Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
6 million Americans watched the historic event on television. The Orion spacecraft, named Integrity, is estimated to return to Earth at 8:07 P.M. The little boy who lives inside me can hardly contain himself.
The Artemis II astronauts have exited the Orion capsule and touched down on the recovery ship, the USS John P. Murtha, where they waved to cameras and appeared to be in good spirits.
Spacecraft structural analyst Dylan Dickstein analyzes Artemis II’s return to Earth after a historic trip around the moon on ‘Fox News @ Night.’
Somewhere far above the planet, an unnamed adversary (or possibly a very angry solar flare with a sense of humor) popped off an EMP that politely but firmly unplugged every satellite we’d been leaning on since the late 20th century. GPS—born in the 1970s as a military system and later handed to civilians like candy—vanished in a blink. Along with it went the internet, streaming music, weather apps, and that calm, robotic voice that had spent decades telling Americans when to turn left.
We’ve got a new toy. It’s sleek, fast, doesn’t get tired, doesn’t argue, and it can chew through more data in a minute than a staff section could in a week. We bolted it onto the most capable military on earth and told it to help us find targets. Then we dropped it into a live fight in one of the most complex battlespaces on the planet and acted surprised when the results were… mixed. Welcome to the world’s first real AI war.
“‘The message is clear,’ New Mexico Attorney General Raúl Torrez, whose investigation resulted in a jury finding on Tuesday that Meta must pay $375 million for failing to protect kids from child predators, told POLITICO in an interview. ‘It’s time to change the way these companies do business.’
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.
By late 2020, vaccines arrived under emergency authorization. That should have been the turning point—the moment where risk became individualized again. Instead, the dial kept turning in one direction: more control, more pressure, more compliance. By September 2021, the federal government, under Joe Biden, pushed for sweeping mandates, including a requirement aimed at large employers through OSHA. It was framed as necessity. It was enforced as urgency. And it was received, in many corners, as coercion.
You didn’t need a history degree to recognize what was happening during the pandemic—you just needed to pay attention to how quickly ordinary people changed under pressure. Not all at once, not everywhere, but enough to notice a pattern. Stress, fear, and anxiety didn’t just shape policy; they reshaped behavior. And in many cases, they …
Forget the timeline arguments for a minute. Set aside the academic cage match over dates, carbon curves, and who’s got the better spreadsheet of ancient dust. Start instead with something far more obvious—there was a world before everything went sideways, and there was a world after.
The Nation is one of our oldest political commentary journals, dating from 1865, and these days it is charitably described as “progressive,” though far-left and #woke would be more accurate. They’re just another bunch who’ve fallen for the idiocy that girls can be boys and boys can be girls. The Olympics Is Repeating One of …
There was a time—not long ago—when the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force operated like a disciplined sentry: alert, capable, and formidable, but fundamentally reactive. Their destroyers were built to defend sea lanes, hunt submarines, and intercept incoming threats, not to reach deep into an adversary’s homeland. That posture wasn’t an accident. It was the product of history, law, and a deliberate national choice to remain a shield in a dangerous neighborhood. But shields, as it turns out, are only comforting until someone realizes they don’t have to stand in front of them.
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.
The Shahed-136 is not a masterpiece of engineering. It’s not stealthy, not fast, not elegant, and certainly not impressive in the way a fifth-generation fighter is. It sounds like a weed whacker with anger issues. It flies like a lawn dart with a GPS addiction. And yet—this ugly little flying triangle has exposed a brutal truth about modern warfare: You don’t need to be advanced to be effective. You just need to be cheap, numerous, and good enough.
NATO didn’t invent cognitive warfare, but they did something important: they named it. And once you name something, you can’t pretend it isn’t there. Their definition isn’t wrapped in science fiction or Hollywood nonsense. It’s blunt. Cognitive warfare is about influencing or disrupting how people think in order to shape what they do. Not just soldiers, not just leaders—everyone. Entire populations. Allies, adversaries, and increasingly, your own backyard.
We all love electricity. Flip the switch, lights come on. Coffee maker fires up. Wi-Fi router blinks happily. Data centers hum. Teslas charge. Life is good. Modern civilization runs on electricity the way the human body runs on oxygen. The only time people think about the electrical grid is when it fails—and then suddenly everyone becomes an expert on transformers, substations, and utility companies. But here’s a fun little detail almost nobody knows: the entire grid quietly depends on a specialized material most Americans have never heard of.
Every once in a while, the most effective piece of military technology on the battlefield isn’t some billion-dollar weapons system. Sometimes it’s a $200 hobby airplane ordered off Amazon by a bored cavalry officer with an idea.
Modern war has acquired an odd new feature. It now comes with graphics, dramatic music, and a nightly highlight reel. Precision bombs streak across the screen. Drones glide in cinematic slow motion. Social media fills with grainy infrared footage of things exploding in the desert while commentators nod gravely and say phrases like “escalation dynamics” and “rules-based order.”
For most of history, lies moved slowly. A king issued a proclamation. A priest told a story. A rumor drifted across a village. Today, narratives move at the speed of fiber optics, algorithmically amplified and psychologically engineered. What once required an empire now requires a social media campaign.
The basic idea of unmanned warfare actually dates back more than a century. During World War I, armies experimented with remotely controlled aircraft and explosive “aerial torpedoes.” They were crude and unreliable, but the concept was already there: send a machine instead of a pilot into harm’s way. Through the Cold War the idea matured into reconnaissance drones used primarily for surveillance. The United States began using early UAVs over Vietnam and later refined the concept in the 1990s and early 2000s.