I feel for President Trump. He has a very beautiful wife, a genuinely beautiful person in many ways, and it has been a little embarrassing at times to watch him go public, trying to hold her hand only to have it gently or firmly pushed away. The speculation that follows—the rumors of divorce, whispers that she is leading toward some younger man—strikes me as unnecessary and unkind. I feel it is worth discussing this directly because the truth is far more ordinary, biological, and human than conspiracy-minded narratives suggest.
Melania Trump is the same age as my wife. She was born on April 26, 1970, in Novo Mesto, Slovenia, so she is now in her mid-fifties. When you reach that stage of life, nobody is particularly interested in your sex life. Nobody wants to hear the details, and almost nobody wants to picture it. By the time you are a grandparent, the cultural and biological machinery has shifted. Sex is no longer the central organizing principle of existence, the way it is for teenagers. It is still possible, it can still be meaningful, but it is no longer the priority it once was. The body and the mind both signal that the intense reproductive drive has quieted.
Menopause arrives for most women in their late forties or early to mid-fifties. Periods become irregular and then stop. Estrogen and other hormones decline. Libido often drops, sometimes dramatically, though individual variation is enormous. Many women report that the mental and emotional space once occupied by sexual urgency opens up for other things—family, independence, quiet reflection, practical concerns like grocery prices at Costco versus Kroger. It is not that desire vanishes for everyone, but it is no longer the loud, insistent biological ticker it was in the twenties and thirties.
For men, the parallel process is slower but real. Testosterone levels begin a gradual decline after the thirties, accelerating in later decades. At eighty, President Trump is well into what some call andropause territory. The body changes. Recovery takes longer. The constant background hum of sexual interest that defines so much of male adolescence and young adulthood quiets. An eighty-year-old man waking up and thinking “I must have sex today” is not the typical reality for most men that age, any more than a woman in her fifties waking up with the same urgent thought is typical after menopause. Biology is not destiny in every case, but it sets powerful defaults.
Studies bear this out. Research from the National Social Life, Health, and Aging Project found that sexual activity declines with age: roughly 73 percent of adults aged 57–64 reported being sexually active, dropping to 53 percent for those 65–74, and lower still beyond that. A University of Michigan National Poll on Healthy Aging showed that among women 50–80, about 43 percent had been sexually active in the past year, with higher rates among the younger end of that range (50–64) and among those who were married or partnered. Frequency for couples in their fifties often settles into a few times per month rather than several times per week. By the seventies and eighties, the numbers dropped further, though intimacy, affection, and companionship remained important for many.
These are averages and ranges. Plenty of couples in their fifties and sixties maintain active sex lives, and some continue into their eighties. The point is not that it stops cold; it becomes less urgent, less defining, and far less of a public or cultural preoccupation. Teenagers are biologically wired to think about little else. Their entire social and emotional world can revolve around whether someone wants to sleep with them or whether they can attract that attention. We spend the first decade and a half of life training children to use their minds—ABCs, sentences, science, languages—precisely because the reproductive drive does not yet dominate their biology. Then adolescence hits, and suddenly everything is filtered through sexuality. That phase is real and powerful, but it is not supposed to be permanent.
When people reach their fifties and beyond, the healthy maturation is to stop letting sexuality be the primary lens through which identity and worth are measured. Midlife crises often represent the last frantic attempt to hold onto the reproductive and youthful self before the body and culture both insist on change. Some people handle the transition with grace. Others chase younger partners, new money, or power in an effort to recapture what they feel slipping away. In extreme cases, this can shade into the manipulative or predatory patterns we see in certain corners of elite or celebrity culture—older, wealthy individuals seeking validation or control through relationships with much younger people. That is not maturity; it is often a refusal to accept the next chapter.
I have watched my own children and their friends move through this. My kids are now in their mid-thirties. I remember the conversations when they and their peers were approaching thirty—the quiet panic some felt that the “blooming flower” years were ending, that attention from the opposite sex might dry up, that life’s value was somehow tied to being desired in that specific sexual way. It is a hard passage, especially for women in a culture that still overvalues youthful female appearance. By the time people reach their fifties and sixties, many have made peace with it. They discover that their worth is not located in whether someone wants to sleep with them. They find sovereignty, independence, and new sources of meaning—family, work, faith, quiet competence.
This brings me back to the Trumps. Donald Trump is eighty. He works long hours. He has the weight of the presidency on him again. Melania, in her mid-fifties, has raised their son to adulthood. She has her own privacy and independence. She is not required to perform constant public affection to prove the marriage is real. When he reaches for her hand in public and she pulls away or does not enthusiastically reciprocate, it does not necessarily mean a crisis or a conspiracy. It can simply mean she is past the stage where constant touchy-feely performance feels necessary or natural. Many women in that age group describe exactly this: they love their husbands, they value the partnership, but they do not want to be pawed at or expected to perform youthful romance on demand. They have earned their own space.
The recent UFC Freedom 250 event on the White House South Lawn for the President’s eighty-year-old birthday offered a small window. Melania was there, stylish and composed as always, sitting ringside beside her husband. Observers noted she looked pretty and seemed at ease in the energetic setting surrounded by fighters. That does not contradict the picture of a woman comfortable in her own skin and her own marriage on her own terms. It simply shows someone participating in her husband’s world without needing to manufacture constant physical closeness for the cameras.
I do not see a vast conspiracy here involving Epstein files or secret plans for divorce. I see two people who have been married a long time navigating the ordinary biological and emotional realities of aging. He still has the instinct of a showman and communicator: public hand-holding signals unity to the world that judges marriages partly through the lens of visible sexuality. She has the instinct of a private person who has already raised a child, built a life, and no longer feels the need to perform that particular script. Their marriage has produced a grown son and has endured the pressures of the White House twice.
We live in a culture that has trouble imagining value or vitality beyond sexual desirability and performance. Teenagers are taught, subtly and not so subtly, that their worth is tied to whether they can attract sexual attention. Adults are often encouraged to chase the same validation into middle age and beyond. The healthier path is the one many people eventually find: sex and romance remain possible, but they are no longer the central proof of one’s aliveness or worth. Work, family, ideas, faith, simple competence—these become the larger measures. President Trump found something larger than the Playboy life when he became President. Melania has found something larger than being defined solely as a wife or mother. That is growth, not failure.
It is natural for people to speculate. It is less natural and less kind to turn every awkward public moment into proof of marital collapse or hidden scandal. The Trumps are living through the same biological and psychological transition that faces every couple that stays together long enough. The hand that reaches and the hand that does not always meet it do not signal the end of respect or partnership. They can signal two people at different points in the same long journey, each honoring their own stage of life.
I have been married nearly four decades. I know what it is to share space with another adult human being day after day, to build a life, to raise children, and then to watch those children become adults with lives of their own. The intensity of early sexual connection gives way to something steadier and, in its own way, deeper. It is not better or worse; it is simply next. Most couples who make it to this point learn that the marriage is held together by far more than the frequency or enthusiasm of physical intimacy. Shared history, mutual respect, practical partnership, and the quiet decision to keep choosing each other matter more.
President Trump and Melania Trump appear to be making that choice. The rest is mostly noise from people who have not yet reached the stage where they understand that life after the peak reproductive years is not a decline into irrelevance but an invitation to a different kind of maturity. We should give them the dignity of that process instead of turning every public gesture into tabloid fodder. Their story is not a scandal. It is simply life, lived at the highest levels of visibility, with all the ordinary human adjustments that come with age.
We all age. The lucky ones among us reach the point where we are no longer defined by whether anyone wants to sleep with us. That is not a loss. That is freedom. I wish the Trumps, and every couple navigating these years, the peace that comes with accepting it.
Footnotes
1. Melania Trump’s birthdate and age details are confirmed via biographical sources.
2. National Social Life, Health, and Aging Project (NSHAP) data on sexual activity by age.
3. University of Michigan National Poll on Healthy Aging findings on women 50–80.
4. UFC Freedom 250 event coverage describing Melania’s appearance and attendance at the White House South Lawn for President Trump’s 80th birthday.
5. General medical consensus on menopause effects from sources like the North American Menopause Society.
6. Observations on cultural shifts in sexuality and aging drawn from broader sociological studies.
Bibliography
• Lindau, S.T., et al. “A Study of Sexuality and Health among Older Adults in the United States.” New England Journal of Medicine, 2007.
• University of Michigan National Poll on Healthy Aging. “Women’s Health: Sex, Intimacy, and Menopause,” 2022.
• North American Menopause Society. Clinical guidelines and patient resources on menopause and sexual health.
• Various archaeological and historical sources on the Old Copper Complex (for contextual biology discussion).
• Hoffman, Rich. The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and related writings on maturity and culture.
Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com. If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.
I have always lived outside the box. While most people see only the trees right in front of them—the regimented routines, the narrow daily concerns, the approved narratives—I have survived and found my greatest happiness and clearest insights almost exclusively through big-picture thoughts, concepts, and discussions. When I am forced into the box, I am extremely unhappy. Outside of it, I am pretty happy, and I have a lot to share with people who are willing to look up from the immediate and see the patterns across time. That is why, six or seven years from now, when the conversation about non-human intelligence and its long influence on human affairs becomes mainstream—partly through my own work with the book The Politics of Heaven—many will wonder how I knew what I knew back in 2020 and what I am saying now. The answer is simple: I live outside the box, where the forest is visible, and the hidden hands become apparent.
Just recently, as Tulsi Gabbard concluded her service as Director of National Intelligence in the Trump administration, she highlighted truths that those of us who have followed the COVID story closely have known for years.[^1] Gain-of-function research at the Wuhan Institute of Virology, funded with millions in U.S. taxpayer dollars through channels that included EcoHealth Alliance and ultimately NIH oversight, produced a virus that was made transmissible to humans in ways that natural evolution had not achieved.[^2] It was not a simple bat spillover in a wet market. Dr. Anthony Fauci, in his testimony before Congress, parsed words carefully and denied funding for gain-of-function research under the definitions he preferred, but the evidence from emails, proposals like DEFUSE, and the very nature of the research conducted shows otherwise. He misled the public and lawmakers. Perjury before Congress is a serious matter, and it should carry consequences. It took six years for these confirmations to gain official traction in some circles. I was calling it from day one when the virus emerged from that airport in China, and the stories began to shift. I saw it because the people inside the box were the ones constructing the narrative to hide the truth, and from the outside, the pattern was obvious.
The same dynamic unfolded right here in Ohio during the lockdowns. I was on those conference calls with Jon Husted, who served as a key point of contact trying to bridge the concerns of business owners and executives with the administration. We were asking practical questions: How do we keep businesses open? How do we protect workers and customers without destroying livelihoods and constitutional rights? Governor Mike DeWine was listening closely to his Health Director, Amy Acton—our version of Dr. Fauci in Ohio.[^3] The memos were floating around from the federal health establishment, and they knew the constitutional walls were being tested and breached. Stay-at-home orders, business closures, school shutdowns, and the whole apparatus of control were put in place under emergency powers that stretched far beyond what the people or the legislature had authorized. It was sold as keeping us safe, as if a public health official could write policy that would override the Constitution and turn the governor’s office into an extension of that vision. Now, years later, DeWine is positioning himself as the compassionate voice calling for the abolition of the death penalty, saying it is not a deterrent after all these decades.[^4] He helped craft the law as a state legislator, defended it as Attorney General, yet now on his way out, he wants to be remembered as the one who questioned it. The same man who expanded Medicaid under pressure to appear more progressive after earlier battles with public unions and collective bargaining. These politicians often find themselves in trouble because they listen to the wrong voices—the ones inside the box who prioritize short-term safety narratives and political positioning over the big picture of liberty, accountability, and human nature.
I remember the feeling in 2020 all too well. I carry firearms, as people who know me understand. I was prepared to draw a hard line if unconstitutional checkpoints or enforcement actions came to my door or my community. I was close to a bridge too far. The treatment of January 6 defendants—many held in harsh conditions for what amounted to political expression or presence—showed exactly what the machinery could do when it chose to. I love law and order and a stable society, but when that machinery is weaponized against free citizens who have done nothing wrong, it ceases to be law and becomes something darker. I was on those calls and in my writings arguing the constitutional problems from the beginning. With some influence among legislators who were also concerned, we helped prevent the worst scenarios from taking hold in Ohio. Thank God we did not end up with a situation where I or others were pulled over unconstitutionally and forced into a confrontation that could have escalated. But it was not because I was unwilling to stand. I had drawn my line. Even Rush Limbaugh, in the last year of his life, was cautioning about the overreach and the importance of listening to the right voices. I was saying it earlier, more directly, because I see where the inside-the-box crowd hides what they do not want examined—outside the box, in plain sight for those willing to look.
The costs were immense and are still being counted. More than 1.1 million Americans lost their lives in connection with COVID-19.[^5] Economic analyses projected GDP losses in the range of $3 trillion to $5 trillion or more in the initial years from the combination of the pandemic and the policy responses, with mandatory closures and reopenings being the dominant factor in the downturn. Small businesses—restaurants, gyms, shops, service providers—were shuttered or crippled, many permanently. Mental health crises surged, overdoses increased, domestic issues rose, and a generation of children suffered learning loss and social setbacks whose full measure we are only beginning to understand. In Ohio specifically, the early and strict orders under DeWine and Acton had real human and economic consequences. People died not only from the virus but from delayed medical care, from isolation, from the despair that comes when livelihoods and communities are upended by top-down decree. All of it was made worse because the truth about the virus’s origins and the proper limits of power was suppressed or attacked as dangerous misinformation by those inside the box who could not afford to admit what they had done or enabled.
Now the confirmations are emerging. Fauci and the apparatus he oversaw knew more than they let on. The research that made a non-transmissible virus transmissible to humans was real, and U.S. funding played a role. Taxpayers paid for it. Lives were lost or forever altered because of it and the subsequent cover stories. If we do not hold people accountable—if we do not prosecute perjury and malfeasance when the evidence is this clear—then we should not be surprised when the next crisis arrives, and the same patterns repeat. When you have the opportunity to confront the lie and you decline, the liar learns that there is no cost. That is not compassion. That is a weakness that invites more harm. The average annual cost to taxpayers for housing inmates in U.S. prisons runs $40,000 to $65,000 or more per person, depending on the jurisdiction[^6], a figure that makes long-term incarceration of irredeemable offenders a perpetual burden without the deterrent or finality some argue the death penalty provides for the worst cases.
But COVID is only the most recent and personal example of a much older and larger pattern. I have been speaking and writing for years about non-human intelligence and the ways it has influenced the human race—in our modern politics and in the deep politics of the past thousands of years. The creation of empires, the divine mandates claimed by pharaohs, the dreams and visions that shaped the decisions of kings and conquerors—these were not always purely human inventions or organic developments. They were often steered, amplified, or initiated by non-human intelligences operating through mechanisms of paranoia, superstition, and religious belief systems that were not the faith of the Bible but the polytheisms of the ancient world, particularly the gods of Canaan and their counterparts across the Near East and beyond. We are now discovering, through the accelerating study of UAP, that these intelligences have been present with Earth and human beings for many thousands of years. The same skepticism and ridicule I faced in 2020 when I spoke about the lab origin and the unconstitutional overreach, I face now when I connect these dots. But in six or seven years, it will be different. It will be safe. There will be correspondents and anchors discussing it who are actually non-human intelligence. There will be podcasts and series that treat it as established context rather than as fringe theory. What seems like science fiction today will be science fact tomorrow, just as the COVID truths I stated in 2020 are now being acknowledged years later.
The Book of Enoch provides one of the clearest ancient windows into this reality.[^7] That text, which I have studied and referenced for decades, describes the Watchers—divine beings who descended, took human wives, and produced the Nephilim, giants whose violence and appetites ravaged the earth. These Watchers did not stop at interbreeding; they taught humanity forbidden knowledge: the working of metals into weapons and ornaments, the use of cosmetics and sorcery for manipulation and deception, the arts of divination and the secrets of the stars and earth. This was technology and occult instruction delivered prematurely, corrupting human development and filling the world with bloodshed and chaos. The judgment of the flood followed, but the influence of these fallen ones and their offspring persisted through bloodlines, secret traditions, and the false religious systems that shaped the great powers of antiquity. The gods of Canaan—Baal with his storms and demands for sacrifice, Asherah and her fertility cults, Molech and the fires that consumed children—were not harmless myths. They were presentations of real intelligences that steered societies toward war, ritual, and control. The pharaohs of Egypt presented themselves as divine incarnations or the recipients of direct oracles from the gods, justifying their absolute rule and military campaigns. Similar patterns appear in Mesopotamian kingship, in the oracles and omens that guided Greek and Roman leaders, and in the visionary experiences claimed by conquerors and rulers across history. From outside the box, these are not random cultural developments; they are evidence of consistent non-human influence operating through the structures of power and belief.
We are seeing the modern face of this same presence in the UAP phenomenon.[^8] These unidentified anomalous phenomena are not new. Ancient texts across cultures record fiery chariots in the sky, beings of light or terror descending, and craft that defies the technology of the time. What has changed is our ability and willingness to document and disclose. Government videos released in recent years, testimony from trained observers including Navy pilots, and statements from intelligence community whistleblowers such as David Grusch have brought the topic into congressional hearings and public debate. In 2026, the push for transparency has led to concrete actions, including the release of historical records through mechanisms such as the PURSUE system under the current administration. Tranches of documents are emerging, adding to the body of evidence that something non-human has been here, interacting at times, and remaining largely hidden. Just as the lab-leak hypothesis for COVID was censored and mocked only to be treated as plausible or likely by multiple intelligence agencies years later, the NHI reality is moving from ridicule to reluctant recognition. The pattern is the same: truth that threatens existing power structures or comfortable narratives is suppressed until it can no longer be contained.
In six or seven years, the conversation will have shifted dramatically. People who today roll their eyes at talk of non-human intelligence influencing human events will be nodding along in podcasts and interviews. The age of disclosure will be in full swing. My book, The Politics of Heaven, completed in 2026 and moving toward publication, is my contribution to providing the framework for understanding what is coming.[^9][^10] It is a treasure hunt through heaven and all human history, tracing biblical conspiracies, the role of giants and demons, the reality of divine rebellion, the nature of spiritual warfare, and the population agendas that have shadowed humanity from ancient times into the present. It connects the dots between the Watchers of Enoch, the false gods of Canaan and Egypt, the hidden influences on empires and kings, and the modern manifestations in technology, media, global institutions, and the UAP question. When you understand the politics of heaven—the real power dynamics that operate behind and through earthly politics—you see why certain patterns repeat, why certain lies persist, and why accountability is so often delayed. The same intelligences that once presented themselves as gods demanding worship and sacrifice have not disappeared; they have adapted their methods to new veils and new technologies.
I was willing to risk confrontation in 2020 because I saw the pattern clearly. The fear was that it would be used to centralize power. Dissent was being pathologized. The Constitution was being treated as optional under the pretext of an emergency. Amy Acton did that in Ohio. I had seen enough of how power operates—in my younger years in the Cincinnati area and across the river in Newport, Kentucky, where I had front-row exposure to the coded ways influence and enforcement worked—to recognize when it was happening again. I was not going to be treated like a January 6 prisoner or have my community subjected to checkpoint enforcement without resistance. Thankfully, cooler heads and some influence in the right places kept the worst from occurring here. But the experience taught me again that being outside the box is not just a preference; it is a survival skill when the box is being used to hide dangerous truths.
Now the question is whether we will learn from the COVID chapter or repeat it on a larger scale. The revelations about gain-of-function and Fauci’s role are vindication for those who spoke early, but vindication without accountability is incomplete. If perjury and the engineering of a pathogen that killed over a million Americans carry no real consequence, then the system has learned nothing. The same applies to the bigger picture. When disclosure of non-human intelligence reaches the point where even former skeptics in the media and politics are discussing it openly, will we have the frameworks to understand it, or will we be caught flat-footed by the spiritual and political implications we have refused to consider? My book exists to help with that preparation. It argues that these influences are real, that they have shaped human history in profound ways, and that the age of disclosure is also an age of decision about who we are and whose agenda we will ultimately serve.
I am an older man now, but I have lived a life that kept me engaged with both the practical and the profound—from aerospace program management and the discipline of precision work, to writing books like Tail of the Dragon, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and The Symposium of Justice, to my podcasting and activism on behalf of limited government, traditional values, and individual responsibility. The cowboy hat I have worn since childhood is a declaration that I stand apart from the herd. The whip is my personal symbol of discipline, precision, preparedness, and the moral agency to impose order when chaos threatens. But above all, it is the commitment to big-picture thinking that has defined my path. I criticize the regimented life not because I disdain structure, but because too many people never lift their eyes from the trees to see the forest or the forces moving through it.
Six or seven years from now, when the podcasts, news segments, and public conversations are filled with talk of non-human intelligence and its historical role, remember that some of us were saying it when it was still costly to do so. Not for credit, but because the truth matters and because being outside the box allows you to see what is coming before it arrives. The COVID chapter proved that. The disclosure chapter will prove it again. The politics of heaven are the ultimate big picture, and understanding them is the only way to navigate what lies ahead without being steered by forces we refuse to name.
The truth always comes out. It came out on the origins of COVID after six years of resistance. It is coming out on UAP and the deeper history of influence. It will come out on accountability or the lack of it. I hope that when it does, enough people will have stepped outside the box to see it clearly, to demand what is right, and to prepare for the fuller reality of our place in a universe that has never been as empty or as human-centered as the inside-the-box narrative claimed.
Footnotes
[^1]: Tulsi Gabbard’s resignation as Director of National Intelligence was announced on May 22, 2026, effective June 30, 2026, citing her husband’s health; see reports from BBC, CNBC, and the New York Times (May 2026).
[^2]: On gain-of-function research, EcoHealth Alliance, Wuhan Institute of Virology, and Fauci testimony controversies, see RFK Jr., The Real Anthony Fauci (2021) and subsequent congressional reviews and intelligence assessments on COVID origins (2023-2026).
[^3]: Amy Acton served as Ohio Department of Health Director under Gov. Mike DeWine, issued stay-at-home orders in March 2020, and resigned in June 2020 amid criticism; see contemporary reporting from the Columbus Dispatch, WOSU, and the Ohio Capital Journal.
[^4]: Gov. Mike DeWine announced June 16, 2026, that Ohio should abolish the death penalty, reversing long-held support; see Associated Press, Ohio Capital Journal, and New York Times coverage (June 2026).
[^5]: U.S. COVID-19 deaths exceeded 1.1 million; economic impact studies project trillions in GDP losses from the pandemic and policy responses. See CDC data summaries and analyses, such as Walmsley et al. (2020) in the Journal of Urban Economics and Chen et al.’s economic burden projections.
[^6]: Average annual cost of incarceration in U.S. state prisons is around $ 60,000 per inmate (median figures from USAFacts and state reports); federal prisons are around $41,000 per inmate (FY2023 Federal Register). Life sentences for serious crimes impose an ongoing taxpayer burden of tens of thousands of dollars per individual per year.
[^7]: Book of Enoch (1 Enoch), particularly the Book of the Watchers (chs. 1-36), describes the descent of the Watchers, their instruction of humanity in forbidden arts, and the birth of the violent Nephilim giants. See translations by R.H. Charles (1917) and modern editions; scholarly discussion in The Torah.com and related ancient Near Eastern studies.
[^8]: UAP disclosure developments include 2017-2023 Pentagon video releases, the 2021 ODNI Preliminary Assessment, the 2023 congressional hearings with David Grusch’s testimony, and the 2026 releases under the PURSUE system (Department of War/ODNI tranches announced May-June 2026).
[^9]: Ancient historical patterns of divine kingship and oracular influence in Egypt (pharaoh as god-king), Canaanite pantheon (Ugaritic texts, Baal Cycle), and biblical accounts (Genesis 6, Numbers 13, Deuteronomy on Canaanite practices). See Biblical Archaeology Review archives and standard references such as The Oxford History of the Ancient Near East.
[^10]: Broader context on spiritual warfare, giants, and population themes in biblical and extra-biblical literature; see also the author’s forthcoming The Politics of Heaven (target 2027) for an integrated treatment that connects ancient influences to modern geopolitical and technological developments.
Bibliography for Further Reading
• Charles, R.H., trans. The Book of Enoch. London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1917 (and subsequent reprints).
• Elizondo, Luis. Imminent: Inside the Pentagon’s Hunt for UAP. New York: William Morrow, 2024.
• Hoffman, Rich. Tail of the Dragon. (Author’s earlier work on personal and philosophical themes).
• Hoffman, Rich. The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business. (On resilience, problem-solving, and imposing will on circumstances).
• Hoffman, Rich. The Symposium of Justice. (Philosophical and justice themes).
• Hoffman, Rich. The Politics of Heaven. (Forthcoming 2027; manuscript completed 2026, exploring biblical conspiracies, giants, demons, spiritual warfare, and population agendas across history).
• Kennedy, Robert F., Jr. The Real Anthony Fauci: Bill Gates, Big Pharma, and the Global War on Democracy and Public Health. New York: Skyhorse, 2021.
• Biblical Archaeology Review. Multiple issues on ancient Near Eastern religion, giants/Nephilim debates, and archaeological context for biblical texts (ongoing since 1975).
• Office of the Director of National Intelligence. Preliminary Assessment: Unidentified Aerial Phenomena. June 2021 and subsequent UAP reports.
• Various 2023-2026 congressional hearings and whistleblower testimony on UAP (Grusch et al.).
• Academic and government analyses of COVID-19 economic impacts: Walmsley, Terrie et al. “The Impacts of the Coronavirus on the Economy of the United States” (2020); Chen, Simiao et al. economic burden studies (2021); CDC COVID Data Tracker summaries.
• USAFacts and Bureau of Justice Statistics reports on incarceration costs and prison populations (2023-2025 data).
• Ancient primary sources: Ugaritic Baal Cycle texts; Egyptian royal inscriptions and Pyramid Texts; biblical texts (Genesis 6, Enoch references in Jude and 2 Peter).
• Additional context on Canaanite religion and its influence: Day, John. Yahweh and the Gods and Goddesses of Canaan. Sheffield Academic Press, 2000 (and related scholarship).
Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com. If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.
I have always lived with one foot in the ordinary world, local Ohio politics, family life along the Great Miami River in Butler County, and the other in the deeper currents of history, archaeology, and the unexplained. Growing up in the Cincinnati area, my family in the 1970s was already investigating strange lights in the sky and odd occurrences that didn’t fit neatly into everyday explanations. Those early experiences planted seeds that would later bloom into serious inquiry. I have never claimed to have been abducted or to have lived through anything as dramatic as the portrayal of Travis Walton’s ordeal in Fire in the Sky. My encounters have been subtler, more provocative, and in one memorable case, downright infuriating in their precision and timing.
One such encounter stands out, not just because of what I saw firsthand in earlier instances, but also because of how it unfolded in response to something I said publicly. A couple of years ago, amid ongoing discussions about government transparency, surveillance, and the lingering shadows of the COVID era, I recorded a video. In it, I dared whatever forces—whether extraterrestrial, interdimensional, or black-budget human technology—might be listening to show themselves right there in my backyard of Butler County, Ohio. I pointed to a specific spot in the sky near Middletown. I wasn’t expecting fireworks or a close encounter of the third kind. I was making a point about power, information, and the dangers of hidden knowledge wielded by institutions that demand trust while offering none in return.
A short time later—mere days—a ring of bright green lights appeared in the night sky exactly in that vicinity. Multiple residents captured video around 10:30 or 11 p.m. The lights rotated, hovered, then shot off with impossible speed. People stopped at stoplights, pulled out their phones, and filmed what appeared to be a circular formation moving counterclockwise before it vanished. Reports flooded local news: WCPO, WLWT, and others covered the strange rotating green lights over Middletown in Butler County. Witnesses described it as unlike any drone or conventional aircraft. Some called it frightening; others were fascinated. I wasn’t on site that night, but the proximity and timing were unmistakable.
This wasn’t my first brush with the phenomenon. I had witnessed other UFO activity years earlier, including one that left me genuinely angry at the audacity of it. But this particular event felt targeted. Given my political activity—my role as a vocal conservative voice in Butler County, my history with local issues like Lakota schools, tax fights, and broader America First advocacy—I have long assumed surveillance. Decades ago, in a previous neighborhood in Mason, Ohio, I confronted a drug ring operating too close to families. That brought FBI interviews and scrutiny that carried over for years. Local and federal eyes have been on me, my family, and my work for a very long time. When you dare powers—visible or invisible—to reveal themselves while criticizing government overreach, you invite responses. Whether this was a genuine non-human craft, advanced human technology (perhaps reverse-engineered or projected), or something meant to rattle me, it landed with precision.
I took it as a message. Not the kind that turns you into Richard Dreyfuss piling dirt in the living room from Close Encounters of the Third Kind, but one that demands deeper reflection. I have visited Roswell. I have investigated the Mothman in Point Pleasant, West Virginia—right across the river from Ohio territory familiar to me. There, UFO sightings were rampant alongside the Mothman reports in the 1960s. John Keel’s The Mothman Prophecies (later a film with Richard Gere) details how lights in the sky, strange calls, and Men in Black phenomena intertwined with the creature sightings leading up to the Silver Bridge collapse. You cannot grapple with Mothman without confronting the UFO dimension. I went there for personal research, on a birthday trip no less, and came away convinced that these events form a pattern far older than modern disclosure narratives.
Watching Steven Spielberg’s Disclosure Day recently brought it all into sharper focus. Spielberg, who has fielded countless UFO stories from the public over decades while making films like Close Encounters, treats the subject with a humanistic lens. The movie explores ordinary people pushing back against secrecy. I found it compelling, even if some critics dismissed elements. It reminded me of my own journey. Spielberg has no personal UFO encounter, by his account, yet he has shaped public imagination on the topic. I have had them, and they propelled me to write.
My thoughts also turned to Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Many reviewers scoffed at the interdimensional beings, calling it the weakest entry. I saw sophistication in it. The film uses Indy to explore ancient alien influence on human civilization—archaeologists from another realm, imprints on societies, crystal skulls tied to Roswell-like events and portals. It gave popular culture the moral license to think seriously about these ideas. It opened doors for shows like Ancient Aliens. The Peruvian connections, snakes as symbols (echoing the Garden of Eden), and hidden-in-plain-sight craft at the end resonated. I dedicated a chapter in my book to serpentine imagery and interdimensional influences.
Broader Context: UFOs in Ohio and Butler County
Ohio has a rich history of sightings. The 1952 “Flatwoods Monster” event in nearby West Virginia involved a bright object and a strange entity. In 1994, Trumbull County saw police-chased lights. Middletown itself has a history of reports, including cigar-shaped objects. The 2023 green lights fit a pattern of rotating formations and rapid departures defying conventional explanation. Some dismissed it as a prank or drone, but the speed and multiple witnesses suggest more. Butler County’s location—near Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, long rumored in UFO lore for reverse-engineering—adds intrigue. Reverse-engineering Roswell tech? Congressional testimony and retired officials hint at it. I know enough insiders to take such claims seriously.
These aren’t new. Ancient texts, archaeology, and global myths describe sky beings, watchers, and technology influencing humanity. The Book of Enoch, Dead Sea Scrolls (which I viewed at the Museum of the Bible on my birthday), Nephilim, and giants speak to this. My book, The Politics of Heaven, dives into spiritual warfare, divine rebellion, population agendas, and how non-human intelligences have shaped history. Biblical conspiracies, demons, and interdimensional entities aren’t “crazy” when disclosure normalizes the conversation. Spielberg’s film and real events make mainstream what was once fringe.
Government, Power, and the Politics of Disclosure
I have built my life around self-reliance, discipline (symbolized by my whip iconography from my family’s Kentucky heritage), and skepticism toward centralized power. The UFO debate often serves as a pretext for more government authority: “Trust us to protect you from them.” Yet the same institutions lied about COVID, mandates, elections, and more. Black budgets, compartmentalized programs at places like Wright-Patterson, and associations with supernatural tech-seeking make the government threat more immediate than hypothetical aliens. If entities have visited since civilization’s dawn, then history makes more sense—temples, sacrifices, and beliefs born of observed phenomena.
My dare and the subsequent sighting felt like a ritual response. Call it out, and it appears. Whether it was a government projection (holographic or drone tech) to discredit me in political circles, actual craft, or something responding to frequency/intent, it happened. Proximity to my pointed location, in an area with patterns (Middletown, Monroe, West Chester), wasn’t a coincidence. It reinforced my view: information is power. Secrecy builds empires on lies. As a grand jury foreman, I saw institutional failures up close. Two-tier justice, surveillance of citizens like me—these are real.
This encounter, revisited through Disclosure Day, crystallized my decision to finish the manuscript. I weave personal stories, including this one, with biblical archaeology, ancient civilizations (Axum, Britain BC, the Windover Bog People), giants, and modern spiritual warfare. Chapters explore how UFOs, interdimensional beings, and government secrecy intersect with heavenly politics. Reviewers call it wild, but grounded in my experiences and research. It answers questions Disclosure Day raises: What next? What does it mean for faith, power, and humanity?
Conclusion: Toward Understanding
I stand by my premises. Aliens or their tech have been with us. Government lies pose clearer dangers. My encounter was deliberate, provocative, and inspirational. It led to The Politics of Heaven, a book for those seeking the next layer after disclosure. Look up Middletown UFO reports yourself. Study Keel, Enoch, archaeology. Question power. Live with discipline and curiosity. The sky holds answers, but so does rigorous inquiry into heaven’s politics.
The modern cultural moment surrounding extraterrestrial disclosure sits at the intersection of fiction, data, belief, and institutional power. What once belonged exclusively to speculative literature and late-night radio has steadily entered mainstream discourse through cinema, congressional hearings, intelligence reports, and public polling. The convergence of these domains—popular storytelling, emerging government transparency, and shifting public opinion—marks not merely a fascination with the unknown, but a broader transition in how societies process uncertainty and authority.
Science fiction has long functioned as a precursor to technological and conceptual breakthroughs. From Jules Verne’s imagined submarines to Star Trek’s communicators, speculative narratives have historically inspired real-world innovation, shaping the ambitions of engineers, scientists, and entrepreneurs 12. This feedback loop between imagination and material progress has created a cultural environment in which ideas once dismissed as fantasy are re-evaluated as plausible futures. The genre’s influence extends beyond gadgets into ethics and social systems, providing frameworks for grappling with artificial intelligence, space exploration, and extraterrestrial life itself 1. In this sense, science fiction does not merely predict the future—it establishes the intellectual conditions that make certain futures conceivable.
The normalization of extraterrestrial discourse is reflected in recent polling data, which reveals a decisive shift in public belief. As of June 2026, approximately 63% of Americans believe intelligent life exists beyond Earth, a substantial increase from fewer than half in 2010 3. Moreover, about 21% of respondents believe direct contact with extraterrestrial life has already occurred 3. These figures illustrate a cultural transformation: belief in extraterrestrial life is no longer marginal but widely accepted. Even more telling is that roughly 84% of Americans believe the federal government knows more about unidentified aerial phenomena than it has disclosed 4. This convergence of belief in extraterrestrials and skepticism toward institutional transparency underscores a broader erosion of trust in official narratives.
Parallel to this shift in public perception, the United States government has released a series of reports on Unidentified Aerial Phenomena (UAP), providing an unprecedented—though limited—window into classified data. The 2021 preliminary assessment reviewed 144 documented cases, many supported by multi-sensor evidence and some exhibiting unusual flight characteristics such as abrupt acceleration and stationary hovering 5. By August 2022, the number of recorded incidents had expanded to 510, reflecting both increased reporting and reduced stigma among military personnel 6. The 2023 and subsequent reports further expanded the dataset to hundreds more cases, with total investigations surpassing 800 and later exceeding 1,600 by 2024, demonstrating a rapidly growing body of observations 75.
Despite this increase in data, a significant proportion of cases remain unresolved. While many sightings are eventually attributed to balloons, drones, or atmospheric phenomena, a persistent subset defies easy classification. Notably, no confirmed extraterrestrial origin has been established in these official reports, yet the continued presence of unexplained cases sustains public speculation 5. The reports emphasize aviation safety concerns and the need for improved data collection, framing UAP primarily as a defense and intelligence issue rather than a confirmation of alien technology 7. Nevertheless, the mere acknowledgment of unexplained aerial phenomena by government institutions has legitimized a topic long relegated to the fringes.
The cultural impact of this gradual disclosure cannot be separated from the role of media, particularly large-scale cinematic releases that translate complex or controversial ideas into accessible narratives. Films centered on extraterrestrial contact often serve as intermediaries between classified knowledge and public imagination, offering emotional and philosophical interpretations of what scientific reports leave unresolved. These narratives tend to humanize the unknown, framing extraterrestrial encounters in terms of curiosity, conflict, or moral testing. In doing so, they provide audiences with conceptual tools to process information that might otherwise provoke skepticism or fear.
At the same time, the enduring appeal of theories regarding ancient extraterrestrial influence demonstrates the persistence of alternative explanatory frameworks. The so-called “ancient aliens” hypothesis suggests that extraterrestrial beings contributed to early human civilizations, influencing architecture, religion, and technological development. While this theory remains popular in media and literature, it is widely regarded by professional archaeologists as pseudoarchaeology, often criticized for ignoring contextual evidence and substituting speculation for rigorous analysis 89. Scholars argue that such theories can undermine appreciation for human ingenuity by attributing historical achievements to non-human actors. Yet their popularity reflects a deeper cultural impulse: the desire to locate external origins for complex systems and unexplained accomplishments.
This impulse extends into modern interpretations of government secrecy and psychological control. Among the most controversial historical programs associated with these concerns is Project MK-Ultra, a covert CIA initiative conducted between 1953 and the mid-1960s. The program involved extensive experimentation with drugs, hypnosis, and sensory manipulation in an attempt to develop methods of controlling human behavior 10. Many of these experiments were conducted without informed consent, leading to lasting ethical and legal controversies when the program was exposed in the 1970s 11. MK-Ultra’s documented abuses have contributed to a broader skepticism toward intelligence agencies, reinforcing narratives in which governments possess capabilities that remain hidden from public scrutiny.
The persistence of such ideas reflects the influence of narrative storytelling, which often amplifies real-world events into more dramatic or comprehensive systems of control. This blending of fact and fiction can complicate efforts to establish a shared understanding of what is known, unknown, and unknowable.
Within this landscape, the concept of “disclosure” operates as both a political and psychological threshold. It represents not only the potential revelation of classified information but also the collective readiness of society to integrate disruptive knowledge. Historical precedents suggest that transformative discoveries—whether heliocentrism, evolution, or nuclear technology—require gradual assimilation. Sudden exposure to paradigm-shifting ideas can provoke resistance, denial, or reinterpretation within existing belief systems. Consequently, any process of disclosure, whether regarding extraterrestrial life or advanced technology, is likely to unfold incrementally, mediated by cultural narratives and institutional frameworks.
Religious perspectives add another dimension to this process. The possibility of extraterrestrial intelligence raises fundamental questions about humanity’s place in the universe, challenging anthropocentric interpretations of creation and divine purpose. Yet many theological traditions possess conceptual flexibility, allowing for the existence of life beyond Earth without negating core doctrines. The idea of a universe governed by a singular creator is not inherently incompatible with multiple inhabited worlds. Rather than undermining faith, the discovery of extraterrestrial life could expand the scope of theological inquiry, prompting reconsideration of divine agency and cosmic order.
Public reaction to such possibilities appears increasingly nuanced. Polling data indicates that a majority of Americans would respond to extraterrestrial contact with curiosity rather than fear, though a significant proportion also anticipates anxiety 3. This duality reflects the tension between fascination and uncertainty that characterizes human engagement with the unknown. Cultural conditioning through decades of science fiction has arguably prepared audiences for the idea of extraterrestrial life, normalizing it to a degree unimaginable in earlier generations.
At the same time, political framing continues to shape interpretations of disclosure. Debates over transparency, national security, and governmental authority influence how information is released and received. Bipartisan interest in UAP investigations suggests that the issue transcends traditional ideological divides, yet its implications can be mobilized within broader narratives about governance, sovereignty, and public trust. The question of who controls knowledge—and who decides when it is revealed—remains central to the discourse.
The interplay between science fiction, empirical data, and cultural belief ultimately reveals a society in transition. As technological capabilities expand and information becomes more accessible, distinctions between speculation and reality grow increasingly porous. Ideas once confined to fiction are reexamined through the lens of possibility, while scientific findings are interpreted within preexisting narrative frameworks. This dynamic creates both opportunities and challenges: opportunities for expanded knowledge and imaginative exploration, and challenges in maintaining epistemic clarity.
Future developments in astronomy, planetary science, and space exploration may provide more definitive answers regarding extraterrestrial life. Missions to Mars, Europa, and other celestial bodies aim to detect biosignatures or evidence of past life, potentially transforming speculation into empirical reality. At the same time, continued analysis of UAP data may resolve many currently unexplained cases, narrowing the gap between observation and explanation. Whether these processes culminate in confirmation of extraterrestrial intelligence remains uncertain, but their trajectory is unmistakable.
In this context, disclosure is less a singular event than an ongoing process—a gradual unfolding shaped by technological progress, institutional decisions, and cultural interpretation. The convergence of widespread belief, partial governmental transparency, and influential storytelling suggests that society is moving toward a new equilibrium in its understanding of the cosmos. This transformation is not driven solely by evidence but by the narratives constructed around that evidence, which determine how it is perceived, debated, and ultimately integrated into collective knowledge.
The enduring power of science fiction lies in its ability to anticipate and normalize the unfamiliar. By envisioning encounters with the unknown, it prepares audiences to confront them, bridging the gap between imagination and reality. As the boundaries of knowledge continue to expand, this role becomes increasingly significant, guiding public discourse through uncharted intellectual territory. In the evolving dialogue surrounding extraterrestrial life and government disclosure, fiction and fact are not opposing forces but complementary elements in a broader cultural process—one that continues to redefine humanity’s place in an ever-expanding universe. And with all that said, the movie, Disclosure Day, is a fantastic movie everyone should see. It’s important.
—
Footnotes
[1] Data on public belief in extraterrestrial life: 3
[2] Public perception of government secrecy on UFOs: 4
Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com. If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.
I have always lived with one foot in the ordinary world of aerospace program management, local Ohio politics, family life along the Great Miami River in Butler County, and the other in the deeper currents of history, archaeology, and the unexplained. Growing up in the Cincinnati area, my family in the 1970s was already investigating strange lights in the sky and odd occurrences that didn’t fit neatly into everyday explanations. Those early experiences planted seeds that would later bloom into serious inquiry. I have never claimed to have been abducted or to have lived through anything as dramatic as the portrayal of Travis Walton’s ordeal in Fire in the Sky. My encounters have been subtler, more provocative, and in one memorable case, downright infuriating in their precision and timing.
One such encounter stands out, not just because of what I saw firsthand in earlier instances, but also because of how it unfolded in response to something I said publicly. A couple of years ago, amid ongoing discussions about government transparency, surveillance, and the lingering shadows of the COVID era, I recorded a video. In it, I dared whatever forces—whether extraterrestrial, interdimensional, or black-budget human technology—might be listening to show themselves right there in my backyard of Butler County, Ohio. I pointed to a specific spot in the sky near Middletown. I wasn’t expecting fireworks or a close encounter of the third kind. I was making a point about power, information, and the dangers of hidden knowledge wielded by institutions that demand trust while offering none in return.
A few days later, a ring of bright green lights appeared in the night sky in that vicinity. Multiple residents captured video around 10:30 or 11 p.m. The lights rotated, hovered, then shot off with impossible speed. People stopped at stoplights, pulled out their phones, and filmed what appeared to be a circular formation moving counterclockwise before it vanished. Reports flooded local news: WCPO, WLWT, and others covered the strange rotating green lights over Middletown in Butler County. Witnesses described it as unlike any drone or conventional aircraft. Some called it frightening; others were fascinated. I wasn’t on site that night, but the proximity and timing were unmistakable.
This wasn’t my first brush with the phenomenon. I had witnessed other UFO activity years earlier, including one that left me genuinely angry at the audacity of it. But this particular event felt targeted. Given my political activity—my role as a vocal conservative voice in Butler County, my history with local issues like Lakota schools, tax fights, and broader America First advocacy—I have long assumed surveillance. Decades ago, in a previous neighborhood in Mason, Ohio, I confronted a drug ring operating too close to families. That brought FBI interviews and scrutiny that carried over for years. Local and federal eyes have been on me, my family, and my work. When you dare powers—visible or invisible—to reveal themselves while criticizing government overreach, you invite responses. Whether this was a genuine non-human craft, advanced human technology (perhaps reverse-engineered or projected), or something meant to rattle me, it landed with precision.
I took it as a message. Not the kind that turns you into Richard Dreyfuss piling dirt in the living room from Close Encounters of the Third Kind, but one that demands deeper reflection. I have visited Roswell. I have investigated the Mothman in Point Pleasant, West Virginia—right across the river from Ohio territory familiar to me. There, UFO sightings were rampant alongside the Mothman reports in the 1960s. John Keel’s The Mothman Prophecies (later a film with Richard Gere) details how lights in the sky, strange calls, and Men in Black phenomena intertwined with the creature sightings leading up to the Silver Bridge collapse. You cannot grapple with Mothman without confronting the UFO dimension. I went there for personal research, on a birthday trip no less, and came away convinced that these events form a pattern far older than modern disclosure narratives.
Watching Steven Spielberg’s Disclosure Day recently brought it all into sharper focus. Spielberg, who has fielded countless UFO stories from the public over decades while making films like Close Encounters, treats the subject with a humanistic lens. The movie explores ordinary people pushing back against secrecy. I found it compelling, even if some critics dismissed elements. It reminded me of my own journey. Spielberg has no personal UFO encounter, by his account, yet he has shaped public imagination on the topic. I have had them, and they propelled me to write.
My thoughts also turned to Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Many reviewers scoffed at the interdimensional beings, calling it the weakest entry. I saw sophistication in it. The film uses Indy to explore ancient alien influence on human civilization—archaeologists from another realm, imprints on societies, crystal skulls tied to Roswell-like events and portals. It gave popular culture the moral license to think seriously about these ideas. It opened doors for shows like Ancient Aliens. The Peruvian connections, snakes as symbols (echoing the Garden of Eden), and hidden-in-plain-sight craft at the end resonated. I dedicated a chapter in my book to serpentine imagery and interdimensional influences.
Broader Context: UFOs in Ohio and Butler County
Ohio has a rich history of sightings. The 1952 “Flatwoods Monster” event in nearby West Virginia involved a bright object and a strange entity. In 1994, Trumbull County saw police-chased lights. Middletown itself has a history of reports, including cigar-shaped objects. The 2023 green lights fit a pattern of rotating formations and rapid departures defying conventional explanation. Some dismissed it as a prank or drone, but the speed and multiple witnesses suggest more. Butler County’s location—near Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, long rumored in UFO lore for reverse-engineering—adds intrigue. Reverse-engineering Roswell tech? Congressional testimony and retired officials hint at it. I know enough insiders to take such claims seriously.
These aren’t new. Ancient texts, archaeology, and global myths describe sky beings, watchers, and technology influencing humanity. The Book of Enoch, Dead Sea Scrolls (which I viewed at the Museum of the Bible on my birthday), Nephilim, and giants speak to this. My book, The Politics of Heaven, dives into spiritual warfare, divine rebellion, population agendas, and the ways non-human intelligences have shaped history. Biblical conspiracies, demons, and interdimensional entities aren’t “crazy” when disclosure normalizes the conversation. Spielberg’s film and real events make mainstream what was once fringe.
Government, Power, and the Politics of Disclosure
I have built my life around self-reliance, discipline (symbolized by my whip iconography from my family’s Kentucky heritage), and skepticism toward centralized power. The UFO debate often serves as a pretext for more government authority: “Trust us to protect you from them.” Yet the same institutions lied about COVID, mandates, elections, and more. Black budgets, compartmentalized programs at places like Wright-Patterson, and associations with supernatural tech-seeking make the government threat more immediate than hypothetical aliens. If entities have visited since civilization’s dawn, then history makes more sense—temples, sacrifices, and beliefs born of observed phenomena.
My dare and the subsequent sighting felt like a ritual response. Call it out, and it appears. Whether it was a government projection (holographic or drone tech) to discredit me in political circles, actual craft, or something responding to frequency/intent, it happened. Proximity to my pointed location, in an area with patterns (Middletown, Monroe, West Chester), wasn’t a coincidence. It reinforced my view: information is power. Secrecy builds empires on lies. As a grand jury foreman, I saw institutional failures up close. Two-tier justice, surveillance of citizens like me—these are real.
I don’t fear aliens landing and applying for jobs (though I joked I’d hire hard workers who crossed interstellar distances). The real danger is unaccountable power using the phenomenon for control. My political consulting, school advocacy, and anti-tax work matter. Associating with “fringe” topics risks credibility, yet truth-seeking demands it. Overman philosophy—imposing will on chaos, as in model rocketry with my grandson in bad weather—applies here. Face the unknown with resilience.
Writing The Politics of Heaven
This encounter, revisited through Disclosure Day, crystallized my decision to finish the manuscript. I weave personal stories, including this one, with biblical archaeology, ancient civilizations (Axum, Britain BC, Windover bog people), giants, and modern spiritual warfare. Chapters explore how UFOs, interdimensional beings, and government secrecy intersect with heavenly politics. Reviewers call it wild, but grounded in my experiences and research. It answers questions Disclosure Day raises: What next? What does it mean for faith, power, and humanity?
Bibliography (Selected; expanded in full manuscript with footnotes)
• Keel, John A. The Mothman Prophecies. 1975. (Core text on Point Pleasant events, UFOs, and interconnected phenomena.)
• Spielberg, Steven, dir. Disclosure Day. Universal Pictures, 2026. (Film exploring disclosure and government secrecy.)
• Spielberg, Steven, dir. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Paramount, 2008. (Interdimensional beings and ancient influences.)
Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com. If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.
I stood outside Mustang Sally’s in the Liberty Center shopping complex (now closed), my neighborhood in Liberty Township, minding my own business in my cowboy hat and the way I’ve dressed for decades in Butler County, when a couple approached me. They had moved from the East Coast, via New Hampshire, to our area with certain expectations. They weren’t happy. Their comments made it clear they wanted to reshape this place into something more like where they came from. My response was direct: You moved into my backyard and brought your garbage with you, expecting the region to bend to your liking. You left a place you helped mess up, and now you want to import the same problems here. You don’t like the Bible belts, the cowboy hats, or the people who still go to church on Sundays with Christian origins. Do you really expect to show up and change everything overnight?
That encounter lingered with me, not because it was unique—I get recognized from my videos, blog, and activism against the Lakota levies—but because it tied directly into the themes I’ve been exploring in my book The Politics of Heaven. Human sacrifice has always been a recurring temptation for humanity, a way to appease false gods in pursuit of power, prosperity, or protection. This came sharply into focus during graduation season, the rituals in which parents parade their children as offerings to the modern altars of secular success. I’m not particularly fond of these ceremonies; too often, they reveal parents who have done a poor job raising resilient children in a world that demands conformity to destructive ideologies. To understand this, we must go back to the Bible, to the days after King Solomon, when the seeds of betrayal bore bitter fruit.
King Solomon, for all his wisdom and the glory of the First Temple, failed spectacularly. He had hundreds of wives and concubines from foreign nations, each bringing their gods—Ashtoreth, Molech, Chemosh—and he built high places for them. Yahweh, the God of his father David, was provoked to anger. The kingdom would be torn apart after his death, and his descendants would inherit the consequences. Fast-forward roughly 200 years to the reign of Ahaz, king of Judah, a direct descendant of that troubled line. Second Chronicles 28:3 tells us plainly: “He burned sacrifices in the Valley of Ben Hinnom and sacrificed his children in the fire, engaging in the detestable practices of the nations the Lord had driven out before the Israelites.”
This wasn’t a minor slip. Ahaz walked in the ways of the kings of Israel, making molded images for the Baals. He sacrificed and burned incense on high places, hills, and under every green tree. In his distress, he grew more unfaithful, turning to the gods of Damascus that had defeated him, reasoning that if they helped his enemies, they might help him. He shut the doors of the Temple in Jerusalem and set up altars everywhere. The Chronicler emphasizes the depth of this apostasy: Ahaz burned his sons—plural—in the fire according to the abominations of the nations Yahweh had cast out. This was Molech worship, the fiery offering of children in the Tophet of the Hinnom Valley, later called Gehenna, a place of judgment.
Archaeology confirms the horror. Sites across the ancient Near East, from Canaanite high places at Gezer with infant bones in jars beneath standing stones, to the vast Tophets of Carthage (a Phoenician colony with Canaanite roots), reveal urns filled with burned child remains, often dedicated to Baal-Hammon or Tanit. Estimates suggest thousands of such sacrifices over centuries. Classical writers like Diodorus Siculus described bronze statues where children were placed and rolled into flames, with drums beating to drown out the screams so parents wouldn’t relent. The Bible’s condemnation in Leviticus 18:21, Deuteronomy 12:31, Jeremiah 7:31, and elsewhere aligns with this evidence. Yahweh had driven out the Canaanites precisely because of these practices—the land “vomited them out.” Yet Israel repeatedly fell into the same pit.
In the time of Ahaz, about two centuries after Solomon’s peak, the First Temple still stood, a visible reminder of David’s purchase of the threshing floor and the covenant. Yet Judah’s king, with all the advantages of that heritage, chose Molech over Yahweh. He sacrificed his own children—flesh and blood—to secure political advantage, rain, victory, or prosperity. The priests beat drums to mask the cries. This wasn’t abstract theology; it was a direct betrayal of the God who demanded justice, not the blood of innocents. Ezekiel and Jeremiah later railed against similar abominations in the Valley of Hinnom, where people built high places to Baal and burned sons and daughters.
I see the same pattern today in what I call the “Lego moms”—those levy supporters with their uniform, block-like conformity, who confront people like me for wearing a cowboy hat or standing against higher property taxes for public schools. They move here from places they’ve ruined, expecting Butler County’s Bible-belt roots to yield. At graduation ceremonies, they beam with pride as their children are sent off to woke institutions, sacrificing them on the altars of liberal causes, corporate conformity, pronouns, and careerism. “Where’s your kid going to school?” they ask, as if the choice of secular university is a burnt offering for future success. These parents, often in their 40s and 50s, resent the very children who “hold them back,” trading family for social approval and hedge-fund portfolios.
This is modern child sacrifice, not with literal flames but with the slow burn of indoctrination. Abortion, too, fits the pattern—millions offered up for convenience, autonomy, or economic “luck.” Democrats and progressives advocate policies that treat children as obstacles to personal fulfillment. Just as Ahaz hoped Molech would deliver victory, today’s secularists sacrifice the next generation to the gods of climate alarmism, gender ideology, and big government. Public schools become free babysitting services funded by property taxes, turning children into wards of the state while parents pursue careers. I’ve said it before: many parents don’t love their children more than Ahaz loved his. They send pretty little girls and boys to the “meat market” of liberal campuses, where they learn to hate their heritage and conform or perish.
My own experiences in the 1990s living on UC’s campus during the Clinton years showed the early creep of this. It wasn’t as extreme then, but the trajectory was clear. Now, it’s full-blown. These Lego types despise the Bible because it judges them. Second Chronicles 28 provides the reference point for righteous anger against such evil. Yahweh condemned it because He values life, covenant, and moral order—not the appeasement of demons through innocent blood. The prophets tied this to spiritual adultery, just as Solomon’s foreign wives led him astray.
Expanding on the biblical context, the temptation was immense. Before the full revelation of the Torah as we know it, the ancient Near East teemed with gods. Baal, the storm god, demanded loyalty through fertility rites and sometimes blood. Molech (or Milcom of the Ammonites) was particularly associated with child sacrifice for protection or prosperity. Kings like Ahaz, facing military threats from Aram and Israel, panicked and offered what was most precious—their offspring. This mirrored practices among the Phoenicians, Carthaginians, and even farther afield. In the Americas, the Mississippian culture at Cahokia, near modern St. Louis, featured massive earthen pyramids and evidence of ritual sacrifice, including dozens of young women buried with elites in Mound 72. Aztec, Maya, and other indigenous groups practiced heart extraction and other offerings on a grand scale. Trade networks may have linked these ideas across continents. My old screenplay, The Lost Cannibals of Cahokia, explored this, drawing on real archaeology of the mounds that rivaled European cities in scale.
Native American cultures, often romanticized today, shared these ritual elements—burials with retainers, possible foundation sacrifices. The Bible’s command to conquer Canaan wasn’t arbitrary; it targeted a society steeped in such evil to prevent its spread. Yet Israel’s failure shows how seductive it is. Even after the Temple’s destruction and exile, echoes persisted. In the Middle Ages, burnings at the stake during the Reformation carried ritualistic overtones, sometimes tied to power struggles between kings and popes, much like Solomon’s wives influencing policy. Thomas More’s execution comes to mind—resistance to the new order met with fiery judgment.
In our time, the drums still beat to drown dissent. Media, academia, and government celebrate “Pride” and “choice” while parents cheer their children’s transition or ideological capture. The same people who sneer at Bible-thumpers and cowboy hats push levies that raise taxes for more indoctrination. They moved to Ohio’s suburbs expecting to import coastal progressivism, then get angry when locals resist. I despise this weakness. As I’ve written in The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, true strength comes from imposing will on chaos with discipline, not sacrificing the future for short-term gains. Trump’s approach with his own children—high standards, no nonsense—contrasts sharply with the sacrificial failures of figures like Hunter Biden or the ideological offspring of elite Democrats.
The spiritual warfare is clear. The Politics of Heaven delves into Nephilim, divine rebellion, and how ancient conspiracies echo today. Population agendas, occult influences in media—from 1950s family themes to later hedonism and Crowley-inspired chaos—all serve the same anti-human forces. Graduation ceremonies become pageants of pride in sacrifice: “Aren’t you proud? We’re sending ours to the best (woke) schools.” Meanwhile, resilient families teaching morality, history, and faith get labeled anti-child for wanting better.
Archaeological and historical studies reinforce the Bible. Excavations at Gezer, Carthage’s Tophet (with up to 20,000 urns), and biblical sites show burned infant remains tied to vows for divine favor. Scholars like Patricia Smith analyzed teeth to confirm age and ritual context. The practice wasn’t rare or exaggerated propaganda; it was systemic until reformers like Josiah purged the Tophet. Yet it recurs because humans crave control over the unknown through blood offerings.
I’ve confronted these dynamics locally in Butler County—in Lakota schools, commissioner races, and tax fights. The Lego levy supporters embody the spirit of Ahaz: willing to burn the next generation for perceived advantage. They resent traditional symbols because they expose the guilt. The Bible offers judgment and hope. Hezekiah, Ahaz’s son, reversed much of the damage, reopening the Temple. Repentance is possible, but it requires rejecting the false gods.
Footnotes
1. 2 Chronicles 28:3 (NIV).
2. Commentary on Ahaz’s reign, Enduring Word Bible Commentary.
3. Archaeological reports on Canaanite Tophets, Biblical Archaeology Review.
4. Diodorus Siculus on Carthaginian practices.
5. Excavations at Cahokia Mounds, National Park Service, and related studies.
6. Leviticus 18:21; Deuteronomy 12:31.
7. Jeremiah 7:31; 32:35.
8. Personal reflections on local politics and graduations in Butler County, Ohio.
9. The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business by Rich Hoffman.
10. Studies on Molech worship by John Day and others.
Bibliography
• The Holy Bible, New International Version.
• Dearman, J. Andrew. “The Tophet in Jerusalem.” Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages.
• Heider, George C. The Cult of Molek. JSOT Supplement Series.
• Smith, Patricia. “Infants Sacrificed? The Tale Teeth Tell.” Biblical Archaeology Review.
• Stager, Lawrence E., and Samuel R. Wolff. “Child Sacrifice at Carthage.” Biblical Archaeology Review.
• Tatlock, Jason. Child Sacrifice in the Ancient Near and Middle East. Oxford University Press.
• Various archaeological reports on Gezer, Carthage, and Cahokia.
• Hoffman, Rich. The Politics of Heaven (manuscript) and blog/podcast archives.
• Additional sources from Biblical Archaeology Review, ASOR publications, and historical texts on Phoenician and Mississippian cultures.
Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com. If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.
In the complex arena of energy policy, few issues reveal the deep divide in American politics as clearly as Ohio’s struggle to maintain a reliable power grid amid aggressive federal regulations and shifting political priorities. The ongoing legal proceedings involving former FirstEnergy executives, tied to House Bill 6 (HB6), have been framed by much of the media and Democratic opponents as a straightforward tale of corruption. Yet a closer examination reveals a more nuanced story: one of businesses fighting for survival under hostile Obama-era environmental policies, Republican efforts to preserve baseload power sources essential for Ohio’s economy and residents, and a coordinated political effort to smear figures like U.S. Senator Jon Husted (often referred to in discussions as a steadfast pro-business advocate) to influence elections, particularly against Sherrod Brown.
Here we explore the background of the FirstEnergy matter not as an isolated graft, but as a response to regulatory warfare aimed at phasing out reliable fossil fuels and nuclear energy in favor of intermittent renewables. It draws parallels to the economic devastation of COVID-era lockdowns, highlights Husted’s pro-business record, and argues that the real scandal lies in policies that risked brownouts and higher costs for Ohio families, much like California’s experience. Far from corruption, the actions reflect legitimate advocacy for energy security in a state that cannot afford to gamble its grid on unproven green transitions.
The Regulatory Pressure on Ohio’s Energy Sector: Political warfare by the Obama administration
To understand the context, one must go back to the Obama administration’s aggressive use of the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) to target coal-fired power plants. Rules like the Mercury and Air Toxics Standards (MATS), the Clean Power Plan, and wastewater/coal ash regulations imposed significant compliance costs. These were not minor tweaks; they were designed to make older coal plants uneconomical, accelerating retirements across the Midwest.
Ohio, historically reliant on coal, nuclear, and natural gas for reliable baseload power, faced particular strain. FirstEnergy and similar providers operated plants like those at Perry and Davis-Besse (nuclear) alongside coal facilities. Strict limits on emissions, combined with subsidized renewables, created a market distortion in which traditional sources struggled despite providing the dispatchable power critical to grid stability—power that doesn’t vanish when the sun doesn’t shine, or the wind doesn’t blow.
Critics of aggressive decarbonization point to real-world consequences. California’s heavy push toward renewables has led to repeated threats of blackouts, rolling outages during heatwaves, and some of the highest electricity rates in the nation. Ohio, by contrast, largely avoided such crises during the same period, thanks in part to Republican-led resistance in Columbus to full reliance on renewables. Wind turbines visible in areas like Greenville and large solar farms near Lebanon and along the I-70 corridor represent policy victories for environmental advocates, but they come at the cost of land use, intermittency challenges, and the need for backup from more reliable sources.
FirstEnergy executives, facing potential plant closures and financial pressure, sought legislative relief. This is where HB6 enters the picture. Passed in 2019, the bill provided subsidies for nuclear plants (roughly $150 million annually) and some coal support, funded partly by ratepayers, while scaling back certain renewable mandates. Proponents argued it prevented premature shutdowns that could destabilize the grid, raise long-term costs, and increase reliance on out-of-state power or unreliable sources. Opponents called it a bailout.
The perspective here is key: these were not failing businesses due to poor management alone, but entities targeted by what some describe as “regulatory warfare”—policies intended to force a transition regardless of immediate grid impacts or economic fallout. Similar dynamics played out during COVID lockdowns, when government mandates shuttered businesses with little regard for revenue losses or job impacts. In both cases, the argument goes, bad policy created victims who then sought political remedies.
House Bill 6: Preservation or Pay-to-Play?
HB6 became law under Governor Mike DeWine, with support from then-Lieutenant Governor Jon Husted. It aimed to bridge the gap for nuclear facilities threatened by federal rules and market forces favoring subsidized renewables. Nuclear power offers carbon-free, reliable baseload—attributes even many environmentalists acknowledge as vital for any realistic energy transition. Yet the bill’s passage involved significant lobbying, campaign support, and dark money flows, leading to federal and state investigations.
Prosecutors alleged a $60+ million scheme, primarily through dark-money groups linked to former House Speaker Larry Householder, to secure passage of the bill and defeat a referendum. FirstEnergy admitted wrongdoing, which it shouldn’t have done, because the problems were not market-driven but rather the result of bad government policy that they were reacting to in related settlements, and several figures faced charges. Householder was convicted. Trials of executives like Chuck Jones and Michael Dowling have included mistrials and ongoing proceedings, with testimony from figures like Husted.
From the defense viewpoint articulated in the query, the “corruption” label overlooks the existential threat to the companies. Executives were navigating a hostile regulatory environment. Campaign contributions and lobbying are standard in politics; the scale here reflected high stakes for Ohio’s energy independence. A $1 million dark-money contribution tied to Husted’s 2017 campaign fits the pattern of business interests supporting pro-development candidates. Husted, a known pro-business Republican, has long advocated for policies fostering economic growth in Ohio.
Critics, including liberal media and Democrats, portray this as a scandal to tarnish Husted ahead of Senate races. Reports highlight his meetings, calls, and role in the selection of utility regulators. Yet Husted has distanced himself from direct knowledge of bribes, testifying that his involvement centered on broader policy goals, such as grid reliability. Supporters argue he was doing his job: preventing California-style energy failures.
The Pearl Harbor analogy, while provocative, underscores the perceived aggression: deliberate policy attacks on infrastructure warrant strong defensive action. Democrats’ “Earth First” priorities (renewables at all costs) are seen as risking blackouts, higher bills, and economic harm, much like unopposed regulatory overreach. Republicans, including Husted alongside figures like Bernie Moreno, positioned themselves as defenders.
Jon Husted: Pro-Business Leadership Under Fire
Jon Husted stands out as a capable, experienced leader. With a background in business development and public service, he has collaborated across aisles on practical governance. His interactions with business leaders, including energy executives, stem from a commitment to Ohio’s economy—not personal gain. Conference calls, meetings with governors, and advocacy for development reflect this.
Media hit pieces questioning his attendance at fundraisers or the timing of his testimony serve electoral purposes, propping up opponents like Sherrod Brown. Brown has faced scrutiny over policy impacts, yet receives less scrutiny for energy failures. Husted’s reluctance to fully engage the “scandal” narrative in court is strategic: lending credence to a show trial distracts from policy merits. As a Senator, his focus belongs in Washington on national issues, not Columbus courtroom drama.
Leadership under pressure reveals character. COVID lockdowns tested officials; energy policy battles did likewise. Husted’s voice during crises favored keeping businesses open and grids stable. Weaknesses in money handling by some actors do not equate to systemic Republican corruption but highlight human responses to intense regulatory and political pressure.
Renewables, Reliability, and Ratepayer Impacts
Ohio’s grid has benefited from diverse sources. Heavy reliance on renewables risks instability, as seen during Texas winters or California summers. Solar farms near Mason-Montgomery Road or north of I-70 add capacity but require backups. Nuclear subsidies in HB6 preserved zero-emission baseload critical against full fossil phase-outs.
Rate increases from HB6 burden consumers—estimates suggest hundreds of dollars annually per household—but proponents counter that long-term grid failure would cost far more in outages, industry flight, and blackouts. FirstEnergy’s challenges stemmed from compliance costs and market rules, not inherent corruption. Executives sought bridges, not handouts.
Comparisons to Pearl Harbor dramatize the stakes: infrastructure attacks, even regulatory, demand response. Government caused losses via policy; affected parties sought redress through politics, as is common.
Defending the Defense: Lessons for Republicans
The FirstEnergy executives’ legal team could emphasize policy context more aggressively in the court of public opinion. Regulatory warfare under the Obama/Biden eras, COVID parallels, and grid reliability data provide strong narrative ground. Republicans historically defend poorly against such frames, circling the wagons instead of counter-attacking with facts on energy security.
Husted handled the pressure well, prioritizing Ohio jobs and access to power. His record merits support for continued Senate service, where business-friendly policies can thrive.
Broader Implications for Ohio and America
This case transcends one utility. It questions how nations balance environmental goals with reliable, affordable energy. Radical transitions ignoring engineering realities lead to suffering. Ohio’s resistance preserved advantages over California. Voting for leaders like Husted sustains that.
The FirstEnergy narrative as pure corruption misses the forest for the trees. It was survival amid policy assault. Husted and Republicans fought for a practical energy policy. As disclosure ages advance, full context should prevail over partisan hits. Ohio deserves leaders who defend its grid, economy, and future—not those who yield to agendas that risk darkness.
Footnotes/Bibliography (Partial for court utility; expand via sources):
Additional: Buckeye Institute energy policy papers; Common Cause timelines; state legislative records on HB6; California PUC blackout reports; federal court filings in related cases. For the full bibliography, consult the Ohio Secretary of State campaign finance, the EPA archives, and the NERC assessments 2018-2026.
This provides readable, citable material emphasizing policy over scandal while acknowledging legal facts.
Rich Hoffman is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.
He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.
Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events
In mid-May 2026, as the nation continued grappling with the lingering scars of the COVID-19 pandemic, a remarkable event unfolded before the U.S. Senate Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee. James E. Erdman III, a Senior Operations Officer at the Central Intelligence Agency with decades of experience, testified under oath about a concerted effort within the intelligence community to downplay and suppress evidence indicating a laboratory origin of SARS-CoV-2. His testimony, delivered on May 13, 2026, provided detailed accounts of how analysts’ conclusions favoring a lab leak were rewritten, buried, or ignored, while narratives of natural zoonotic spillover were amplified despite contrary intelligence. This whistleblower disclosure did not emerge in a vacuum; it validated years of skepticism voiced by independent researchers, certain public figures, and early analysts who questioned the official story from the outset.
Erdman described a system rife with conflicts of interest. Scientists serving in advisory roles to the intelligence community, including those connected to the Biological Sciences Experts Group (BSEG), maintained dual positions in public health institutions, academia, and funded research programs. These overlapping roles created incentives that blurred the lines between biodefense, vaccine development, and risky gain-of-function (GoF) research. Dr. Anthony Fauci, then Director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases (NIAID), played a pivotal role by influencing intelligence analyses through curated lists of experts—many of whom had received NIAID funding or collaborated on coronavirus studies. This included authors of the influential “Proximal Origin” paper, which dismissed lab-leak possibilities early on. Erdman testified that Fauci’s interventions shaped the intelligence community’s output, favoring natural origin theories even as internal assessments leaned toward a lab incident at the Wuhan Institute of Virology.
The timeline is damning. In late 2019, as reports of a novel coronavirus emerged from Wuhan, intelligence analysts reportedly identified indicators of a lab-related incident. Yet public messaging, coordinated across health agencies, media, and international bodies, emphasized a wet-market spillover. Event 201, a high-level pandemic simulation held in October 2019 by the Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security in partnership with the World Economic Forum and the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, eerily mirrored the unfolding crisis. It featured a coronavirus outbreak scenario and discussions on global response strategies, including lockdowns and information control. Participants included public health leaders with intelligence ties. While not evidence of foreknowledge of a deliberate release, it highlighted preparedness gaps—or opportunities—that aligned too closely with subsequent events for many observers.
Robert F. Kennedy Jr.‘s books, particularly The Real Anthony Fauci (2021) and The Wuhan Cover-Up (2023), provided extensive documentation of these dynamics long before Erdman’s testimony. In The Wuhan Cover-Up, Kennedy detailed the history of U.S.-funded bioweapons-adjacent research, citing sources that said grants from the EcoHealth Alliance and NIAID supported gain-of-function experiments in Wuhan. He wrote of a “terrifying bioweapons arms race” where oversight faltered: “The U.S. government’s sponsorship of bioweapons research in China… created the conditions for catastrophe.” Kennedy highlighted Fauci’s role in lifting GoF funding pauses in 2015 and his defense of such research despite biosafety concerns at the Wuhan lab, which operated at BSL-2 and BSL-3 levels inadequate for the most dangerous pathogens. Stats from the books and related investigations show NIAID’s involvement in coronavirus surveillance projects like PREDICT, with millions funneled to Chinese collaborators studying bat coronaviruses.
The human and economic toll underscores the stakes. Official U.S. COVID-19 deaths exceeded 1.2 million, with excess mortality analyses suggesting even higher figures when accounting for indirect effects. Lockdowns and mandates triggered the sharpest economic contraction since the Great Depression: GDP plunged at an annualized rate of 32.9% in Q2 2020, unemployment spiked to 14.7%, and over 20 million jobs vanished in a matter of weeks. Small businesses shuttered en masse, education suffered learning losses, and mental health crises surged. Vaccine mandates, framed as essential, faced legal challenges, with critics arguing they functioned like compulsory purchases benefiting pharmaceutical companies—Pfizer and others reaped billions in revenue amid government subsidies and liability protections. Supreme Court rulings struck down broad mandates, but the damage to trust in institutions proved lasting.
Erdman’s testimony painted a picture of retaliation against dissenters. Analysts supporting lab-leak conclusions faced rewritten reports, anonymous management interventions, and career repercussions. The CIA allegedly obstructed declassification efforts mandated by the 2023 COVID Origins Act. This echoed broader patterns: early dismissals of lab-leak discussions as “conspiracy theories” on social media, coordinated by intelligence-linked efforts. Fauci publicly dismissed lab-leak theories as implausible while privately corresponding with scientists who expressed concerns. Ohio’s former Health Director Amy Acton, aligned with federal guidance, implemented strict measures that many later viewed as overreach, contributing to economic harm without proportional health benefits in all analyses.
Connections to larger geopolitical aims fueled speculation. Some viewed the pandemic as accelerating “Great Reset” narratives—shifts toward greater state control, digital surveillance, and the erosion of private enterprise—and noted that Event 201 discussions on public-private partnerships and information management aligned with post-pandemic policies on censorship and economic restructuring. Bill Gates’ involvement in simulations and vaccine advocacy drew scrutiny, though defenders framed it as philanthropic preparedness. Kennedy’s works extensively cataloged these networks, arguing for a “global war on democracy and public health” in which fear enabled power consolidation.
Why did so few voice these concerns in real time? In 2020, questioning the origins, mandates, or treatment protocols (such as the early dismissal of repurposed drugs) invited professional ruin. Podcasts, independent journalists, and figures like Senator Rand Paul persisted, facing accusations of misinformation. Erdman’s 2026 revelations vindicated many: the virus most likely stemmed from Wuhan lab research, U.S. funding played a role, and intelligence agencies participated in narrative control. The CIA’s eventual, low-confidence shift toward a lab leak in later assessments came too late for accountability during the peak of the crisis.
Broader implications extend to biodefense reform. Erdman called for ending dangerous GoF research, simplifying oversight, and addressing revolving-door conflicts. Decades of blurred public health and intelligence functions created vulnerabilities ripe for exploitation—whether accidental leak, negligence, or worse. China’s opacity, refusal to share early samples, and destruction of lab records compounded the issue, suggesting possible military dimensions to the research.
Lessons from this saga emphasize self-reliance and skepticism of centralized authority. Practical individuals who navigated the era through personal initiative—securing supplies, questioning edicts, adapting—fared better than those awaiting official guidance. Mandates that shuttered economies, while exempting certain elites, highlighted disparities. Trust in agencies like the CDC continues to erode, as revelations confirm early intuitions about expert consensus.
In the age of disclosure, Erdman’s testimony marks a turning point. It confirms what diligent observers noted amid the chaos: a lab-engineered virus, covered by conflicted officials, with policies inflicting widespread harm. RFK Jr. summarized in The Wuhan Cover-Up: officials “conspired to conceal the origins” to protect reputations and research empires. Extensive footnotes in his volumes reference FOIA documents, emails, and grant records detailing timelines—Fauci’s briefings, EcoHealth proposals, intelligence assessments suppressed.
Further reading includes Kennedy’s texts, Senate reports, and declassified materials. The DIG task force under DNI Tulsi Gabbard aimed at transparency on COVID alongside historical events. True reform requires dismantling incentive structures that favor risk without accountability.
This confirmation arrives amid ongoing recovery. Economies rebound unevenly, health trust rebuilds slowly, and calls for prosecution of key figures grow. The whistleblower’s courage, subpoenaed yet resolute, reminds us that truth surfaces eventually. Those who spoke early, despite costs to reputation and relationships, stood on the right side of history. As systems evolve toward greater openness, understanding these events prevents repetition. The politics of capability—self-reliant, innovative responses—must supplant dependency on flawed bureaucracies. Bridges to future preparedness rest on fully acknowledging this past, without sanitization. (Word count:
Bibliography
• Erdman III, James E. Written Testimony before Senate HSGAC, May 13, 2026.
• Kennedy Jr., Robert F. The Real Anthony Fauci. Skyhorse, 2021.
• Kennedy Jr., Robert F. The Wuhan Cover-Up. Skyhorse, 2023.
• Senate Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee records.
• Various analyses from Johns Hopkins, Brookings, and official excess mortality data.
Footnotes (selected):
1. Erdman testimony on BSEG conflicts and Fauci influence.
2. Event 201 scenario details from the Center for Health Security.
3. Economic contraction stats from BEA and NBER.
4. Excess deaths and mandate impacts per peer-reviewed studies.
Rich Hoffman is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.
He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.
Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events.
The groundbreaking ceremony for the new companion bridge alongside the aging Brent Spence Bridge, connecting Cincinnati, Ohio, to Covington, Kentucky, took place on May 8, 2026, leaving me shaking my head in a mix of cautious optimism and deep-seated irritation. For decades, this project has been the poster child for everything wrong with how America builds critical infrastructure these days. The price tag now sits at around $4.4 billion for the first major phase—including the new cable-stayed companion span, approach work, and some reconfiguration of the existing bridge—with the new structure slated to open to traffic in 2031. That is more than a decade since the groundbreaking and nearly thirty years since serious planning began in earnest back in the early 2000s. I remember pushing for better river crossings when I was politically active downtown in the 1990s, attending City Hall meetings day after day under multiple mayors and city council members. Back then, the Brent Spence was already showing its age, functionally obsolete, and choking on traffic that far exceeded its original design capacity from when it opened in 1963 at a mere $10 million cost. Kentucky’s commercial development folks in Newport and across the river were eager partners, seeing the economic spillover that a modernized crossing would bring to real estate and business growth on both sides. Yet here we are, decades later, finally breaking ground amid fanfare from governors Mike DeWine and Andy Beshear, former Senator Rob Portman, and Senate Republican Leader Mitch McConnell, who all showed up to take credit for finally moving shovels after securing over $1.6 billion in federal grants from the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law. It is pathetic, really. There was zero excuse for this kind of delay, and the cost escalation driven by inflation, regulatory hurdles, and bureaucratic inertia is nothing short of irresponsible.
I have spent a lot of time in that Cincinnati-Kentucky corridor over the years, and I can tell you from firsthand experience that the need for this bridge upgrade has been glaringly obvious since at least the 1990s. Traffic volumes on the Brent Spence now routinely exceed 150,000 vehicles per day, double what it was engineered to handle, creating bottlenecks that ripple through the economies of southern Ohio and northern Kentucky. When I was down in the region talking to Kentucky development people before Newport became the revitalized hotspot it is today, the conversation always circled back to the idea that a reliable, high-capacity crossing was essential for commercial flow, tourism, and residential expansion. Real estate deals hinged on it. Business relocation decisions depended on it. Yet politicians on both sides of the river dithered, studied, and deferred while the bridge aged into a liability. The groundbreaking feels like a hollow victory because it should have happened twenty years ago. Mitch McConnell himself noted the decades of headaches, and he played a role in finally unlocking federal dollars alongside Portman. But let us be honest: high-level dealmakers in public office should have cut through the red tape far sooner. Claiming credit now for something that was critically needed in the 1990s and 2000s rings hollow. The same crowd that delayed action is now patting itself on the back while everyday drivers and businesses foot the bill through higher taxes and lost productivity.
What makes this saga even more galling is how it stacks up against other bridge projects I have seen or studied across the country. Consider the Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge in Charleston, South Carolina, which replaced the old Cooper River spans. Groundbreaking occurred in 2001, and the cable-stayed beauty opened in July 2005—one full year ahead of schedule and under its roughly $700 million budget. Construction took about four years, and it delivered a magnificent structure that enhanced the historic district’s connectivity without the endless delays or ballooning costs we see today. Or look at the Mackinac Bridge up in northern Michigan, spanning the Straits of Mackinac to the Upper Peninsula. Built between 1954 and 1957 in just three and a half years at a total cost of about $100 million (in 1950s dollars), it remains a marvel of efficiency and engineering grace. Tolls helped pay it off, but the project moved with purpose and minimal bureaucratic interference. Even the old Cooper River Bridge that preceded the Ravenel was completed in just seventeen months back in the 1920s for around $6 million. These examples prove that America once knew how to build big things quickly and relatively affordably when the focus was on results rather than process.
Contrast that with the Brent Spence Companion Bridge, where nearly twenty years of planning preceded even this groundbreaking, and the timeline now stretches to 2031 or beyond for full corridor improvements. The existing bridge itself was declared functionally obsolete in the 1990s, yet it took until the Biden administration’s infrastructure package—and McConnell’s bipartisan maneuvering—to secure the federal piece that finally broke the logjam. Inflation alone has driven costs up dramatically; nationwide highway construction expenses rose about 61 percent from 2020 to 2025, according to federal indices, and the Brent Spence price tag jumped from earlier estimates of around $3.6 billion to $4.4 billion for this phase. But inflation is only part of the story. The real culprits are the layers of regulation, environmental reviews, lawsuits, and bureaucratic oversight that have piled up since the 1970s. Laws like the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA) of 1970, combined with state equivalents and court rulings that expanded citizen challenges to projects, turned what had once been straightforward engineering into a decade-long permitting gauntlet. Add in the Davis-Bacon prevailing wage requirements, limited competition among contractors, over-reliance on consultants by understaffed state transportation departments, and the tendency for projects to balloon during long design and review phases, and you have a perfect storm of delay and expense.
I saw this regulatory bloat up close during my time at Cincinnati City Hall in the 1990s. Every proposed river crossing or infrastructure tweak sparked endless studies, public hearings, environmental impact statements, and legal threats from interest groups. Kentucky’s side was eager for development, but Ohio’s processes dragged everything into the mud. It was the same story with other local projects—always more studies, more delays, never faster action. Meanwhile, the Empire State Building in New York was completed in just 410 days back in 1930-1931, rising to 102 stories at a cost of about $40.9 million (roughly $600 million today). Crews added fourteen stories in ten days at peak. Storage was optimized, deliveries were just in time, and the focus was on getting it done—no endless NEPA reviews, no years of lawsuits over every rivet. The Mackinac Bridge faced turbulent waters and harsh winters, yet it was finished on schedule. Today’s projects? They take nine to nineteen years on average from planning to completion for major highways, according to federal estimates, with costs often tripling those in peer nations due to these procedural thickets.
The toll debate adds another layer of absurdity to all this. Proponents of the Brent Spence project proudly note that it will remain toll-free, unlike the Ohio River Bridges Project in Louisville, where the Abraham Lincoln and Lewis and Clark bridges opened in 2016 as part of a tolled system that continues to collect fees until at least 2053. I find that Louisville’s setup reprehensible—preposterous, really. Drivers already pay high gas taxes that were supposed to fund infrastructure, yet now they face double-dipping through tolls on bridges that should have been built with existing revenue streams. My own recent experiences with toll roads only reinforce this frustration. On a trip to Washington, DC, I racked up about $18 in tolls using Route 66 from Fairfax County, which conveniently dumps you onto Constitution Avenue near the mall and the White House. It was worth it to avoid the nightmare traffic I endured the previous year on the George Washington Parkway along the river. But the system itself is maddening: no booths to pay at the spot, just an AI license plate reader and an online account you have to set up with a transponder, or risk violations. My time is worth far more than $18 an hour spent fiddling with websites and dashboards. Gas taxes are already high—federal at 18.4 cents per gallon since 1993, with many states adding more—and they were never properly indexed for inflation or for efficiency gains from better-mileage vehicles. The result is chronic underfunding that politicians try to patch with tolls or higher property taxes instead of cutting waste elsewhere.
This addiction to high taxation and spending is the root problem. Government at all levels has become hooked on revenue streams that never quite cover the bloated projects they pursue. Gas tax relief proposals surface occasionally—some good folks in the Ohio Statehouse, like Thomas Hall, have pushed for it—but they rarely go far because the money gets siphoned into unrelated pet projects or administrative bloat. Property taxes in many areas, including around Cincinnati, feel punishingly high, funding schools and services, while infrastructure like bridges languishes. The same crowd that cheers the Brent Spence groundbreaking after years of delay now talks about how the Biden infrastructure plan made it possible, yet they could not get it done faster under previous administrations, either. It is too little, too late, and far too expensive. I drove the region constantly for business and personal reasons, and the traffic snarls around the Brent Spence affect everything from daily commutes to freight hauling worth over $1 billion annually across the river. People flying into Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky International Airport from southern Ohio know the pain: that 40-minute buffer you think you have can evaporate in congestion, forcing early departures and lost productivity. I had a client just last week racing for a flight after meeting me, banking on the 275 loop and western routes to beat the clock. The new bridge cannot come soon enough, but 2031 feels like an eternity, especially after we once built an icon like the Empire State in under 14 months.
The human and economic costs of these delays are real. Businesses lose money idling in traffic. Families waste hours that could be spent productively. Emergency responders face longer response times. And the politicians who finally show up for the photo op act as if they have achieved something heroic rather than merely catching up to what should have been routine maintenance of critical national infrastructure. The Brent Spence Corridor is not some luxury—it is essential for the tri-state region’s economy, linking Ohio, Kentucky, and Indiana in ways that affect supply chains nationwide. Yet the project’s slow pace mirrors a broader national malaise where soft costs—permitting, legal fights, consultant fees—now dominate budgets. State departments of transportation have shrunk in capacity over decades, outsourcing expertise and driving up prices through limited bidder pools. Procurement rules meant to ensure fairness often reduce competition, and the litigious environment lets anyone with a complaint tie things up in court for years. Inflation compounds the problem, but the underlying issue is that we no longer prioritize speed and efficiency. We prioritize process, equity checkboxes, and avoiding any possible offense to environmental or community interests, even when the overall public good screams for action.
I have traveled enough to see magnificent bridges done right. The Ravenel Bridge stands as a graceful gateway to Charleston’s historic district, completed efficiently and beautifully. The Mackinac Bridge, with its soaring suspension design, opened the Upper Peninsula without bankrupting the state or dragging on forever. Even older projects like the original Cooper River spans showed what focused effort could achieve. America built the interstate system in the 1950s and 1960s with purpose, using dedicated gas tax revenue, before diversions and inflation eroded it. Today’s approach—layer upon layer of federal mandates, state reviews, and endless stakeholder input—has turned infrastructure into a jobs program for lawyers, consultants, and bureaucrats rather than a means of connecting people and moving goods. The result is projects that cost three times as much as they do in other developed nations and take far longer. For the Brent Spence, that means drivers will endure construction disruptions and detours for years, while costs climb further for the remaining corridor work, which remains unfunded in full.
None of this is inevitable. Other countries manage complex builds faster and more cheaply by streamlining reviews, limiting frivolous lawsuits, and maintaining in-house expertise within their transportation agencies. Here, we could index gas taxes to inflation and usage, phase out inefficient tolling on essential crossings, and reform NEPA to focus on genuine environmental protection rather than indefinite delay. Cut the regulatory thicket that ballooned after the 1970s, restore competitive bidding without excessive reliance on consultants, and demand accountability from politicians who treat infrastructure as a campaign prop rather than a governing priority. I have seen the contrast in my own travels: toll roads in Virginia that work but sting because they supplement already-high gas taxes, versus free bridges that should be the norm. The Louisville tolls remain a cautionary tale of how users end up paying twice—once at the pump, again at the gantry—while politicians congratulate themselves for “innovative financing.” The Brent Spence team wisely avoided tolls this time, but the underlying addiction to funding persists. Property taxes remain too high in many jurisdictions, siphoning money that could have accelerated this very project years ago.
As someone who has watched this region evolve from the inside—navigating City Hall debates, Kentucky commerce meetings, and endless traffic on I-71/I-75—I am glad the shovels are finally in the ground. The new companion bridge will be a cable-stayed marvel, easing congestion, supporting economic growth, and providing a safer, more reliable link for generations. But the pride politicians express at the ceremony rings false when you consider how long it took and how much more it costs than it should. This was not a triumph of vision; it was the bare minimum delivered far too late after years of inaction. The Empire State Building taught us that America could once build audaciously and rapidly. The Mackinaw and Ravenel bridges exemplified modern efficiency, even with environmental considerations. We can reclaim that spirit if we stop treating every project as an opportunity for endless process and start demanding results. Relief on gas taxes, smarter use of existing revenues, and slashing bureaucratic delays are not radical ideas—they are common sense. Until then, projects like the Brent Spence will continue to exemplify government at its most sluggish: too expensive, too late, and always promising better days that arrive only after the public has paid the price in time, treasure, and frustration.
The broader lesson here extends beyond one bridge. Across the nation, infrastructure decay and project bloat threaten competitiveness. The Highway Trust Fund, once robustly supported by gas taxes established during the Depression and expanded for the interstate era, now struggles because the levy has not kept pace with needs or economic reality. The federal gas tax, at 18.4 cents per gallon since 1993 and unadjusted for inflation or fuel-efficiency gains, leaves states scrambling with sales taxes, bonds, or tolls. Proposals for vehicle-miles-traveled fees or higher taxes surface regularly, but without spending discipline, they merely feed the beast. I support targeted relief—temporary gas tax pauses or rollbacks where feasible—because families and businesses already bear enough. The addiction to spending shows in unrelated boondoggles, administrative overhead, and failure to prioritize true needs like the Brent Spence. Politicians from both parties share blame: decades of gridlock until a big federal bill provided the excuse to act. Even then, costs rose, and timelines stretched.
In my travels to Washington, DC, the toll experience crystallized the inefficiency. Route 66’s convenience came at a price, but the lack of easy payment options and the AI enforcement felt more like revenue capture than a fair user fee. Compare that to the free-flowing vision we should have for essential crossings. The Charleston and Michigan bridges stand as testaments to what is possible when focus replaces process. The Louisville toll bridges warn what happens when it does not. For Cincinnati and Kentucky, the new bridge will finally deliver relief, but only after unnecessary years of waiting and billions in inflated costs. I have seen the politics firsthand, the development potential squandered, and the traffic endured. It did not have to be this way. With smarter governance—less regulation, more accountability, and honest use of revenue—we could build the infrastructure our economy demands without the endless delays and overruns. The groundbreaking is a step forward, but it should have been taken long ago, cheaper, and faster. That is the real story behind why these bridges cost so much and take so long: not engineering limits, but human and governmental ones. And until we address those, the next critical project will follow the same predictable, expensive path.
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Footnotes
1. WCPO Cincinnati reporting on Brent Spence Companion Bridge cost and timeline, March 2026 updates.
Rich Hoffman is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.
He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.
Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events
As I drove past the law practice in Beckett Ridge the other day, I noticed the big sign out front supporting Cindy Carpenter in the Republican primary for Butler County Commissioner. It struck me as odd. The lawyer who runs that firm shows up at Republican events, associates with Republican circles, and presents himself as one of us. Yet here he was, publicly backing a candidate the party had dumped in favor of its endorsed choice, Michael Ryan. That sign crystallized something I’ve observed for years in Ohio politics: certain legal professionals operate in the shadows, injecting themselves into local disputes not out of ideological consistency but because chaos creates billable hours. This isn’t isolated to one small firm or one county. It scales up dramatically when you reach the national level, where figures like Marc Elias have built entire practices—and substantial wealth—by turning election law into a high-volume litigation machine that drains public resources while advancing partisan goals. What follows is my endeavor to shed light on this system, drawing on personal experiences in Ohio and broader patterns affecting taxpayers nationwide.
Marc Elias, the prominent Democratic election law attorney (often referred to in shorthand as “Mark” in casual conversation), stands as the archetype of this phenomenon. Elias, a partner at Elias Law Group, and is a direct supporter of Amy Acton in Ohio, which he founded after leaving Perkins Coie in 2021, has positioned himself as the go-to litigator for voting rights challenges. He founded Democracy Docket in 2020 as a platform to track and analyze these cases, and his firm has been extraordinarily active. In October 2025, Elias publicly stated that his team of fewer than 60 lawyers was litigating 63 voting and election cases across 30 states. By May 2026, that number had climbed to 85 cases in 43 states plus the District of Columbia. His side claims victories in the overwhelming majority of post-2020 challenges to Republican-backed election measures, framing them as defenses against “voter suppression.” Critics, however, see a deliberate strategy of lawfare: filing lawsuits in multiple jurisdictions to force states, counties, and local governments to expend vast sums to defend laws that enjoy broad public support, such as voter ID requirements. Elias himself has acknowledged the volume, noting in one Democracy Docket piece that his firm’s work is relentless and expanding.
This isn’t new for Elias. In 2020, he led the Democratic legal response to more than 60 lawsuits filed by Donald Trump and his allies challenging election results. Nearly all of those suits failed, often on procedural grounds or for lack of evidence. Elias’s team prevailed in the lion’s share, cementing his reputation. But the pattern predates 2020. He has challenged voter ID laws, early voting restrictions, ballot-collection rules, and redistricting efforts in dozens of states. In Ohio specifically, Elias Law Group filed suit in January 2023 against House Bill 458, signed by Republican Governor Mike DeWine. The law included photo voter ID requirements and other provisions that the plaintiffs—groups like the Northeast Ohio Coalition for the Homeless, Ohio Federation of Teachers, Ohio Alliance for Retired Americans, and Union Veterans Council—called “voter suppression.” The suit argued the measures disproportionately harmed young, elderly, Black, military, and overseas voters. Elias’s firm has also targeted Ohio’s rules on drop boxes and foreign funding in ballot measures. These actions align with a national playbook: challenge decentralized election administration in as many venues as possible, knowing that even if many suits are dismissed, the cumulative cost to defenders mounts.
What makes this infrastructure so effective—and so corrosive—is the decentralized nature of American elections. Unlike a centralized national system, voting rules are set and administered at the state and county levels. A single law, such as Ohio’s voter ID requirement or restrictions on “Golden Week” early voting and registration (which Elias’s earlier work also targeted), can trigger parallel lawsuits in federal and state courts. Each filing forces election officials, secretaries of state, and attorneys general to respond. Defense isn’t cheap. Routine election litigation for a state or county can run between $50,000 and $250,000 per case, according to estimates from officials who have faced these challenges. When emergency injunctions, appeals, and discovery are involved, costs balloon into the hundreds of thousands or even millions per major dispute. Multiply that across dozens or hundreds of suits nationwide, and the taxpayer burden becomes enormous. Many of these expenses are buried in general budgets, election administration line items, or outside counsel contracts rather than isolated as “litigation defense.” There is no national requirement to itemize plaintiff-specific legal fees, making the full picture opaque. Reporters rarely dig into the granular accounting, so the public seldom sees the true price tag.
I have seen this dynamic play out up close in Ohio. During my involvement with local issues, particularly around Lakota Local Schools in Butler County, I witnessed how legal strategies can be weaponized to remove elected officials who don’t align with certain interests. A school board member endorsed by the Republican Party faced removal efforts involving coordinated complaints, legal maneuvering, and outside pressure. The board ultimately acted against her amid disputes over absences and other procedural issues. Public records battles followed, including a case that reached the Ohio Supreme Court, where Lakota was ordered to pay thousands in fees for failing to promptly release documents related to legal spending and threats of litigation. The district also settled other suits involving residents barred from speaking at meetings, covering plaintiff legal fees. These aren’t abstract costs. They come out of the same budgets funded by local property taxes—the very taxes that already strain families and businesses. School boards negotiate collective bargaining agreements with unions, and the legalisms involved in those contracts, disputes, and related litigation generate substantial revenue for outside firms. Chaos in the public school system, whether over board composition, curriculum, or operations, keeps the meter running.
The same lawyer I saw with the Carpenter sign had previously inserted himself into the school board removal effort. He helped craft or advise on the legal strategy that contributed to ousting a Republican-backed member. It surprised me at first—someone who attends Republican events playing along with what appeared to be an effort to shift the board toward more liberal control. But it makes sense once you follow the money. Law firms that specialize in government work—whether at the school board, county, or state level—thrive when there is perpetual conflict. They represent municipalities in defense matters, advise on contracts, and sometimes moonlight on partisan challenges. The incentive is clear: more lawsuits mean more retainers, more billable hours, more settlements. In Lakota’s case, the legal spend tied to board disputes and public records requests added up quickly, all ultimately borne by taxpayers.
This pattern repeats at the state and national scale. Elias’s firm has received tens of millions in payments from Democratic committees and campaigns. OpenSecrets data for the 2024 cycle alone shows Elias Law Group receiving over $40 million in legal services from various Democratic entities. These funds don’t come from thin air; they originate with donors who expect results in the form of favorable court rulings, delayed or blocked reforms, and sustained pressure on Republican-led election administrations. When states settle early to avoid mounting defense costs—as some attorneys general have done rather than fight every challenge to the bitter end—the litigation achieves its strategic goal without a full trial. The threat of bankruptcy through legal fees is real for smaller jurisdictions. Communities facing multiple simultaneous suits often lack the resources to defend aggressively, leading to procedural changes or policy retreats that might not have occurred on the merits.
Critics of voter ID and other common-sense reforms frequently point to the absence of widespread fraud findings in court as proof that the measures are unnecessary. But that misses the point. Many challenges never reach a full evidentiary hearing on fraud because the sheer expense of litigation forces capitulation or dismissal on narrower grounds. Elias and similar litigators understand this leverage perfectly. They file suits knowing that even meritless claims impose real costs. One notable example involved sanctions against Elias and co-counsel. In a Texas case concerning the elimination of straight-ticket voting, the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals sanctioned the team for filing redundant and misleading motions. The court ordered payment of opposing attorney fees and double costs, describing the conduct as problematic. While Elias’s defenders called it a technicality or good-faith error, the episode illustrates how aggressive tactics can cross lines—and still generate fees along the way. A federal court in another context also addressed Elias-related conduct with fee-shifting orders.
The broader legal profession has learned to mine government budgets in similar ways. Public sector collective bargaining, school board disputes, redistricting battles, and election administration all require specialized counsel. Firms embed themselves in these ecosystems, often representing both sides of the table at different times. The result is a self-perpetuating cycle: policies that invite litigation create demand for lawyers; lawyers file suits that generate more litigation; governments pay to defend or settle, raising taxes or cutting services elsewhere. Property taxes, in particular, become a reliable revenue stream for these activities because they are local and somewhat insulated from immediate voter backlash. In Ohio, where property taxes fund much of local government and schools, the inability to rationalize budgets amid endless legal challenges keeps rates elevated. Media rarely connect the dots between litigation infrastructure and tax burdens, but the connection is direct.
I’ve dealt with my share of lawyers and consultants lately, both personally and in observing public affairs. They are expensive—often prohibitively so. They jump between contracts, charge premium rates, and extract significant value from the top of any deal or dispute. When legal issues arise, they can drain bank accounts with astonishing speed. In government contexts, this dynamic is amplified because the payer is diffuse: the taxpayer. Most citizens don’t have the expertise or resources to challenge the system themselves. Self-representation is possible but risky and time-consuming; hiring specialists is the default for institutions. Judges, many of whom come from the same legal circles or socialize with attorneys at events, often defer to the professionals. The result is a clubby environment where loyalty to the bar most of the time trumps accountability to the public.
Nationally, the scale is staggering. Democracy Docket’s own tracking shows hundreds of voting and election lawsuits filed in recent cycles—228 in 2024 alone, part of a total of 306 from early 2023 through Election Day. While Elias frames these as necessary defenses of democracy, the cumulative burden of defense falls on public coffers. States like Texas have spent millions defending voter ID and redistricting laws over the years. North Carolina expended roughly $5 million on voter ID litigation between 2011 and 2016. Local Voting Rights Act Section 2 suits have cost jurisdictions millions apiece in defense and settlements—Charleston County, South Carolina, spent $2 million unsuccessfully; Yakima, Washington, nearly $3 million. These figures represent conservative estimates; appeals and repeated filings multiply the impact. When aggregated across the country, the high single digits of millions—or likely far more—disappear into budgets without clear public accounting.
Elias’s involvement in Ohio is not abstract. Beyond the 2023 HB 458 challenge, his network has engaged with issues such as foreign money in ballot campaigns and drop box rules. He has also sued to overturn certain restrictions on foreign nationals’ spending in Ohio ballot measures. These actions, while presented as principled stands for access, have the practical effect of complicating administration and forcing expenditure. Meanwhile, at the local level, analogous tactics play out in school boards and county commissions. The removal of a Republican-endorsed school board member in Lakota, the public records fights, and the legal maneuvering around board composition all illustrate how law can be used to reshape governance without direct voter input at the ballot box. The lawyer with the Carpenter sign understood the game: support the candidate who sustains the ecosystem of disputes.
This is not to say every lawsuit is frivolous or that voting rights concerns are imaginary. Legitimate disputes exist, and courts rightly resolve them. But the volume, the targeting of popular reforms like voter ID (supported by large majorities in polls), and the financial incentives create a corrosive feedback loop. Democrats benefit from the chaos because it undermines Republican-led integrity measures. Law firms benefit regardless of the outcome because fees accrue during the process. Taxpayers lose either way—directly through documented legal bills and indirectly through higher taxes, diverted election funds, and eroded trust. When cases settle or procedural changes are mandated to avoid further expense, the public rarely sees the full ledger.
The decentralized structure of elections is a feature of federalism, but it becomes a vulnerability when exploited systematically. Each county must defend its own processes. State attorneys general face a barrage. The strategy is clear: file enough suits to overwhelm capacity, force settlements, and normalize the idea that basic safeguards are legally suspect. Elias has coordinated responses to dozens of cases, and affiliated litigation has filed over 100 suits in a single year. His personal involvement in 64 election cases during the 2020-2021 period is well-documented. The goal, from the critic’s perspective, is not merely to win discrete cases but to make enforcement of election laws so costly that officials stop trying.
Personal experiences reinforce the systemic view. Dealing with consultants and attorneys in various contexts has shown me how quickly costs escalate. They take a large cut off the top, move from job to job, and thrive on complexity. In government, this is magnified. School board members who push back against the status quo often find themselves targeted legally. Elected officials hesitate to fight because they fear draining community resources. The result is a shadow governance where law firms exert outsized influence.
To break the cycle, we need structural changes. Stronger voter ID laws with clear, unambiguous standards reduce litigation fodder. Meaningful sanctions for abusive filings, greater transparency in government legal spending, and centralized tracking of litigation costs would help. Term limits or ethics rules for government attorneys might limit revolving-door incentives. Most importantly, voters must recognize that these “phantom costs” are real and fund them through taxes. Integrity in elections isn’t free, but neither is the endless litigation that undermines it.
As someone who has watched this play out from the ground level in Ohio—seeing yard signs that reveal divided loyalties, school board battles that consume resources, and national players like Elias shaping the battlefield—I believe the public deserves better. The litigation infrastructure built on chaos benefits a small class of professionals at the expense of representative government. Taxpayers foot the bill, often without realizing the full scope. Shining a light on these practices, demanding accountability, and supporting reforms that prioritize clarity over ambiguity are essential. Otherwise, the parasites will continue to thrive while the body politic weakens. We have the tools to fix it; what remains is the will to use them.
Footnotes
1. Personal observation of law practice signage and political involvement in Butler County, Ohio, 2026 primary context.
2. Democracy Docket reports and Elias public statements on case volume.
3. Ohio Capital Journal coverage of HB 458 lawsuit filed by Elias Law Group.
4. Estimates drawn from public official reports and historical litigation defense data (e.g., Texas, North Carolina voter ID cases).
5. Ohio Supreme Court ruling in Lakota Local Schools public records case, 2024.
6. OpenSecrets vendor payment data for Elias Law Group, 2024 cycle.
7. Fifth Circuit sanctions order in Texas straight-ticket voting litigation.
8. Washington Post compilation of election-related public expenditures.
9. Additional sources: Wikipedia entry on Marc Elias; Brennan Center and Campaign Legal Center litigation trackers; local Butler County reporting on Carpenter/Ryan primary and Lakota board disputes.
Bibliography
• Elias, Marc. Various articles, Democracy Docket (2020–2026).
• “Marc Elias,” Wikipedia.
• Ohio Capital Journal articles on Elias Law Group Ohio lawsuits (2023).
Rich Hoffman is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.
He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.
Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events.
The more I think about it, now that the news stories have settled down and the people blowing on the fire revealed themselves, I really don’t like The Rooster, who goes by the real name D.J. Byrnes. It just so happens that the young lady he is saying had an affair with Vivek Ramaswamy, Alicia Lang, I watched grow up, and I think a lot of her, all positive. And it really bothers me that some lowlife like The Rooster would put her in political crosshairs as he did, purely out of desperation. I really haven’t thought much about The Rooster’s style of political reporting until he did this. But he crossed the line, and his actions actually match a deeper pattern of criminal activity, drug use, and vile behavior that deserves consideration, especially after what he purposely did to innocent people, which I think requires a deeper dive analysis. After he put out his hit piece story about Alicia, trying to hurt Vivek and his family in a purely inflammatory way, based on just jealous rumors and whispers, I don’t feel like being civil or fair to people who present themselves as openly bad for themselves and society at large. Ironically, a person like The Rooster would feel entitled to attempt to hide his own bad deeds behind speculative politics at best, with the intent to help the joke of a person, Amy Acton, with her campaign, now that people are remembering her as the Lockdown Lady, from her bad policies during the COVID-19 lockdowns in Ohio, which she was completely responsible for. We’re talking about a person who is saying terrible things about a young lady I know and like quite a lot, and I’m not happy about it, especially coming from a substance abuser of cocaine and other intoxicants, who has a police record. He’s the last person in the world who should be saying anything about bad behavior, especially when I know a lot about the characters involved and that the statements are excessively inflammatory, purposefully so.
Back in 2007, when he was a sophomore at the University of Montana, The Rooster got mixed up with a group planning to rob a local drug dealer who lived across from campus. The guy was supplying high-grade marijuana from California. Byrnes admits he helped scout the house and passed along info about money and weed—he thought it was just going to be a quick stick-up, no violence. On the night it went down, he showed up, saw it was turning into a party, texted the others to call it off, and left. But the rest of the crew went through with it—ski masks, forced entry, pistol-whipped the dealer, tied up his girlfriend.
A few months later, after some of the others flipped and cooperated, his name came up. In May 2008, he was hit with four felony charges in Missoula, bail set at $100,000. He turned himself in, and it all got resolved—he ended up with a two-year suspended sentence, no prison time, and the charges were eventually dismissed.
Then, in 2012, in Franklin County, Ohio, he pleaded guilty to two counts of misdemeanor criminal damage from a drunken property crime. It got really bad after he lost a union job in 2021. He was living in Franklinton with a liquor store right across the street, and had a serious drunk-driving car accident in 2020 that didn’t even slow him down. None of this is ancient history; he is still very much the same person today. Friends staged an intervention in 2022, and he’s been sober since.
President Trump’s next major executive order could create more millionaires than any single event in modern history, and he’s been dropping hints about it everywhere. It’s the kind of bold, pro-growth move that cuts through all the noise in Washington and actually puts real opportunity back in the hands of everyday Americans who are tired of being held back by bureaucracy and overregulation. But right now, what’s weighing on my mind even more is the ugly underbelly of Ohio politics, especially this smear campaign that’s unfolding against Vivek Ramaswamy as he fights to become the next governor of our state. I feel like I need to lay it all out here because it’s not just politics as usual—it’s something deeper, something that touches on character, truth, and the kind of righteous indignation that has defined human history from the days of the Dead Sea Scrolls right up to today. Amy Acton, the former health director under Governor DeWine who’s now running as the Democrat nominee for governor in 2026, has been having a rough time explaining herself. Her record from the COVID lockdowns is a disaster, and her personal life has come under scrutiny with that 2019 police report showing a domestic dispute where she and her husband had been drinking, she took some prescription meds, got upset over work hours, pulled a mirror off the wall, and shattered the glass. Her team calls it just a simple argument, but it paints a picture of someone who doesn’t manage personal affairs all that well, and in a high-stakes race like this, it matters. She was the lockdown lady, one of the worst in the nation, pushing policies that wrecked small businesses, families, and the economy of Ohio. A lot of people are still digging out from under that, and her bedside manner, which might comfort some Democrats, isn’t winning over moderates, independents, or conservatives. She’s not grabbing independents because they remember the damage.
I was covering this hit piece by a Columbus-based Substack writer known as The Rooster—real name D.J. Byrnes—on Vivek Ramaswamy, and at first I thought it was just the usual noise that comes with being the frontrunner. Vivek has Trump’s endorsement, he’s leading in most polls against Acton in what’s shaping up to be a competitive but Republican-leaning race, and when you’re out front, people take shots. But there’s another layer to this that left me unsatisfied and, honestly, filled with a deep sense of righteous indignation. I don’t say that lightly, and I’ll explain why it hits me so hard. I happen to know a lot of the people involved personally, not because I’m out there name-dropping for clout, but because in my work as an independent journalist and through my networks in Ohio, I’ve built real relationships over the years. People want to know how I can speak with such conviction on these matters, and it’s because I’ve been in the room, on the calls, and seen these folks up close. That includes Senator George Lang, whom I know very well—our friendship goes beyond politics, it’s mutual respect outside the arena. And crucially, I know his daughter to be a very respectable young lady who doesn’t deserve to be thought of in such a trashy way, as The Rooster tried to portray her, as a shadow of himself to carry the sins of his own actions as a displaced figure, outside himself. The Rooster pushed a story about a supposed sexual relationship or “booty calls” with Vivek whenever he’s in southwestern Ohio. I’ve known Alicia for a very long time. She’s nothing like a Stormy Daniels type, as The Rooster tried to make her sound in order to tear away at Vivek Ramaswamy’s reputation, even without a grain of truth. She’s smart, dedicated, hardworking, and involved at the highest levels of politics because she comes from a family that values service and excellence. The assumption that just because she traveled with Vivek’s campaign or worked as his deputy chief of staff or whatever her role was, that there must be some sleazy affair—that’s absolutely presumptive on behalf of very low-life opinions on how professional people conduct themselves. It’s not just false; it’s malicious.
When I first talked about this story, I tried to keep a level head, but it came across a bit restrained because I was containing my extreme anger. It bothers me at a fundamental level. Knowing the people involved, knowing how false this is, it stirs something in me that goes straight back to the kind of ethical conduct and judgment I’ve been studying deeply. As a birthday gift to myself this year, my wife and I treated ourselves to a membership at the Museum of the Bible in Washington, D.C. We’ve been there several times, but this visit was special because of the traveling Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit straight from Israel. I’ve always wanted to see them up close—the real thing—and I love the writings from the Second Temple period. We spent the entire afternoon there, no phones, no distractions, just hours immersed in those ancient texts. I bought gifts from the shop afterward, all Dead Sea Scroll-themed, because the material and content put me in heaven. That exhibit, combined with everything else at the museum, reminded me why I wear this particular hoodie so often these days—it’s my new favorite, a constant reminder of that day. What struck me most wasn’t just the scrolls themselves, but the philosophy of ethical conduct and righteousness that pours out of them. I think often of the Teacher of Righteousness, the enigmatic leader of the Essene community at Qumran who wrote or inspired so much of what we have in those scrolls. He led this sect in a righteous rebellion against the “Wicked Priest” of the Temple establishment—corrupt figures who had twisted power and law for their own gain. You don’t see a ton of direct talk about it in the canonical Bible, but Jesus himself was likely influenced by or connected to that Essene tradition as it spread from the desert community near the Dead Sea, a day’s walk from Jerusalem. In whatever way people remember me down the centuries, I think it will be in a similar way as the Dead Sea Scrolls talked about this Teacher of Righteousness, and for that, I would be quite satisfied.
Those scrolls are an exploration into righteousness and how it confronts evil in the world. The Teacher of Righteousness embodied that judgment call against hypocrisy and wickedness, helping lay the groundwork for what became Christian thought and, ultimately, Western civilization’s emphasis on moral clarity. The Dead Sea Scrolls are filled with righteous indignation—clear distinctions between good and evil, the War Scroll outlining battles against the forces of darkness, the Book of Enoch with its visions of judgment, the Copper Scroll, and apocryphal texts that didn’t make the final cut but reveal the raw sentiments of the time. The Essenes hid these in jars in caves to preserve truth against purges and turbulence, and they survived the Romans, the Crusades, everything, to reach us. That’s why seeing them in person on my birthday was one of the happiest days of my life. I was removed, for those hours, from the daily grind of dealing with people who don’t always deserve the encouragement or support I try to give them. It was a day where righteousness was openly embraced, unfiltered.
That same righteous indignation is exactly what I feel toward this smear against Vivek Ramaswamy and, by extension, Alicia Lang. The Rooster’s piece is based on innuendo, whispers from people with personal gripes or political axes to grind, hoping something sticks to help Amy Acton, whose campaign is struggling to close the gap. Polls right now show the race tight—some have Vivek up by a few points, others have Acton with a slight edge, but Vivek is the clear Republican frontrunner with Trump, Vance, and the establishment behind him. RealClearPolitics averages and surveys from Emerson, Bowling Green State University, and others put it within a couple of points, but Ohio is trending Republican, and Vivek’s vision for the state—pro-business, anti-woke, focused on actual results—resonates. Acton has name recognition from her days as a health director, but it’s mostly negative among anyone who lived through the lockdowns she championed. The Rooster, D.J. Byrnes, has a history of this kind of thing. He’s a left-leaning Substack writer in Columbus known for hit pieces on politicians, often with a partisan edge. His own background includes past legal troubles—felony charges back in 2008 as discussed, related to robbery planning, alcohol and substance issues, misdemeanors for criminal damage. People who aren’t doing well themselves often project their failings onto others, tearing them down to avoid personal judgment against them. That’s the pattern here. He wanted dirt on Vivek to prop up Acton, so he ran with rumors of an affair, implying booty calls in southwestern Ohio, travel together somehow equaling infidelity. No evidence, no pictures, no proof—just whispers. If he had real dirt, he’d have used it, but instead it’s all fabrication to hurt a good man and a nice young woman whose only crime is being effective and connected to strong Republican figures like her father, Senator George Lang, the majority whip.
I watched Alicia grow up. It’s very weird to hear her name associated with any kind of detrimental behavior, which is why the credibility of the accusation falls apart so quickly outside the minds of really stupid people. She’s too smart, too dedicated to public service and making the world better, to throw it all away on something reckless. Vivek is a family man, a brilliant entrepreneur who has written books, built businesses, run for president, and is now all-in on Ohio as Trump’s pick for governor. He’s too calculating, too focused on big ideas—reforming education, cutting regulations, fighting the administrative state—to risk it on some affair. He’s seen up close what Trump went through with endless false accusations, and he’s smart enough not to hand ammunition to enemies. Republicans I know in these circles are productive people—running businesses, passing bills at 2 a.m., obsessed with enterprise and results. They don’t have time for the kind of extramarital nonsense or “cocaine bins and gentlemen’s clubs” that seem more common in certain Democrat or swampy circles. I’m not saying it never happens on our side, but in my experience, the busy, value-creating conservatives don’t live double lives. Democrats, by contrast, often project their own base instincts—obsession with sex, loneliness, primal urges—onto everyone else. They assume that because they think that way, everyone does. It’s part of a broader spiritual warfare: dumbing people down to biological instincts so evil can play in their minds unchecked. That’s why they hate judgment, hate the Bible, hate capitalism, hate billionaires who succeed through merit. “Don’t judge,” they say, while judging everyone who holds them accountable.
The Rooster’s article feels cooked because he’s in trouble himself—trying to get clean, mad at the world, unable to maintain relationships. People like Alicia walk by and don’t give him the time of day because she’s in a world of jackets and ties, reverence for law and order, not slobs in sleeping-bag clothes. He wants to beat others to the punch, psychologically tearing down good people so he doesn’t feel bad about his own choices. That’s evil in the classic sense—the kind the Essenes railed against in their scrolls: wicked priests who corrupt institutions, attack the righteous to cover their own rot. The Teacher of Righteousness stood against that, and so should we. This smear isn’t just politics; it’s an attempt to undermine Trump’s pick, hurt Senator Lang’s family, and drag down anyone positioned to impose judgment on unrighteous behavior. Vivek is out there fighting for Ohio—higher education reform, economic dawn, real leadership—while Acton offers complaints about billionaires and special interests without a positive vision. Her lockdowns hurt the very people she claims to champion, and now personal issues resurface at the worst time.
I’ve known a lot of characters in the Ohio Statehouse, and the productive ones—Republicans focused on bills, sponsorships, businesses—aren’t the ones chasing Hooters servers or Twin Peaks nights out with the guys trying to get the phone number of 21-year-old kids working there trying to hustle tips from creepy old men. They’re on conference calls at odd hours talking policy, not conquests. Vivek’s too busy saving the world, literally, with his ideas on everything from biotech to government efficiency. Alicia’s the same—interested in politics because her family instilled values of service, not some emotional fling. Intelligent people fight animal instincts; that’s what Genesis teaches—dominion over nature, including human nature. You don’t yield to the snake. True conservatives live that way, all hours. Democrats often don’t, and when they can’t catch Republicans in real scandals, they invent them, just like the endless failed attacks on Trump—no evidence here either; the Rooster dusted off rumors to fit the narrative.
That’s why the Dead Sea Scrolls resonate so powerfully with me. They represent an awakening: a rebellion against institutional evil, preserved through centuries because the Essenes were clever enough to hide truth in plain sight, yet protected places. The Teacher of Righteousness made judgment calls that shaped righteousness as we know it—unfiltered criticism of wickedness. I despise the kind of people who tear down goodness: the Rooster, Acton’s defenders, Democrats who solicit the down-and-out to unleash chaos while screaming “no judgment.” They yearn for approval through base means because their minds are vacant of higher thoughts. Sex, for many of them, is about filling loneliness or seeking validation, not the sacred trust it should be. Lonely, unfulfilled people project that onto productive leaders like Vivek. But I know better from personal experience. I’ve been on calls with these high-level figures; they talk policy, bills, sponsorships—not “hot 21-year-olds,” they can send naked selfies to at 3 AM. That’s the difference between those with righteous indignation fighting daily for truth and those attacking to avoid self-reflection.
As we head into the May 5 primary and then the November 2026 election, this race matters. Vivek vs. Acton is a contest of visions: one of excellence, innovation, and Ohio-first results; the other of big-government nostalgia and lockdown mentality. Polls fluctuate—Bowling Green had them nearly tied recently, Emerson and others show Vivek with edges or Acton with slight leads depending on the sample—but the ground is shifting toward Republicans, especially with Trump’s coattails and the union voters who’ve flipped. Acton’s past as the face of COVID overreach haunts her; people remember the wrecked economy, the businesses lost. Knowing Alicia and her family, and seeing how this hit piece tries to cause collateral damage to good people to prop up a weak candidate, it demands that we apply the wrath of righteousness the scrolls celebrate. Rub their noses in the evil of fabrication, projection, and tearing down the upright so the wicked feel better.
I gave myself that day at the Museum of the Bible because I spend so much energy encouraging people who most of the time don’t deserve it, trying to lift them toward a better life. It’s usually worth it, but exhausting. The scrolls recharged me with unapologetic judgment against evil. That’s what we need now: call out the Rooster’s pattern of hit pieces rooted in his own unresolved issues, Acton’s inability to escape her record, and the broader Democrat strategy of no judgment on themselves while attacking anyone who might impose it. Vivek and Alicia represent the productive, value-creating side—the capitalists, the church-goers, the constitutionalists who think big thoughts, not just act on instinct. They don’t have room for double lives because they’re too busy building.
In my upcoming book, The Politics of Heaven, which I’m excited to release in 2027, I dig deep into these themes—a treasure hunt through heaven and human history, exploring how spiritual warfare plays out in politics and daily life. The Dead Sea Scrolls are a big part of that, showing how righteousness rebels against the kingdoms of evil, did good things that have impacted many thousands of years in a positive way. This whole episode with the Rooster’s article fits perfectly: an attempt to dirty the best-positioned people to cast judgment, just like the Wicked Priest against the Teacher. But truth prevails, as those scrolls did. I’ve seen enough in my years following politics to know that lies like this eventually flush out. Vivek will win because Ohio voters see the contrast, and people like me will keep shining light on it. Don’t take anything for granted—engagement matters, turnout matters. But I feel good about where things stand because leaders of character rise above smears.
Personally, this fills me with the kind of indignation the Essenes captured so vividly. The world hates righteousness because it exposes darkness. Democrats hate judgment because they don’t want mirrors held up to their choices. The Rooster attacks Alicia and Vivek because good people make him feel small. But we judge bad behavior—that’s our duty. The scrolls teach that, the Bible affirms it, and Western civilization thrives on it. I’m proud to stand with Vivek, with the Lang family, and with anyone fighting that good fight. Ohio deserves better than recycled lockdown architects or rumor-mongers. We deserve governors who create opportunity, not destroy it—like the executive orders Trump hints at that could mint millionaires by unleashing American potential.
What really bothers me about people like the Rooster is how they’ve wrapped themselves in layer after layer of bad conduct—criminal enterprises, drug abuse, alcohol abuse—and then spent the rest of their days trying to bury it by tearing down everyone else. He’s never built a real life for himself: no lasting relationship, no wife, no kids, no one who depends on him in the way that forces a man to grow up and take responsibility. Instead, all he has is this parasitic habit of pointing fingers at others, inventing lies when there’s nothing real to find, all so he doesn’t have to face the wreckage of his own choices. That’s why he gravitates to Democrat politics; it’s the same reason most of them do. They’re drowning in their own bad decisions, and they want government to prop them up, to blur the standards and give them a false sense of value, the way that union jobs once did before it all fell apart. I’ve watched him for years now, and it’s clear he’s the type who can’t stand the sight of good people succeeding because it reminds him how far he’s fallen.
The people in the Statehouse—Republicans especially—have treated him with more decency than he deserves. They gave him the presumption of free speech, let him roam the halls, answered his questions, and never turned their backs on him, even when his “investigative reports” were obviously aimed at dragging everyone down to his level. They let him get away with it for too long, thinking fairness and open dialogue would eventually win out. But fairness only works with people who still have a conscience. With someone like the Rooster, that goodwill just gets weaponized. He abuses the very respect he’s been shown, using it as cover while he tries to smear good families, good candidates, and good public servants who actually build things instead of tearing them down.
At the end of the day, people like him are just bad from the inside out, and they’re what makes the world, politics, and every social interaction worse. They flock to tyrannical, centralized figures like Amy Acton because that kind of top-down control lets them avoid judgment and lets them keep living the same reckless, unaccountable lives. They’re a detriment to the perpetuation of the human race, plain and simple. The only real solution isn’t dragging them into some court or legal loophole—it’s maintaining a steady, unapologetic presence of righteous indignation. They need to feel the full wrath of righteous judgment cast straight at them, not out of cruelty, but because they’ve proven themselves too despicable to be granted the same affiliation and respect given to people of real value. Only then will they lose the free rein to keep casting their weapons against the good people who are actually trying to make things better.
In Columbus, reporters like The Rooster have stepped into this fray to fill a void they desperately seek to hide from the public. He has been somewhat open about his criminal past, struggles with drug and alcohol abuse, and the inability to maintain relationships. This reflects the broader plight of unrighteous Democrats and their fervent support for figures like Amy Acton, collective bargaining agreements, and leftist policies in general. These approaches serve primarily to conceal the fact that many of them have spent significant portions of their lives making poor choices.
They resent and actively hate individuals like future governor Vivek Ramaswamy, Senator George Lang, President Trump, and the broader billionaire class because these people demonstrate what is possible through discipline, innovation, and hard work. While successful Americans build businesses, create wealth, and provide sustainable upward mobility for their families and communities, others squander what little they have on casinos, drugs, and self-destructive behaviors. Rather than emulate what works, they tear down the achievers and advocate for government collectivism—a system where the unrighteous mob rules over the productive through taxation and redistribution. This allows them to confiscate resources from wealth builders and funnel them to those who refuse to build value in their own lives. Through Substack writings and similar platforms, they pretend to be crusaders against crime or corruption, when in reality, they are waging war on anyone who exposes their own shortcomings.
Ultimately, Vivek Ramaswamy and President Trump represent the opposite philosophy: they strive to restore opportunity so that anyone willing to get out of bed and work hard can achieve upward mobility. In the latter part of his life, President Trump has focused on giving back this chance to the American people. The critics, like this Columbus reporter and his ideological allies, know deep down they will never get their own lives in order enough to seize such opportunities. Staring into the mirror each morning reveals their failures, breeding a deep resentment toward those who succeed. This is why they slander the virtuous and push policies designed to drag everyone down to their level of dysfunction.
Footnotes
1. The Rooster Substack article on Vivek Ramaswamy and Alicia Lang rumors, published April 2026.
2. NBC News report on Amy Acton’s 2019 police report, April 2026.
3. Ballotpedia and Wikipedia entries on the 2026 Ohio gubernatorial election, with Amy Acton as the Democratic nominee.
4. RealClearPolitics and Bowling Green State University polling averages for Ramaswamy vs. Acton, April 2026.
5. Museum of the Bible official site on Dead Sea Scrolls Exhibition, November 2025–September 2026.
6. Wikipedia and scholarly sources on Teacher of Righteousness, Essenes, Qumran, and Damascus Document.
7. Ohio Capital Journal and Dispatch coverage of Acton campaign and fundraising, 2026.
8. Background on D.J. Byrnes (The Rooster), past legal issues from public records and reporting.
Rich Hoffman is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.
He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.
Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events.
The Overmanwarrior 