Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
Fortunately, Kentucky Girl’s tweet that the idiotic Police Chief of Motor City was going to fire an officer for notifying Immigration and Customs Enforcement turned our to be superseded by time; the officers in question will receive only thirty-day unpaid suspensions rather than losing their jobs, losing their jobs for obeying the law! Detroit police …
I trust my government the way I trust a chainsaw: useful, powerful, and capable of doing exactly what it’s designed to do—right up until someone slips, panics, or decides to use it for something it was never meant to cut. I support enforcing the law. I support borders. I support order. What I don’t support is pretending that massive, flexible, taxpayer-funded detention infrastructure will remain forever confined to the narrow purpose printed on today’s briefing slides. That’s not patriotism. That’s optimism with a short memory.
In 2024, the world tuned in to Paris and was treated to a lavish, high-budget revival of pagan imagery—complete with nods to Dionysus, the ancient god of intoxication, ecstasy, and losing yourself so completely that personal responsibility becomes someone else’s problem. It was art, we were told. It was symbolism. It was “inclusive.” It was definitely not accidental. And it certainly wasn’t Christian.
So what good is voter identification going to do in a state like Colorado where under my theory nearly one million extra ballots are being mailed out that can then be used to form the basis for inside the tabulation machine shenanigans? I show ID as I vote in person, but the vast majority of Coloradans voted by mail.
Throughout America in states-counties-cities known to disregard federal laws in general such as immigration law and the like mentioned above, the federal government-in collaboration with state governments-must undertake steps to monitor the conduct of elections and to enforce best practice documentation procedures.
Americans didn’t wake up one morning and decide they wanted to live under surveillance, financial precarity, endless war, and algorithmic babysitting. This wasn’t a vote. It wasn’t even a debate. It was a process—slow, technical, wrapped in flags and fear, and sold as “temporary” at every stage.
For decades, political science was the academic punchline—the major you picked when calculus broke you, engineering filtered you out, and chemistry made you cry. Everyone knew the line: If you can’t do anything else, go poli-sci. Parents nodded approvingly because “college is good for you,” administrators cashed tuition checks, and students emerged four years later fluent in theory, jargon, and grievance—but functionally incapable of building, fixing, or running anything in the real world. What no one admitted at the time was that political science didn’t just produce underemployed graduates; it quietly trained a generation in how to dismantle systems they never understood and could never rebuild.
In case you haven’t noticed, we have a communist revolution on our hands. It began in earnest in 1962 when our Supreme Court decided that Judeo-Christian values were to be excluded from our public schools. It initiated a profound shift in American education that opened the door to insidious indoctrination that has permeated our society.
Phase 2 of a color revolution is the “streets on fire” phase. It looks organic. It feels spontaneous. It’s loud, chaotic, righteous, and emotionally intoxicating. This is where the dogs flood the streets. Students, activists, professional grievance collectors, and social-media revolutionaries with ring lights and Venmo links all sprint after the same thing: meaning.
The real problem in our court system is a rot that has its origins over 100 years ago.
The facts were never complicated: an armed civilian inserted himself into a volatile confrontation with federal agents during an active operation. That’s not a courtroom debate. That’s a high-adrenaline environment where every decision carries lethal stakes. Rights don’t suspend physics. They don’t freeze human reaction time. They don’t override use-of-force laws that have existed for decades. You can be legally armed and still behave recklessly enough to trigger a fatal chain of events.
Concrete mushrooms were everywhere.
They sat in fields, along roads, on hillsides, near villages, even edging farmland—small, dome-shaped bunkers of reinforced concrete, half-buried and impossible to ignore. At first, they looked defensive. After a while, they felt like something else entirely: fear made permanent.
Our friend Jane went into the voting booth and chose politicians who promote civil disorder, without considering what the reality would look like. I’m sure having her nose rubbed in a putrid mess of her own making, only adds to her rage.
History has a sense of humor, and it’s rarely kind. As the United States barrels headlong into a Fourth Turning crisis—complete with generational rage, institutional distrust, ritualized protest, economic anxiety, and ideological self-harm—China isn’t protesting anything. It’s watching. Quietly. Patiently. With a spreadsheet.
It is now a half century since Governor Jimmy Carter took the Democratic primaries by storm in the spring of 1976, winning the Democratic presidential nomination away from much smarter, much more talented candidates
Minneapolis isn’t “going through a moment.” Minneapolis is running a script.
And not the kind of script where everybody just hugs it out at the end and the credits roll over a lake with a canoe and a golden retriever. This is the other kind—the kind you used to see overseas, the kind cable news used to narrate like a nature documentary: Observe the fascinating uprising in its natural habitat. Note the coordinated chants. The symbolic signage. The sudden appearance of professionally printed banners that definitely came from someone’s garage printer.
There’s a certain kind of battlefield respect that doesn’t need a movie trailer, a podcast, or a camouflage beard oil sponsor. It’s quiet. It’s ancient. It’s earned. And it belongs to the rifle marksman—the one who can hit what needs to be hit, when it needs to be hit, without turning the entire valley into a fireworks show.
There she is again. The Purple-Haired Warrior Activist. Posted up in the wild like a brightly colored poison dart frog—small, loud, highly visible, and absolutely convinced she’s saving the planet by screaming at strangers in public while someone films it for Instagram. You’ve seen her. Big glasses. Septum ring. Hair the color of a microwaved …
As the Left screams louder and louder that the taxpayers have no right to run our own federal agencies, all it does is embolden the rest of us to respond, “Oh, Yes We Do.”
Historians, political scientists, and philosophers alike often look at revolutions and ask the question “Was it a simple coup d’etat, or a real popular revolution? And if a real popular revolution, just how ‘popular’ was it, really?”