job was not assisting, but intercepting stupidity before it reached flag rank. My boss lived in a world where things simply worked. Vehicles appeared complete. Schedules ran. Equipment existed. That didn’t happen by magic — it happened because several people quietly absorbed chaos so he never had to.
Whether or not President Trump is able to acquire Greenland, there is the possibility of a conflict between China-Russia on one side, and the U.S. on the other, in order to control scarce resources. Today, Dave Cloft examines what that might look like from the eyes of a Winter Warfare Legend.
For most of modern history, saying you saw a UFO got you laughed out of the room and politely escorted to the cultural kiddie table. The government’s message was clear: Nothing to see here, citizen. Go back to work. Trust us. And for decades, that worked—right up until it didn’t.
Henry David Thoreau refused to fund a government waging an unjust war, refused to bend to the mob, and spent a night in jail for it. That night, he birthed one of the most important political essays ever written: Civil Disobedience.
Many churches today struggle not because the Bible is unclear, but because familiar words have quietly changed meaning. Over time, Christian language has been softened, shortened, or modernized in ways that feel harmless.
In the 1950’s, long before Arctic warfare became trendy again now in 2026 —before the think tanks rediscovered parkas and PowerPoint slides—the United States quietly built an entire nuclear city under the ice in Greenland. Not a base. Not a bunker. A city. With hallways, living quarters, electricity, plumbing, a chapel, and—because this is America—a big nuclear reactor.
Let’s stop pretending this is a seminar where everyone raises their hand and waits to be called on. The United States is the global hegemon. That’s not bravado; it’s the rebuilt operating system. When America “consults,” it’s being polite. When America decides, the rest of the world updates its talking points.
For decades, Democrats have run the greatest long con in meteorological history—keeping Michigan locked in a Siberian deep freeze under the guise of “saving the planet.” This is not environmentalism. This is a communist cold-storage program. A deliberate effort to stop the natural evolution of states—where Michigan obviously becomes Florida with better beer and fewer felonies.
As the global hegemon, we don’t merely influence outcomes. We decide who is fit to lead. We anoint. We delegitimize. We sanction. We isolate. And when necessary, we remove. On that front, our record is impeccable. Few nations in history have been better at leader removal than the United States. Regime change—overt or discreet—is something we understand down to the checklist.
America has officially reached the point where a country singer has to remind a billionaire music mogul that he does not, in fact, own the souls of America’s children.
John Adams didn’t write the Constitution like a motivational poster. He wrote it like an engineer handing over a machine with a warning label: this will fail if misused. When he said, “Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious people. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other,” he wasn’t sermonizing. He was stating a design limitation.
For most of human history, speech was a permission, not a right. Kings, emperors, churches, and councils decided what could be said, written, or taught—and dissent was treated as disorder. The idea that ordinary people could openly criticize power was not just discouraged; it was dangerous.
Stranger Things didn’t invent spiritual warfare—it just put it on a BMX bike and added synth music. The show works because it’s parasitic: it feeds on biblical ideas already baked into Western consciousness. Shadow realms. Invasive evil. Possession. Sacrifice. Redemption. None of this is new.
If you strip away politics, slogans, and culture-war noise, the Bible gives a simple answer to why Pride—specifically the ideology of self-defined identity—is against God’s will.
Hunters were promised respect. We were promised constitutional protection. Instead, we got a regulatory maze where normal behavior is criminalized, enforcement is arbitrary, and tradition is treated as a threat. The same system that sells hunting licenses now treats hunters like suspects. The same agency that depends on hunter dollars increasingly acts as if it knows better than the people who live on and manage the land year-round.
Historically, America understood this. Immigration was not just about crossing an ocean. It was about assimilation. Italians, Irish, Poles, Germans—none arrived culturally identical to Anglo-Protestant America. But the expectation was clear: you adopt the civic moral framework of the country you’re entering. Loyalty to tribe yields to loyalty to law. Institutions outrank kin networks. No exceptions, no special carve-outs.