Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
I have never believed the leftist maxim that insists diversity is “our strength.” Instead, I see it as divisive, with our nation being split into cultural, ethnic, racial, religious, and political tribes who are essentially at war with one another.
Elections still happen. Parties still act like it’s a steel-cage match. But on the fundamentals—the wiring of the economy, the growth of the administrative state, the handshake between government and corporate power—the menu is pre-selected. You’re not choosing dinner; you’re choosing the garnish. The work of Martin Gilens and Benjamin Page (2014) didn’t need conspiracy theories to make the point: policy outcomes tend to track the preferences of economic elites far more than average voters. Translation: your vote counts; your leverage doesn’t.
Homewood, Alabama. When you walk into Salem’s Diner, it’s the people you notice first.
Visitors often walk through this high prairie farmhouse and say they can feel her. They don’t know how. They don’t know why. But she’s here.
Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas delivered an insightful and important speech at the University of Texas recently that I wish every American could have heard.
Those of us who live in this mismanaged, Democrat-ruled dung-show are keenly aware that Gov. “Hair Gel” has already relentlessly trashed the “Golden State.”
She helped people die. Or maybe you’d say she helped them transition to the other side—whatever that means. She’s not a big believer in “the other side.”
Either way, she’s been helping people pass away for a long time. She has seen more death than most.
March Madness is done. Monday night, the Michigan Wolverines held off the UConn Huskies for the NCAA basketball title, and college free agency, otherwise known as “The Transfer Portal,” is now open and active.
There are Olympic stories about grit, discipline, and the triumph of the human spirit—and then there’s the one about Matthew Emmons, whose rifle got mysteriously vandalized right before the biggest competition of his life. Not misplaced. Not dropped. Not “oops, I leaned it against the rack wrong.” We’re talking deliberate, tool-in-hand, someone-wanted-this-gun-dead sabotage at the U.S. Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs. In a sport where competitors track wind shifts measured in whispers and bullet holes measured in decimals, somebody decided to go full blunt-force caveman on precision equipment. And just like that, Olympic-level marksmanship briefly turned into a low-budget whodunit.
If we trust a service member overseas with a loaded rifle, real rules of engagement, and life-and-death decisions in a combat zone, it makes no sense to suddenly treat that same disciplined professional like a liability the moment they step onto a stateside installation; this policy correction acknowledges a simple truth long overdue—responsibility doesn’t evaporate at the gate. The men and women we entrust to defend the nation are trained, vetted, and held to standards far above the civilian baseline, and if we truly believe in that system, then extending reasonable trust for personal defense at home isn’t radical, it’s consistent. And if someone genuinely cannot be trusted with a firearm under controlled conditions on base, then the harder question isn’t about policy—it’s about why they’re in uniform in the first place.
“Yeah, I got a story for you,” said the old woman in the nursing home.
She had midnight skin, dandelion-fuzz hair, and she smoked Newports. Each day she liked to park her wheelchair in the parking lot where she could face the supermarket, and watch all the happy customers walk in and out of Publix.
If you want a glimpse of how modern pressure can scale fast, look north to the winter of 2022 and the protests known as the Freedom Convoy. What began as a cross-country movement of truckers opposing cross-border vaccine requirements turned into a broader protest against mandates and restrictions. The response from the Canadian government under Justin Trudeau was decisive: emergency powers were invoked, certain financial accounts connected to the protests were frozen, and law enforcement moved to clear blockades. Supporters called it necessary to restore order; critics saw it as a warning shot—how quickly financial access and mobility can be restricted in a modern, digitally connected system.
The year was 1875, and long before ESPN, endorsement deals, or even organized leagues as we know them, one of the most electric sporting events on earth unfolded on a windswept stretch of Irish coastline at Dollymount, just outside Dublin. This was the Great International Rifle Match—a transatlantic clash that, for a brief window in history, made precision rifle shooting a premier spectator sport.
How I dropped my phone into the depths of Lake Martin is still a great and confusing mystery which evidently involves beer.
The roots go back to the late 19th century, when American labor was less “9 to 5” and more “sunup to collapse.” The rallying cry was simple: eight hours for work, eight for rest, eight for life. In 1886, that demand erupted into nationwide strikes, culminating in the infamous Haymarket Affair in Chicago. A bomb, gunfire, dead police, dead civilians, and a trial that still sparks debate today. It was messy, chaotic, and deeply human—exactly the kind of event that leaves a permanent scar on history.
I had a toy rocket when I was a kid. It was made of plastic. The word NASA was printed on it. It was a Saturn V rocket, king daddy of all rockets. The same one that took men to the moon. My GI Joe doll could ride it like a horsey.
I thought I had seen the last of traitorous Americans cursing our soldiers or calling for them to be killed when the last American combat troops were pulled out of Vietnam following the 1973 Paris Peace Treaty. After the disgusting display by anti-American, pro-Iran thugs in Philadelphia and the perfidious “No Kings” protestors last weekend, it appears I was wrong.
Coffee is ready. Pour said coffee. Check my phone. Look at emails. The first subject line attracts my attention. “YOU ARE NOT A TRUE AMERICAN IF YOU DON’T READ THIS!!!”
I want to be a true American, but for the next few minutes I’ll have to settle for being a fallacious one. Namely, because it’s a little early to be reading anything in all caps.
We crossed the Indiana state line at noon. It was sunny. Cloudless. The springtime air was dry and pleasant, smelling of apples, IndyCar, and Hoosiers.
Under a Chinese-led global order, you wouldn’t necessarily feel “ruled” by China in a direct sense. You would feel aligned to it. Your country’s economy would be plugged into Chinese supply chains. Your infrastructure might be financed, built, or maintained through Chinese-linked systems. Your technology stack—networks, platforms, standards—would quietly converge with theirs because it’s cheaper, faster, and already widely adopted.