NAGPRA: Worse than book burning–the Time Team shows how to do it right

As I reflect on this continuation of my birthday gift to myself—the deep dive into the Windover Archaeological Site and everything it represents—I can’t help but feel a profound sense of urgency mixed with frustration. My wife suggested we check it out because it tied directly into a project I was working on, and while I had heard about it before, seeing the exhibits up close and then immersing myself in the details through books like Glen H. Doran’s Windover: Multidisciplinary Investigations of an Early Archaic Florida Cemetery (published by the University Press of Florida in 2002) changed everything for me. That visit wasn’t just a casual outing; it was a revelation about what American archaeology could be and what it has become under policies that, in my view, prioritize political narratives over truth-seeking discovery. This is part two of that discussion, building on what I wrote earlier about the dig itself, but now zooming in on why the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act—NAGPRA, which I’ve come to call the “Wolves Act” because of the cultural buzz around Dances with Wolves during its passage—needs to be repealed or fundamentally reformed. We should be following the example of Britain’s Time Team, not letting a 1990 law bury our history, as the developers and politicians did with that Florida pond after just three seasons of excavation.

Let me start from the beginning of my personal connection to this. I remember driving out to the area near Titusville with my wife, the kind of trip where you expect a quiet museum stop but walk away astonished. The Windover site, discovered in 1982 during road construction for a housing development called Windover Farms, turned out to be one of the most significant archaeological finds in the Western Hemisphere. A backhoe operator scooped up skulls, and what followed was a frantic but methodical excavation led by Glen Doran from Florida State University between 1984 and 1986. They uncovered remains of about 168 individuals buried in a shallow pond that had become a natural peat bog, preserving everything from brain tissue—the oldest known in the world at the time—to intricate textiles, wooden artifacts, bone tools, and more. These people lived around 7,000 to 8,000 years ago in the Early Archaic period, long before what we think of as “Native American” tribes like the Cherokee or Seminole even formed as we know them today. The preservation was phenomenal because of the pond’s anaerobic conditions; it was like a time capsule from a world we barely understand.

Reading Doran’s book afterward felt like stepping into that excavation myself. It’s a multidisciplinary masterpiece—environmental analysis, radiocarbon dating, paleoethnobotany, DNA studies from the brain tissue, mortuary patterns, the works. They found the oldest woven fabrics in the Southeast, complex cordage, and evidence of sophisticated lifeways that challenge the simplistic “hunter-gatherer” stereotypes. My wife and I stood there in the museum exhibits, looking at replicas and displays (some now limited or relocated due to modern restrictions), and I kept thinking: This is North America’s equivalent of discovering a lost civilization, yet it barely registers in our national consciousness. Why? Because right around the time the final analyses were wrapping up, NAGPRA dropped in 1990 like a political hammer. The law was signed by President George H.W. Bush on November 16, 1990, after being introduced in the House by Democrat Mo Udall of Arizona. It sailed through on voice votes, with strong Democratic backing amid a wave of activism and cultural sentiment fueled by movies like Dances with Wolves, which painted indigenous peoples as noble victims of American aggression. I was living through that era, very aware of the buzz in Washington. I wasn’t a Bush fan—I voted against him, worked against him in the ’92 election, even flirted with the Reform Party because I saw him as a RINO continuing the same globalist, sovereignty-eroding policies Democrats had long championed. This wasn’t some Republican innovation; it was a bipartisan surrender to a narrative that America’s foundations were built on theft and needed constant atonement.

NAGPRA’s stated goal was to protect Native American graves, repatriate human remains and cultural items from museums and federal agencies to lineal descendants or culturally affiliated tribes. On paper, it sounds reasonable—addressing real historical wrongs like grave robbing in the 19th century. But in practice, and especially for ancient sites like Windover, it’s been devastating. The remains at Windover predate any known modern tribal affiliations by millennia. DNA studies from the site (what little could be done before restrictions tightened) showed haplogroups tracing back to ancient Asian migrations, but nothing that tied them neatly to today’s federally recognized tribes. Yet the law forces institutions like Florida State University to consult tribes, inventory collections, and often repatriate or rebury without full study. FSU has issued NAGPRA notices for some collections, and the process drags on, limiting further research. The pond was partially backfilled after the initial dig; half the cemetery remains untouched, not because the science was done, but because funding dried up amid the political winds. Developers and archaeologists knew what was coming, so they rushed what they could. Today, if a similar site were found, it might never see the light of day beyond a quick salvage operation before reburial. That’s not science; that’s erasure disguised as respect. It’s equivalent to modern-day book burning, only the material is destroyed before we even have a chance to discover it.

I’ve seen this pattern before, and it screams deliberate policy to undermine American sovereignty. Democrats have long used “victim” groups—indigenous peoples, in this case—as levers to dismantle narratives of Western expansion and self-reliance. NAGPRA wasn’t born in a vacuum; it was part of a broader 1990s push that included open-border sentiments and identity politics. The same era gave us policies questioning every aspect of American settlement, from land use to energy. Bush signed it, sure, but as a continuation of the previous administration’s trajectory. I stepped away from the GOP at the time because it felt like the party was complicit in weakening the republic from within. This law doesn’t just repatriate; it creates a framework in which federal recognition of tribes governs everything on or near federal lands, which is a huge chunk of the country. It turns archaeologists into bureaucrats navigating tribal consultations instead of digging for truth. And for sites with no clear affiliation—like the 8,000-year-old Windover bones, which likely belonged to pre-Clovis or early Archaic peoples who other groups later displaced—it effectively halts inquiry. How do you return remains to a tribe that didn’t exist yet? You don’t; you bury the evidence and pretend the history starts with the groups Democrats designate as “indigenous.”

This ties directly into the speculation about giants and multiple cultures in the Ohio Valley and Mississippi River mounds that I’ve pondered for years. Old newspaper accounts and 19th-century reports from the Smithsonian and others described oversized skulls and skeletons in Adena and Hopewell mounds—evidence, some say, of earlier populations. Modern archaeology dismisses much of it as exaggeration or hoaxes, but the pattern is suspicious: NAGPRA and similar policies make it risky even to revisit those claims with new tech like DNA. If there were prior cultures—perhaps Solutrean influences from Europe or other migrations predating the Beringia model—it challenges the singular “Native Americans as eternal stewards” narrative. Pre-Clovis sites like Buttermilk Creek in Texas (15,000+ years old) and genetic evidence of multiple waves into the Americas already poke holes in the old Clovis-first theory. Yet NAGPRA’s cultural affiliation rules often default to modern tribes, erasing the complexity. It’s the same playbook as border policies today: open the gates, label critics as aggressors, and rewrite the founding story to justify dismantling sovereignty. Democrats didn’t invent this overnight; it’s been their trajectory—using “aggrieved” groups to fracture the American experiment.

Compare that to what’s happening in Great Britain with Time Team. If you’ve never watched it, do yourself a favor—episodes are all over YouTube now, even after the show ended its main run on Channel 4. Hosted by Tony Robinson with archaeologists like Mick Aston, Phil Harding, and Carenza Lewis, it was a phenomenon from 1994 to 2014. They’d show up at a site—often tipped off by locals or metal detectorists—spend three days digging with geophysics, volunteers, and experts, then reveal everything from Roman villas to Neolithic tombs to medieval villages. No endless permits bogged down by politics; English Heritage and local councils supported it. The archaeologists became celebrities, the public ate it up, and it funded real research while turning history into entertainment. They published scientific papers too—more than some university departments. Stonehenge, Hadrian’s Wall, Roman baths: Britain celebrates layer upon layer of its past, from Mesolithic to medieval, without erasing any group. Bones from Iron Age, Bronze Age, or Roman contexts are studied for diet, disease, migration—not reburied to appease a modern political framework. It’s respectful scholarship that builds national pride, not guilt. I’ve been to England; their heritage sites are tourist magnets, economic engines, and educational goldmines. Archaeologists there are rock stars, not bureaucrats.

Why can’t we do that here? Japan has underwater sites off the coast of Osaka; China guards its ancient tombs but still excavates selectively. Even in the volatile Middle East, guys like Joel Kramer on his Expedition Bible YouTube channel navigate borders, checkpoints, and regimes to document sites from Sodom to Shiloh. His book Where God Came Down is a masterclass in persistence amid obstacles. The Biblical Archaeology Society and Biblical Archaeology Review fight for dig seasons in Israel despite political minefields—hostile neighbors, military oversight, and permit battles. Yet they publish voraciously because the region’s history is too vital to bury. In the U.S., we have a free country, capital markets, and vast untouched potential—from Florida ponds to Ohio mounds to underwater sites off the coasts—and we tie our hands with NAGPRA. Developers bulldoze sites quietly to avoid red tape; museums shelve collections. The Windover team saw the writing on the wall and wrapped up just as the law hit. The 2002 book exists as a snapshot of what was possible pre-NAGPRA; post-law, that level of open inquiry is gone.

This isn’t abstract. It harms research into who we really are as Americans. Western expansion wasn’t just conquest; it was building on layers of human history, some of which involved the displacement of earlier groups by later ones—just like everywhere else on Earth. Suppressing that validates a one-sided story used to push globalist agendas: open borders, energy restrictions framed as “respecting the land,” and centralized control. The same forces behind NAGPRA cheer solar mandates while demonizing natural gas and erasing our industrial heritage, just as they erase pre-Columbian complexity. I’ve said it before in my writings and streams: Rumble and independent platforms are game-changers because legacy media conceals this. There’s no evidence of giants or advanced pre-Native societies, they claim—yet policies prevent the digs that could prove or disprove it. Old Smithsonian reports from the 1800s detailed large skeletons in mounds; modern DNA from Hopewell and Adena sites shows continuity with later Native groups but also hints of admixture. Why not let the marketplace of ideas decide through open science?

Imagine an American Time Team. Archaeologists as celebrities on the Discovery Channel, live digs at mound sites or Florida bogs, public volunteers, and tourist revenue fund more work. Stonehenge draws millions; why not make Windover or Serpent Mound a Disney-level attraction with VR reconstructions, exhibits, and ongoing excavations? We have the capital, the freedom, the talent. Instead, we have rogue developers destroying sites, and universities complying with repatriation, which halts study. FSU still holds some Windover materials, but NAGPRA inventories and consultations limit what can be done. Rachel Wentz’s popular book Life and Death at Windover captures the human story—families, health, rituals—but even that feels like a last gasp before the freeze.

Repealing or reforming NAGPRA for remains older than, say, 5,000 years—where affiliation is impossible—would be a start. Treat ancient bones like science treats Ötzi the Iceman in Europe: study, learn, share. Respect living tribes’ concerns for recent remains, but don’t let it blanket 15,000 years of migration and replacement. England’s approach proves you can honor the dead without erasing history. Their Time Team episodes on Roman occupation or Neolithic life don’t undermine modern Britain; they enrich it. We need that here—full stop.

My effort in writing this and in pushing these ideas on my platforms stems from that museum visit and the book that followed. It’s personal: I want my kids and grandkids to know the full story of this continent, not a sanitized version designed to undermine the republic. The Windover discovery was a window—a fantastic, irreplaceable one—into a sophisticated past. NAGPRA closed it. Democrats knew what they were doing in 1990, riding the Dances with Wolves wave to frame America as a perpetual aggressor. Republicans like Bush went along. It’s the same game as today’s policies. We deserve better: open archaeology, public celebration, evidence wherever it leads. Let’s make American digs rock stars again. The Time Team model isn’t just British; it’s what humanity needs. And it starts by repealing the laws that bury our past to serve political ends.

Footnotes

1. Glen H. Doran, ed., Windover: Multidisciplinary Investigations of an Early Archaic Florida Cemetery (University Press of Florida, 2002). Core source for site details, artifacts, and analyses.

2. Rachel Wentz, Life and Death at Windover: Excavations of a 7,000-Year-Old Pond Cemetery (personal accounts and bioarchaeology).

3. Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, Pub. L. 101-601 (1990). Legislative history via Congress.gov; signed by GHW Bush.

4. Time Team episodes, Channel 4 (UK), available on YouTube; see also English Heritage reports on public archaeology impact.

5. Joel P. Kramer, Where God Came Down: The Archaeological Evidence (Expedition Bible publications); YouTube channel documents border and access challenges.

6. Biblical Archaeology Review archives detail permit struggles in the Holy Land due to geopolitics.

7. Pre-Clovis and migration studies: e.g., Waters et al. on Buttermilk Creek (Science, 2011); ancient DNA papers in PNAS and Nature on multiple waves.

8. Historical mound reports: 19th-century Smithsonian and newspaper accounts (contextualized in modern critiques); DNA from Hopewell sites (Ohio History Connection studies).

Bibliography for Further Reading

• Doran, Glen H., ed. Windover: Multidisciplinary Investigations of an Early Archaic Florida Cemetery. University Press of Florida, 2002.

• Wentz, Rachel. Life and Death at Windover. University Press of Florida (related publications).

• U.S. Congress. Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA), 25 U.S.C. 3001 et seq. (1990).

• Robinson, Tony, et al. Time Team series (1994–2014). Channel 4; scientific outputs summarized in Current Archaeology and English Heritage reports.

• Kramer, Joel P. Where God Came Down. Expedition Bible, 2022 (approx.).

• Biblical Archaeology Society. Biblical Archaeology Review (ongoing issues on global dig challenges).

• Waters, Michael R., et al. “The Buttermilk Creek Complex and the Origins of Clovis at the Debra L. Friedkin Site, Texas.” Science, 2011.

• Mills, Lisa A. “Ancient DNA from the Ohio Hopewell.” Ohio History Connection research.

• ProPublica/NBC investigations on NAGPRA implementation (2023 reports on repatriation delays and impacts).

• Additional: Federal Register notices on FSU NAGPRA inventories (2021+); Archaeological Conservancy site profiles on Windover.

Rich Hoffman

More about me

Click Here to Protect Yourself with Second Call Defense https://www.secondcalldefense.org/?affiliate=20707

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

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 Smoking Gun of Windover: What NAGPRA was meant to conceal

I have been reflecting deeply on this as April 9th rolls around—my birthday—and I decided this year I would give myself something truly personal, something that excites me at the core of my being and ties together years of my own research, political observations, and that relentless drive to uncover truths that the system tries to bury. It is not some flashy gift or a day off from the work I do for everyone else; instead, it is this deep dive into what I consider one of the most important archaeological revelations of our lifetime, a site that serves as a smoking gun for so many historical narratives that have been twisted, politicized, and deliberately constrained. I am talking about the Windover archaeological site in Central Florida, that extraordinary bog cemetery near Titusville, just up the road from the Kennedy Space Center, where an accidental discovery in the mid-1980s peeled back layers of prehistory in ways that challenge everything we have been taught about the peopling of North America, the sophistication of ancient cultures, and the very foundations of modern political narratives about land, history, and who truly belongs here. I have poured over the rare academic book that documented it all—Windover: Multidisciplinary Investigations of an Early Archaic Florida Cemetery, edited by Glen H. Doran and published by the University Press of Florida in 2002—and it has become my birthday present to myself because it represents a narrow window into truth before the doors slammed shut with laws like NAGPRA. I invite everyone who reads this to share in that excitement with me, because this is not just dusty bones in a pond; it is evidence of a sophisticated society that predates the standard Beringia migration story by thousands of years in meaningful ways, and it exposes how politics, not science, has been driving the suppression of our deep past.

I first came across references to this site years ago in my own independent studies of ancient American history, the kind of reading I do late at night after dealing with local politics here in Butler County, Ohio, or after watching the national scene unfold with all its layers of deception. Back then, I was already skeptical of the official timelines pushed in academia—the neat little story that indigenous peoples crossed the Bering land bridge around 15,000 to 20,000 years ago, spread south as hunter-gatherers, and that everything before European contact fits neatly into that box with tribes like the Iroquois, Lakota, or Sioux representing the “original” inhabitants. But Windover blew that open for me in a way nothing else had. Discovered accidentally in 1982 or early 1984 when a backhoe operator for a housing development called Windover Farms scooped up a human skull while digging in a small peat bog pond, it quickly became clear this was no recent crime scene. County medical examiners dated the remains as ancient, and that led to Florida State University anthropologist Glen Doran stepping in as principal investigator. From 1984 through about 1987, his team excavated roughly half of this half-acre pond cemetery under challenging wet-site conditions, uncovering the remains of at least 168 individuals—men, women, and children, from infants to elders around 60—buried in a deliberate, logical manner that suggested a thoughtful, organized society. What made it extraordinary was the preservation: the acidic yet neutral-pH peat bog acted like a natural time capsule, keeping not just bones but also soft tissue intact. We are talking brain tissue still present in 91 skulls, some with cellular structure preserved enough for DNA extraction; skin on the bodies; even the last meals still identifiable in their stomachs. They had clothing woven from plant fibers—some of the oldest and most complex textiles ever found in the New World, requiring looms or advanced weaving techniques that nobody expected for an “Archaic” period people 7,000 to 8,000 years ago. Wooden artifacts, bone and antler tools, a bottle gourd—evidence of a culture far more advanced than the simple hunter-gatherer label academia slaps on prehistory.

I have that Doran book—it is a thick, technical volume, the kind produced in limited academic runs, probably only a few thousand copies worldwide, and I feel fortunate to have one because it captures every multidisciplinary angle: environmental analysis, radiocarbon dating pinning the site firmly to around 6000-5000 BC, mortuary patterns showing bodies often placed with poles or stakes to keep them submerged, facing north with heads turned west in what looks like a deliberate ritual orientation toward the setting sun and perhaps some spiritual reverence. The people themselves were robust; average adult males stood about five feet nine inches, taller and healthier than many later prehistoric groups, with some individuals pushing six feet or more based on femur lengths and bone density—enough to fuel those early newspaper reports of “giants” in North America before institutionalized science dismissed them as hoaxes or exaggerations. There is no wild conspiracy in Doran’s work; it is straight, careful archaeology by scientists who genuinely loved the field and rushed to document everything because they sensed the political tides turning. Half the cemetery was left untouched, and today the site sits under a plaque in a wooded subdivision, a National Historic Landmark with no further major digs. That is the tragedy I keep coming back to, and it is why Windover feels like the smoking gun for me.

What hit me hardest when I dug into the details—and this is where my own political experience from years fighting school levies, local corruption, and national narratives in Ohio gives me a unique lens—is how perfectly timed this discovery was before the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) slammed the brakes on American archaeology. NAGPRA passed Congress on November 16, 1990, right after the Windover excavations wrapped up and right around the cultural frenzy sparked by Dances with Wolves, that Hollywood epic romanticizing the Sioux and framing Western expansion as pure theft of indigenous land. I have studied how bills get written, who lobbies them, and the closed-door intentions behind them, and NAGPRA was loaded with progressive language designed to solidify a specific narrative: America as stolen property from “Native Americans” defined by a very shallow historical scope. It required consultation with tribes for any remains or cultural items, mandated repatriation, and effectively shut down large-scale digs because developers and archaeologists alike knew that uncovering bones could halt projects, tie up land in legal battles, and invite tribal claims. Developers started burying finds quietly rather than reporting them, and grant money in academia dried up unless you played along with the official story. Windover happened in that narrow window before the law fully kicked in—Doran and his team worked fast, funded in part by the curious developers themselves, who paused their subdivision to allow proper science—and the result was this irreplaceable snapshot of an 8,000-year-old culture that does not neatly fit the Beringia-to-modern-tribes pipeline.

The DNA analysis of the preserved brain tissue is what really undermines the premises on which NAGPRA was built. Studies showed genetic markers linking these Windover people to ancient Asian populations via the Beringia route, as expected—haplogroups like A, C, D, and even the rare X that pops up in some Native contexts—but crucially, they do not align closely with any living Native American tribes or even many known prehistoric groups. It suggests either their lineage died out, experienced a severe bottleneck, or represents a distinct early population that predates or diverged from the groups we retroactively label as “indigenous.” I am not here to take anything away from what we have been calling Native American communities or their cultural heritage; I respect the reverence for ancestors. But when you have remains this old—older than the pyramids, older than Mesopotamian civilizations in some contexts—and DNA that does not match the shallow 300-400-year tribal samples used to justify repatriation claims, who exactly do you hand them back to? The law assumes a direct, unbroken chain to contemporary tribes, but Windover proves the timeline, and the populations were far more complex. These were not simple hunter-gatherers; they had advanced textile production, implying looms; thoughtful burial rituals suggesting religion or cosmology; trade networks possibly reaching far beyond the region (given certain materials); and a settled community life in a resource-rich Florida environment when sea levels were lower and the coastline extended miles outward. Villages and mounds now submerged offshore hint at even broader Archaic networks. This site forces a reevaluation: the “Native American” designation under NAGPRA was built on politically convenient assumptions that ignored deeper prehistory, and that ignorance was weaponized to challenge the legitimacy of Western expansion and the founding of the United States itself.

I see this as part of a larger pattern I have observed in my own work on politics and history—the way organized systems, often with roots in spiritual battles that play out in the terrestrial realm, rewrite narratives to maintain power. My upcoming book, The Politics of Heaven, dives straight into this because sites like Windover provide the hard evidence that legends, mythology, and even biblical accounts of ancient sophistication are not fairy tales. Think about it: these people knew how to weave delicate fabrics thousands of years before we associate such technology with the Indus Valley, Mesopotamia, or Egypt. They cared for their sick and dead in a mass cemetery with ritual precision. Their stature and health suggest a robust population living in a stable society. And all of this at a time when the Ice Age was ending, sea levels were rising, and cultures we now call “Atlantis” in Platonic accounts or other global flood myths were supposedly migrating and seeding knowledge worldwide. Plato described Atlantis as an advanced civilization destroyed by catastrophe, with survivors spreading to Egypt, Britain, the Americas—places where we find sudden leaps in sophistication that do not fit the slow Beringia crawl. Windover fits as one piece of that puzzle: evidence of pre-Mesopotamian complexity right here in North America, with possible ties to shamanic or spiritual practices seen in even older Near Eastern sites. Take Qesem Cave near Tel Aviv in Israel, for example—an ancient site showing early humans (or pre-modern hominins) with innovative tool use, controlled fire, and communal activities dating back hundreds of thousands of years, far predating the standard timelines and hinting at organized, intelligent societies communicating with or revering something beyond the material world. Similar patterns appear in Natufian or shamanic contexts in the Levant around 13,000-10,000 BC, with ritual fires and early communal structures. These are not isolated; they point to a deep, sophisticated human history that institutional science, constrained by funding and politics, has been reluctant to explore fully.

Here in North America, we have the same suppression at work, only dressed up as “reverence for indigenous rights.” Cahokia Mounds near St. Louis is another example I have studied closely—a massive Mississippian city around 1000-1400 AD with more people than London at the time, featuring the famous Birdman tablet and legends of Thunderbirds that echo across Native oral histories. Yet St. Louis was literally built on top of it, and we still vaguely associate it with later tribes despite clear discontinuities. Mound builders, Adena, Hopewell—earlier cultures with advanced earthworks and trade—get shoehorned into the same narrative, ignoring how each generation builds over the previous one, claiming territory like animals marking trees. Human nature drives this, but laws like NAGPRA freeze it artificially at a politically useful point: 1492 onward, with Europeans as the sole thieves. The reality, as Windover shows, is layered theft and migration going back millennia—groups taking from older groups, sophisticated societies rising and falling. If we had unrestricted digs, we could map this properly, learn from mistakes, and avoid repeating cycles of conquest and cultural erasure. Instead, the law—passed in that post-Dances with Wolves glow of guilt—created incentives to hide discoveries, starved archaeology of funding for controversial sites, and prioritized a narrative that undermines the Christian-influenced Western foundation of America. I know how these bills are crafted from my own experiences fighting local and state politics; the closed-door intentions are rarely about dead ancestors and always about power, land claims, and reshaping history to favor certain ideologies.

Glen Doran himself, who passed away in 2021, and his colleagues captured their frustration between the lines in that book. They knew NAGPRA was coming; they rushed the work because they understood the profession was about to be handcuffed. The peat chemistry, the pollen, the paleoethnobotany, the DNA—all of it documented before the repatriation machine could intervene. Yet even today, the remaining half of the pond sits largely untouched, and broader Florida bog sites or offshore mounds from lower sea-level eras go unexplored because developers fear land seizures and archaeologists fear grant denials or tribal vetoes. This is not reverence; it is concealment. I love true archaeology—the kind done in England on shows like Time Team, where they dig openly, analyze bones without mandatory handover, and let evidence speak. Here, the human need to know has been subordinated to politics, which is why Windover feels like such a miracle: it slipped through just before the gates closed. It validates folklore, Plato’s hints at Atlantis, global trade networks in deep antiquity, and even the idea that our origin stories—whether biblical, mythological, or shamanic—involve advanced pre-flood or pre-catastrophe civilizations that revered higher powers, appeased spirits, and built societies with ritual purpose. The Windover dead faced north, heads west toward the sunset—symbolism that screams cosmology, not random burial. They were not “cavemen”; they were part of something older and wiser than we have only breadcrumbs of now.

This all ties directly into the spiritual warfare I explore in my work—the fallen entities at war with creation itself, imprinting their influence on earthly power structures to erase God’s narrative and replace it with controlled ignorance. Laws like NAGPRA are not neutral; they serve to keep humanity deficient in knowledge, allowing modern political orders to maintain authority built on false premises. Western expansion brought a Christian viewpoint and free civilization that disrupted older pagan or shamanic systems, but if deeper evidence shows sophisticated pre-Columbian (and pre-Beringia in practice) cultures with their own complexities, the “stolen land” story loses its moral absolutism. Everyone stole from someone; history is layered conquest. The real crime is preventing inquiry that could reveal this, because it threatens the power base. Windover proves it in my eyes: 8,000-year-old brains yielding DNA that does not fit the 1990 legal template, textiles requiring technology we associate with much later eras, and a cemetery showing care and ritual in a society predating known tribes. It is the perfect example for my book because it shows how politics cascades from heavenly rebellion into terrestrial control—concealing evidence so the deficient knowledge keeps people dependent on the current narrative.

I have met enough people in politics over the years, from Tea Party rallies to local commissioners, to recognize when good intentions get co-opted by larger agendas. Archaeologists like Doran wanted knowledge; the system wanted control. That is why I judge these things rigorously in my own life and work—if you cannot manage truth at the foundational level, you cannot lead effectively elsewhere. Windover demands we repeal or heavily reform NAGPRA, not to disrespect anyone but to prioritize the human need to know over artificial constraints. We need more digs, more funding for wet sites in Florida and beyond, and more open analysis of offshore mounds from Ice Age coastlines. Only then can we bridge the gap between legend and evidence, avoid repeating past mistakes, and understand our true place in the deep timeline. This site, with its preserved last meals, woven fabrics, and unclaimed DNA, hints at Atlantis-like migrations, shamanic connections to the spirit world (echoing Qesem Cave’s early innovations or Cahokia’s Birdman symbolism), and a history far richer than the shallow one politicized in 1990.

As I celebrate another year on this earth, I find real joy in holding this truth close. It reinforces why I fight the battles I do—not just local levies or national elections, but the deeper war for accurate history. The Windover people were real, sophisticated, and part of something vast. Their story survived by accident in the bog, preserved long enough for us to glimpse it before the political machine intervened. That is my birthday gift: the excitement of knowing more is out there if we demand the freedom to look. I will keep pushing in my writings, my podcast, and my life because evidence like this changes everything. Share it, study it, and let it provoke the larger discussion it deserves. The republic, and humanity’s understanding of itself, depends on refusing to let politics bury the past any longer.

Footnotes

1. Primary source details on discovery, excavation, and findings from Glen H. Doran’s edited volume and supporting analyses.

2. DNA results and non-alignment with modern tribes were summarized from peer-reviewed studies referenced in site reports.

3. NAGPRA legislative history and timing relative to Windover drawn from official records and archaeological critiques.

4. Stature and artifact sophistication (textiles, rituals) from bioarchaeological chapters in the Windover investigations.

5. Broader connections to global prehistory (Qesem Cave, Cahokia) informed by my independent cross-referencing of Paleolithic and Mississippian sites.

6. Political motivations behind NAGPRA are tied to the cultural context of 1990 (Dances with Wolves) and observed patterns in bill-making from my experience.

Bibliography for Continued Reading

• Doran, Glen H., ed. Windover: Multidisciplinary Investigations of an Early Archaic Florida Cemetery. University Press of Florida, 2002.

• Wentz, Rachel K. Life and Death at Windover: Excavations of a 7,000-Year-Old Pond Cemetery. Florida Historical Society Press, 2012.

• National Park Service. “Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act.” Official NPS overview and regulations.

• Plato. Timaeus and Critias (translations discussing Atlantis).

• Various reports on Qesem Cave: Barkai et al., publications on Lower Paleolithic innovation in Israel.

• Pauketat, Timothy R. Cahokia: Ancient America’s Great City on the Mississippi. Penguin, 2010 (for Birdman and mound-builder context).

• Biblical Archaeology Review and related journals on Near Eastern shamanic/ritual sites predating Mesopotamia.

• My own forthcoming The Politics of Heaven for expanded spiritual-political synthesis.

• National Geographic and Florida Museum archives on Windover preservation and public exhibits.

Rich Hoffman

More about me

Click Here to Protect Yourself with Second Call Defense https://www.secondcalldefense.org/?affiliate=20707

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.

Make Sure to Judge and Judge Often: Kristi Noem and Pam Bondi couldn’t get the job done–find someone who can

I have been watching the second Trump administration unfold over the first few months of 2026 with a mixture of hope and growing frustration, the kind that comes from someone who has spent years in the political trenches here in Butler County, Ohio, and across the country. When President Trump tapped Pam Bondi for Attorney General, I thought it was a strong move. I had followed her work as Florida’s Attorney General, where she showed real backbone against some of the progressive nonsense that was infecting state governments. She talked a tough game on television—promising to go after the Russia hoax crowd, the January 6 committee members who turned a legitimate protest into a political persecution, the FBI insiders who abused FISA warrants, and the broader network of Democrats who had spent years twisting the law to target conservatives. I believed she had the smarts and prosecutorial experience to drag some of these cases to a close finally. But as the weeks turned into months, I saw the same old pattern: lots of sound bites, plenty of tough talk, but not nearly enough action. Cases that should have been fast-tracked sat gathering dust. Indictments that the American people desperately needed to see—real accountability for those who weaponized government—never quite materialized. By early April 2026, I wasn’t surprised when Trump made a change. I respect Pam Bondi, and I still think she’s intelligent, but if you’re not getting the job done at that level, you have to go. The Department of Justice is a swamp all its own, filled with careerists who know how to slow-walk everything, and it takes a special kind of resolve to push through. I believe Trump is doing a good job overall, but these personnel decisions matter. You can’t have people in the highest offices who talk the talk but can’t deliver results when the country is counting on real justice.

This whole situation with Bondi got me thinking deeper about what it really takes to succeed in this environment, and it brought me straight to Kristi Noem. I have always liked Kristi Noem. I thought she did a great job as governor of South Dakota. Her policies weren’t bad at all—I agreed with her on border security, crime, education, and pushing back against the radical transgender agenda that’s confusing so many kids. She had that independent Western spirit that resonated with many of us. I loved the campaign ads where she was riding horses around Mount Rushmore in a cowboy hat; it captured something authentic about American strength and freedom. When Trump brought her into the administration and eventually placed her at Homeland Security, I was optimistic. She seemed like the kind of no-nonsense leader who could secure the border and dismantle some of the chaos the previous administration had allowed to persist. But then the personal scandals hit, and everything changed. Reports surfaced about an affair with Corey Lewandowski, one of Trump’s longtime aides. I have met Corey Lewandowski several times over the years. He’s a sharp, charismatic guy who throws himself completely into the fight. He shares that same passion for the cause that many of us feel. When you’re away from home a lot, traveling constantly, surrounded by people who understand your mission at the deepest level, it becomes really easy to make bad judgments. I know how it happens. The adrenaline is high, the hours are long, and suddenly you’re sharing late-night strategy sessions with someone who gets the fire in your belly like your spouse back home sometimes can’t. It’s human nature, but it’s still bad judgment. You should be able to fight off temptation, especially when you’re married. I have been married to a good woman for a long time, and I know it takes work, especially when life gets busy, and the spotlight pulls you in different directions. But that’s exactly why character matters so much at the top.

What made the Noem situation even messier was what came out about her husband, Bryon. Nearly forty years of marriage, kids grown, grandkids in the picture, and suddenly the public learned he had been sending sexually charged pictures of himself online—cross-dressing, some boob fetish, the kind of private behavior that, once exposed, destroys trust on every level. I don’t think it was a complete surprise to everyone around them; neighbors in South Dakota apparently called it an open secret. Kristi expressed shock, but the damage was immediate and devastating. Her husband’s actions left her vulnerable, and the combination of the reported affair and the family embarrassment became too much under the national microscope. I believe she was devastated by it all. When you put yourself out there the way she did—national media, international travel, constant public appearances—the little cracks in a marriage get magnified. You’re gone too much. The empty nest, which should be a time to reconnect with your spouse, becomes filled with politics, rallies, and crises. It’s hard to maintain an intimate relationship when you’re living in the public eye every day. I have seen this pattern before with people who rise fast in the Tea Party or MAGA movements. They come into office with big ideas and good intentions, but the pressure and temptations of Washington or high-level administration roles test them in ways they never expected. Some handle it; many don’t. That’s why I hold people to a rigorous standard on their personal lives, especially when they seek high office. If you can’t keep your marriage straight, if you can’t manage your own household, there’s something wrong that will eventually show up in how you handle the bigger responsibilities.

I remember talking to JD Vance early on, back when he was making the rounds pitching himself to folks like me in Ohio. I had read Hillbilly Elegy and appreciated his story, but I wasn’t fully sold yet. I looked him in the eye and asked him directly: “You’re heading to Washington in your 40s with all this attention. How are you going to handle the temptations? Are you going to fight for justice, or are you just going to become another pastry in the lucrative swamp?” He didn’t flinch. His wife, Usha, was right there—super nice, super sweet, super solid. You could tell they genuinely liked each other, not just for the cameras. The way they interacted, even when the event was over and no one was watching, told me a lot. They share a real affection and partnership. That matters to me. I have seen the same thing with George Lang here in Ohio—his wife Debbie is a rock, a good person who keeps him grounded. Michael Ryan in Butler County has that same solid family foundation, which is one reason I support him so strongly. I could say the same thing about Congressman Warren Davidson and his wonderful wife, Lisa. These are the kinds of people I trust in positions of power because they have proven they can manage the most important thing first: their own home. Trump himself has learned this lesson across his marriages. Melania has been a steady, classy presence for him, someone who understands the pressure and stands by him without needing constant validation. It takes time to figure these things out, especially in a high-profile life, but once you do, it becomes your armor against the temptations that come with power.

With Kristi Noem, I think the combination of the affair and her husband’s public embarrassment created a perfect storm. She had put herself out there so visibly that any weakness became ammunition for the enemies. Lewandowski is a nice, charismatic guy, and when you share that highest-level passion for the mission, it’s easy to cross lines you shouldn’t. I don’t condone it, but I understand how it happens. The marriage was already strained by years of public life. When your spouse isn’t as engaged or interested, and you’re out there chasing big goals, loneliness can creep in. But that doesn’t excuse the bad judgment. If your home life is dysfunctional—if your husband is caught cross-dressing and sending fetish photos online—then how can you possibly lead something as critical as Homeland Security without becoming a liability? The bad guys are always watching. They look for any crack to exploit. Noem’s situation wasn’t just personal; it raised real questions about judgment, vulnerability to blackmail, and the ability to focus under pressure. I still like her as a person. I think she has good intentions and did a lot of positive things in South Dakota. But when the scandals broke, Trump had no choice but to move her out. The administration can’t afford that kind of distraction at the top. It’s not about being perfect—but about having the discipline to keep your house in order so you can focus on the nation’s house.

I have thought a lot about why these kinds of failures happen so often in politics, especially at the federal level. It starts with the nature of the job itself. You’re constantly in the spotlight. Public relations, media appearances, international travel—it all pulls you away from the simple, intimate things that keep a marriage strong. When the kids are grown, and the grandkids are pulling at your heart, that space in your life gets filled with the next campaign event or policy fight. It becomes easy to seek validation or connection with people who share your daily battles. Corey Lewandowski and Kristi Noem apparently found that connection in each other. I have met Lewandowski enough times to know he’s passionate and committed. But passion without boundaries leads to trouble. The same thing happened in countless administrations before this one. History is full of leaders whose personal indiscretions undermined their public work. In the Trump era, with the media and Democrats armed and ready to pounce on any weakness, the margin for error is razor-thin. That’s why I believe we need to rigorously evaluate people’s family lives before giving them these roles. If you can’t protect your own family, if you can’t keep your marriage intact despite the pressures, then you’re not equipped to protect the country or deliver justice for the American people.

Look at what happened with the January 6 defendants. Many of them sat in jail for over a year while the January 6 committee ran its circus and the media turned a protest into an “insurrection” narrative. I believe those responsible for the selective prosecution and the weaponization of government should face real consequences. The FBI, the DOJ under previous leadership, and the congressional Democrats who pushed the narrative all deserve scrutiny. Yet under Bondi, those big cases didn’t move with the urgency I expected. I still support Trump’s overall direction—he has been really good on many fronts—but I want to see people in key positions who can actually prosecute the real criminals and get results. The same standard applies to every cabinet role. At Homeland Security, we needed someone who could secure the border without personal scandals becoming distractions. Noem’s situation showed how quickly good intentions can be derailed by poor personal management.

I have met a lot of these people over the years. I have talked with Tea Party and MAGA leaders who rose fast and then struggled under the weight of Washington. Some come out stronger; others fall apart. That’s why, when I get the chance to speak with a candidate or someone rising in the ranks—as I did with JD Vance—I ask the personal questions. I want to know how they handle temptation when the lights are off and no one is watching. I look at how they treat their spouse when the event is over, and the crowd is gone. Do they genuinely like each other? Do they share a real partnership? That tells me more than any policy paper ever could. JD Vance passed that test in my eyes. His wife is solid, and you can see the mutual respect and affection. George Lang and his wife, Debbie, show the same thing. Michael Ryan has that foundation, too. These are the people I trust to stay focused when the pressure hits. Trump has clearly learned this over time. He knows he needs people who can handle the spotlight without their personal lives becoming liabilities. Melania has been a great example of that steadiness for him.

Kristi Noem’s story is a cautionary tale, but I don’t write her off completely. She made many positive contributions, and I believe she wanted to do good for the country. The dysfunction in her home life—whether it was her husband’s online behavior or the strains of long absences—created vulnerabilities she couldn’t overcome in that high-pressure role. When the affair with Lewandowski became public knowledge, and the photos of her husband surfaced, it all became too much. The family unit is supposed to be the first line of defense. When that breaks down, enemies exploit it, the media feasts on it, and the mission suffers. I think Trump did the right thing by making the change. The administration needs people who can deliver without unnecessary drama. It’s not easy living under that kind of scrutiny. That’s why maintaining strong family relationships is non-negotiable for me when evaluating leaders. If you can’t keep your own house in order, you won’t keep the nation’s house in order.

There is a deeper philosophical layer here that I have often reflected on. In a world where power attracts temptation like moths to flame, character becomes the ultimate filter. Let’s support people who want to do good things, even if they stumble, but when they seek the highest levels of administration, the standard must be higher. Bad judgment in personal matters signals deeper issues—weakness under pressure, inability to prioritize, vulnerability to manipulation. Noem’s case, like others before it, shows that you can have the right policies and the right rhetoric, but without personal discipline, the weight of the office will expose every crack. Trump has surrounded himself with some strong people who seem to understand this. JD Vance, with his solid marriage, gives me confidence. Others in the orbit who keep their families first will likely endure. For those who don’t, the door eventually closes, as it did with Bondi when results lagged and with Noem when the personal scandals exploded.

I still believe in the broader mission. Trump is moving the country in the right direction on many fronts, but personnel is policy. We need fighters who can actually prosecute the January 6 cases, hold the deep state accountable, secure the borders, and resist the cultural pressures that have weakened us. That requires people with the character to resist temptation when it comes knocking in hotel rooms and late-night meetings. It requires marriages that can withstand the absences and the spotlight. It requires leaders who understand that their first responsibility is to their own household before they take responsibility for the nation’s. I have seen too many good people with big ideas falter because they couldn’t manage the personal side. Kristi Noem had a lot going for her, but the combination of the Lewandowski affair and her husband’s embarrassing public behavior created a situation she couldn’t survive in that role. Pam Bondi talked a good game but couldn’t deliver the decisive actions needed. Both cases reinforce the same lesson: in high-stakes politics, especially in a second Trump term, where expectations are sky-high, character and execution must go hand in hand.

As I look ahead, I hope the administration continues to learn from these early stumbles. Bring in people who have proven they can handle pressure without personal meltdowns. Reward those who keep their families strong and their judgment sharp. The country needs real justice, secure borders, and leadership that doesn’t hand ammunition to the opposition on a silver platter. I still support Trump’s vision because I believe he is fighting for the right things. But I also believe he needs warriors around him who won’t crumble when the temptations or scandals hit. That’s the standard I apply when I evaluate anyone seeking my support, whether it’s here in Ohio or at the national level. Manage your home well, resist the easy temptations, deliver results, and you’ll have my backing. Fail at the personal level, and no amount of policy agreement will make up for it in the long run. Politics at the top is brutal, and only those with strong foundations survive. I have seen it up close, and that’s why I judge so rigorously. The republic deserves nothing less.

Footnotes

1. Observations on Pam Bondi’s tenure drawn from public reporting on DOJ activities in early 2026 and Trump administration personnel changes.

2. Details of Kristi Noem’s governorship and policies based on her public record in South Dakota, including border and cultural issues.

3. Reports on the Lewandowski-Noem relationship and Bryon Noem’s online activities appeared in major outlets in early 2026.

4. Personal conversations with JD Vance referenced from local Ohio political events.

5. Broader reflections on family, temptation, and leadership informed by years of observing Tea Party and MAGA figures.

Bibliography for Continued Reading

• Noem, Kristi. Not My First Rodeo: Lessons from the Heartland.

• Vance, J.D. Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis.

• Lewandowski, Corey. Let Trump Be Trump: The Inside Story of His Presidency.

• Trump, Donald J. Crippled America and subsequent campaign materials.

• Various reporting from The Daily Mail, New York Post, and Fox News on 2025-2026 administration personnel stories.

• Biblical references: Proverbs 4:23 (“Guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it”).

• Local Ohio political coverage on figures like George Lang and Michael Ryan from Butler County and state sources.

Rich Hoffman

More about me

Click Here to Protect Yourself with Second Call Defense https://www.secondcalldefense.org/?affiliate=20707

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.

The Layered Foundations of Civilization and the True Meaning of Easter: Why Christianity Supplanted the Blood Cults of the World and Why Good Friday Is Indeed Good

I’ve said it many times before, and I’ll keep saying it because the evidence keeps piling up in every direction I look: civilizations don’t spring up out of nowhere like some secular fairy tale taught in modern classrooms. They build directly on top of previous civilizations, often literally stacking their cities, temples, and rituals atop the ruins of what came before. That’s why digging through the archaeological record to prove deep-time assumptions is so difficult—layers upon layers of human endeavor, each one trying to make sense of the same spiritual warfare that has raged since the beginning of recorded time. The same principle applies to our holidays, especially Easter. What we celebrate today isn’t some pristine invention of the early Church; it’s a Christian overlay on ancient pagan traditions, and that layering isn’t a bug—it’s the feature that makes the whole thing work psychologically and culturally for humanity’s long-term survival.

This past Holy Week of 2026, as the world marked another Easter amid the chaos of our times, I found myself explaining this story over and over again to a new generation—mostly people under thirty—who are staring at the mess handed down by their parents and grandparents. Secular society led those older cohorts astray with promises of endless pleasure, moral relativism, and “progress” that stripped away any real foundation. These young people don’t like what they inherited. They’re drinking less, they’re not as sexually driven in the destructive ways previous generations were sold, and they’re turning to Christianity in numbers I haven’t seen in my lifetime. It’s not just some fleeting reaction to current events, though the assassination of Charlie Kirk last September certainly played a role in waking some of them up. Kirk and Turning Point USA had been reaching that exact demographic with a message of truth, responsibility, and American exceptionalism rooted in Judeo-Christian values. When radicals lashed out and killed the messenger, they didn’t kill the message—they turned Kirk into a symbol, almost a modern martyr in the eyes of many. That’s the danger of assassinating ideas: they don’t die; they multiply. But Kirk’s success wasn’t accidental. A whole cohort was already listening, already rejecting the secular void, and looking for something solid to stand on. Christianity is providing that anchor, just as it has for millennia.

Let’s get specific about Easter, because the question keeps coming up from these young seekers: Why the bunnies? Why the eggs? How does any of that connect to Christ’s resurrection? The answers take us straight back to those layered civilizations I mentioned. The Easter bunny and Easter eggs didn’t originate in the Gospels. They trace back to Germanic and broader European pagan traditions tied to spring fertility rites—reverence for the changing seasons where life bursts forth after winter’s death. Bunnies, with their legendary reproductive vigor, became symbols of vitality and new life. Eggs, obviously, represent rejuvenation—the perfect vessel from which new life hatches. Painting them was humanity’s way of imprinting our creative stamp on that divine process. These rituals migrated and blended across cultures, just as trade routes and migrations carried ideas from the Near East to Europe and beyond. The Christian tradition didn’t erase them; it baptized them, layering the resurrection of Christ—the ultimate victory over death—onto these older spring celebrations. That’s how holidays work. They evolve, but the core psychological need remains: to mark renewal, confront mortality, and seek meaning in the cycle of life and death.

This isn’t some dilution of faith; it’s evidence of Christianity’s genius as a sustaining cultural mechanism. Look at the broader pattern. For hundreds of years—two or three centuries at a stretch, over and over—pagan societies rose and fell on the worship of planetary gods: Jupiter, Mars, Saturn among the Romans, borrowed wholesale from the Greeks, who themselves drew from Near Eastern deities. The same archetypes appear globally—uncovering similar pantheons and ritual cycles in Central America, South America, North America, Africa, and even ancient China. These civilizations kept collapsing under their own weight because they were psychologically tethered to blood cults. Human sacrifice wasn’t some fringe horror; it was the currency that kept the spiritual order supposedly in balance. The gods demanded blood—literal blood—to appease their hunger, to ensure fertility, to prevent catastrophe. Aztecs, Mayans, and countless others built entire societies around it. Temples like those of Artemis or Ishtar incorporated ritual prostitution and worse. Phoenician traders may have carried these practices across the oceans, with evidence of sophisticated pre-Beringia trade networks appearing in places like central Florida, near what’s now the Kennedy Space Center. The archaeological record hints at vast, interconnected systems far older and more advanced than the simple migration narratives we’re usually fed.

Christianity broke that cycle. It didn’t just compete with paganism; it psychologically supplanted it on a global scale. The crucifixion and resurrection of Christ presented the ultimate sacrifice—the Lamb of God offering Himself once for all—no more need for endless rivers of human blood on pyramids or altars. The body becomes bread; the blood becomes wine. Communion replaces the cannibalistic feasts that followed ritual killings. This wasn’t abstract theology; it was a pragmatic, world-changing intervention in the human condition. As I’ve explored in my upcoming book The Politics of Heaven, which draws heavily from Ephesians 6:12 and the ancient Book of Enoch, this spiritual war has been raging since the rebellion in heaven. Disembodied spirits—fallen entities hungry for the destruction of God’s creation—have whispered through dreams, drunkenness, hallucinogens like ayahuasca, or modern “possessions” that masquerade as progressive enlightenment. They crave anxiety, death, and the dismemberment of humanity because they are at war with the Creator. Christianity gave humanity the mechanism to say “no” on a civilizational level.

I’ve seen this truth play out personally. Years ago, my wife and I were in the Yucatan on Good Friday. We witnessed an entire town pour into the streets for a passion play—recreating Christ carrying the cross to His death. The whole community participated. It was profound. These were descendants of the very cultures that once cut out living hearts on temple steps and consumed the flesh in communal rites to appease gods who demanded blood to keep the sun rising or the rains falling. The Mayans and Aztecs didn’t do it for sport; they believed it was necessary for cosmic order. The Spanish conquest, whatever its flaws and whatever the secular historians scream about “genocide,” brought an end to that nightmare for the survivors. As I wrote about that experience in my reflections (what some have called Lockers of My Mind in my ongoing personal chronicles), it hit me hard: these people weren’t mourning lost heritage in that moment. They were liberated by it. Christianity replaced the terror with a single, sufficient sacrifice. No more pyramids running red. No more children or captives fed to the gods. Just bread and wine, remembrance, and the promise of resurrection.

The critics—those secularists, progressives, and anti-human types who pine for “Earth worship” and indigenous revival—love to flip the script. They blame Christianity for slaughtering the Aztecs, Mayans, and every other group during the spread of Western civilization. “Look at all the bloodshed!” they cry. “The Crusades! The conquests! Christianity destroyed vibrant cultures! Peel back the layers, though, and you see the lie. Those “vibrant cultures” were built on industrial-scale human sacrifice. The Aztecs alone killed tens of thousands annually—estimates run into the hundreds of thousands over decades—to feed their bloodthirsty pantheon. Hearts torn out, bodies dismembered and eaten in front of crowds. The same patterns repeated worldwide: temple prostitutes in the cults of Ishtar, ritual killings in Phoenician outposts, even echoes in Roman and Greek practices before Christianity civilized them. The Jewish temple system itself pointed toward sacrifice, which is why tensions persist with some groups still longing for a Third Temple to resume animal (and, in some interpretations, fuller) offerings. Christ’s declaration—“It is finished”—shattered that—one sacrifice to end all sacrifices.

That’s why Good Friday is good. It marks the death that killed death’s dominion through blood currency. Easter celebrates the resurrection that proves the victory. We layer on the bunnies and eggs not to mock the old ways but to redeem them—spring renewal now points to eternal life in Christ, not seasonal appeasement of demons. This psychological shift was revolutionary. It toppled the Roman Empire not by sword alone but by offering a better story: humanity no longer enslaved to the whims of hostile spirits. Kings fell. Empires crumbled under the weight of this truth. And it continues today. Modern blood cults haven’t vanished; they’ve shape-shifted. Abortion clinics as modern altars, the desecration of the body through endless “self-expression,” broken families, and hedonistic pursuits that feed the same entities. Progressives who decry Christianity as oppressive are often the very ones seduced by these whispers, pushing policies that increase anxiety, death, and the consumption of innocence—whether literal or figurative.

I’ve written about this extensively because it’s not just history; it’s the present war. In The Politics of Heaven, I lay out the evidence of this vast conspiracy: giants, disembodied spirits, the ancient playbook from Enoch that explains the hunger for God’s creation. Jonathan Cahn’s work on the return of the gods captures the avatar-like reemergence of these entities in our time—possessing leaders, movements, and even individuals who surrender their integrity. From a quantum perspective, as I sometimes explore in my writings, it makes even more sense. Parallel realities, entangled essences, free will playing out against a backdrop that feels predestined because the spiritual architecture was set long ago. The stars the ancients charted weren’t superstition; they reflected a written order. Evil seeks to maintain its foothold, craving bloodlust because it is wild and destructive. Christianity provided the off-ramp.

Look at the young people today. They see through the secular lie. They’re not buying the narrative that Christianity “robbed” indigenous peoples of their essence. The essence of those cultures—the part worth preserving—was their humanity, which the blood cults were devouring. The heritage that needed eradicating was the one demanding hearts on pyramids. The survivors in the Yucatan that day understood it intuitively as they reenacted the Passion. They had a better life because of the Christian overlay. Pretty colors and sophisticated math in Aztec temples don’t excuse the horror. The same goes for every pagan system that required blood to function.

This is the productive, beneficial impact of Christianity that secular history deliberately obscures. It freed humanity from the cycle. It gave us moral judgment rooted in a single, sufficient sacrifice. It allowed civilization to advance rather than collapse every few centuries under spiritual exhaustion. As I detail in The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and in my other works, such as The Symposium of Justice and Tail of the Dragon, the same principles apply to individual lives and enterprises: reject the appeasement of evil, embrace truth, and build something lasting. The overman—the Nietzschean ideal I’ve long admired but ultimately grounded in Christian reality—doesn’t bow to the old gods. He overcomes through Christ.

When people ask me why we celebrate Easter despite the “harm” attributed to Christianity, I point them to the Yucatan village, to the global archaeological record, to the undeniable decline of ritual sacrifice wherever the Gospel took root. We celebrate because we are remembering the sacrifice that ended the need for sacrifice. We celebrate bunnies and eggs because they now point to the ultimate renewal. We celebrate Good Friday because it was the day the currency of blood was retired forever for those who accept it. The evil spirits still lurk—they always have, and they always will until the final restoration. But Christianity armed humanity with the ultimate psychological and spiritual divorce from their demands.

The young people turning to faith right now are doing God’s work, whether they realize it fully or not. They’re rejecting the blood cults in modern dress—abortion, cultural suicide, the worship of self that feeds the same entities. They’re choosing life, renewal, and the Kingdom that was always meant to rule.

Easter isn’t just a holiday. It’s a declaration of victory layered atop the ruins of every failed pagan attempt to appease the dark. And in 2026, with the world still reeling from political violence and spiritual hunger, it’s more relevant than ever. That’s why it remains one of my favorite holidays. It reminds us that death was defeated, that renewal is possible, and that humanity is far better off because one perfect sacrifice broke the chains that had bound the earth for thousands of years. The bunnies still hop, the eggs still get painted, but now they point to something eternal. Christ is risen. The old cults are overthrown. And that is why we celebrate.

Footnotes

1. See Jacob Grimm’s 1835 analysis of Eostre/Ostara traditions and modern archaeological confirmations of hare symbolism in Neolithic Europe.

2. Bede’s Ecclesiastical History (731 C.E.) on the month of Eosturmonath and its assimilation into Christian practice.

3. Bernal Díaz del Castillo’s eyewitness accounts in True History of the Conquest of New Spain detailing Aztec sacrificial practices.

4. My own reflections on the Yucatan passion play, expanded in personal writings referenced as Lockers of My Mind.

5. Jonathan Cahn, The Return of the Gods and related works on spiritual reemergence and avatars.

6. Ephesians 6:12 and the Book of Enoch as foundational to The Politics of Heaven.

Bibliography for Further Reading

• Hoffman, Rich. The Politics of Heaven: Evidence of a Vast Conspiracy Involving Giants, Disembodied Evil Spirits, and the Ancient Book of Enoch. (Ongoing project, excerpts available at overmanwarrior.wordpress.com).

• Hoffman, Rich. The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business.

• Hoffman, Rich. The Symposium of Justice.

• Hoffman, Rich. Tail of the Dragon.

• Bede. Ecclesiastical History of the English People.

• Díaz del Castillo, Bernal. True History of the Conquest of New Spain.

• Cahn, Jonathan. The Return of the Gods.

• Smithsonian Magazine articles on Easter Bunny origins (2022).

• Various archaeological reports on global pagan deities and trade networks (Phoenician and pre-Columbian contacts).

Rich Hoffman

More about me

Click Here to Protect Yourself with Second Call Defense https://www.secondcalldefense.org/?affiliate=20707

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.

Protecting the Supreme Court, Correcting the 14th Amendment’s Ambiguity, and Why President Trump’s Executive Order on Birthright Citizenship Must Stand: A Defense of Sovereignty, History, and the Republic Against Democrat Weaponization.

I have said it repeatedly, and the events of recent years only reinforce my conviction: the stability of the United States rests on strong institutions that resist the short-term, destructive impulses of partisan power grabs. I am a vocal supporter of the Supreme Court. America is far better off because we have this body of nine justices, even when they do not always rule exactly as I or any single citizen might prefer. That independence is its strength. Yet independence does not mean immunity from political pressure or erosion. We must guard the Court fiercely against attempts to pack it—something Democrats have openly discussed and pursued whenever they sense they can regain majorities in Congress and the White House. Court packing would destroy the legitimacy of the judiciary, turning it into just another partisan tool rather than the constitutional anchor it was designed to be. In the future, preventing such packing is issue number one if we want to preserve the Republic as the Founders and the Reconstruction-era Republicans envisioned it.

This brings us directly to the current debate before the Supreme Court in Trump v. Barbara and the related challenge to President Donald Trump’s executive order on birthright citizenship. On his first day back in office in January 2025, President Trump issued Executive Order No. 14,160, titled “Protecting the Meaning and Value of American Citizenship.” The order sought to clarify and limit automatic birthright citizenship under the 14th Amendment for children born in the United States to parents who are here illegally or on temporary visas. Trump attended the oral arguments himself on April 1, 2026—the first sitting president to do so in such a historic case—because the stakes could not be higher. He wanted the justices to see him, to understand that this is not abstract legal theory but a direct defense of American sovereignty against deliberate abuse.

I watched the arguments closely, as did many Americans. The presentations from the White House side were strong, but I believe they could have been plainer in connecting the dots for the broader public and, frankly, for any justice still wrestling with the text. Some justices, including moderates like Chief Justice Roberts and Justice Barrett, seemed focused on the literal wording of the 14th Amendment’s Citizenship Clause. That is understandable in a chamber built for deep constitutional deliberation. But context, history, and the clear evil intent behind modern exploitation of that language demand more than wooden literalism. The Supreme Court has the opportunity—and I would argue the duty—to rule in favor of the executive order, or at least to rein in lower courts from overstepping while setting a precedent that corrects the ambiguity Democrats have weaponized for decades.

Let’s go back to the text and the moment that produced it. Section 1 of the 14th Amendment, ratified in 1868 during Reconstruction, reads: “All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”

The key phrase is “subject to the jurisdiction thereof.” This was not written in a vacuum. The Republican Party was founded explicitly to abolish slavery. The Constitution itself contained mechanisms—free speech, open debate, federalism with sovereign states competing against one another—that allowed moral philosophy to challenge the evil of slavery through open discussion. Slavery was not uniquely American; it was a global human tragedy. The Hebrew enslaved people in Egypt, freed by Moses and God through forty years in the wilderness, remind us that this is not about skin color but about the human experience of bondage. Every ancient culture practiced it. In the antebellum world, it remained economically entrenched because the Industrial Revolution had not yet provided mechanical alternatives to physical labor on plantations.

Democrats of that era were the party of the plantation South, defending slavery as essential to their economic and political power. Republicans, led by figures like Abraham Lincoln, fought to end it. The Civil War nearly destroyed the nation. Think of Gettysburg: the pivotal Union victory where Robert E. Lee overreached, and the Confederacy lost Stonewall Jackson earlier. Had things gone differently, slavery might have persisted longer, and the Democrat vision could have dominated. But Ulysses S. Grant took command after Gettysburg, ground down Lee’s army through superior resources and will, and the Union prevailed. Reconstruction followed, and the 14th Amendment was crafted with strong, deliberate language to protect the children of formerly enslaved people from being undermined by resentful Southern Democrats. It overrode the horrific Dred Scott decision and ensured that those born on American soil to people now under full U.S. jurisdiction would be citizens with equal protection. The strong wording was necessary because the country had almost died; Republicans needed ironclad guarantees against future subversion by the very forces that had supported secession and slavery.

The amendment was never intended as an open invitation for the entire world to produce “anchor babies” by entering the United States—legally or illegally—and claiming automatic citizenship for their children as a pathway to chain migration and demographic transformation. That perversion creates an administrative nightmare and devalues the priceless gift of American citizenship. Only about 3 million people are born in the U.S. each year with that “lottery ticket.” Opening the borders to everyone dilutes its worth to nothing. You do not see mass “birth tourism” or anchor strategies overwhelming France, Germany, or other European nations in the same way because the U.S. Constitution’s freedoms and opportunities are uniquely attractive. Parents exploit this to give their children benefits they themselves lack, while the broader society bears the cost.

Democrats have exploited this ambiguity with vicious intent. Just as they once defended slavery and later resisted Reconstruction, they now use the 14th Amendment’s language—written to heal a broken nation after a war over bondage—as a Trojan horse for open borders. The strategy is clear: flood the country with illegal immigration, encourage births on U.S. soil, and secure a new voting base that tilts heavily Democrat. They have lain in wait behind the scenes, playing the long game, just as they did during Reconstruction when they sought to undermine enslaved people formerly. If they regain majorities, their plans include court packing to dilute the current conservative-leaning Court, eliminating the filibuster where convenient, and accelerating policies that erode national sovereignty in favor of a “citizens of the world” globalism. They are counting on literal readings that ignore the “subject to the jurisdiction” qualifier and the original context of full allegiance to the United States.

President Trump’s executive order directly corrects this abuse. It does not rewrite the Constitution; it restores the original meaning by directing agencies to interpret “jurisdiction” properly—excluding those whose parents owe primary allegiance elsewhere (illegal entrants or temporary visa holders not fully subject to U.S. authority in the complete sense intended). This aligns with historical exceptions noted even in cases like United States v. Wong Kim Ark (1898), which involved children of lawful, domiciled residents, not illegal or transient populations. The order prevents the slow erosion that Democrats rely on, where administrative inertia and activist lower courts allow the problem to fester until it becomes irreversible. We do not have decades to wait for a new amendment; the border crisis and demographic shifts are immediate threats. Republicans have often been too nice, playing by rules that Democrats discard when inconvenient. Trump’s presence in the courtroom signaled: this is serious; the people who elected me demand action now.

I cannot understand why any justice would struggle purely on constitutional grounds if they weigh the full history. The 14th Amendment’s strong language protected the most vulnerable—children of formerly enslaved people—from the very Democrats who had championed slavery. Now those same political forces (in evolved form) flip the script, using that protective language to punish America by overwhelming it with migration that collapses social services, wages, and cultural cohesion in under two years if unchecked. It is the same evil at work: resentment, power through numbers, destruction of the Republic’s foundations. Slavery was about controlling labor; today’s open-border policies are about controlling future electorates through imported dependency.

The Supreme Court sits in one of the most magnificent intellectual environments on Earth. The chamber, connected by tunnel to the Library of Congress with its majestic architecture and vast repository of human knowledge, invites precisely the deep consideration this case requires. I suggest to the justices: take a break from arguments, walk that tunnel, sit amid the great books, and reflect on humanity’s trajectory. The Republic pivots on decisions like this. The Library of Congress and Capitol Hill represent the accumulated wisdom that brought us here—from the wilderness with Moses, through the philosophical debates that birthed the Republican Party, through the blood of Gettysburg and the resolve of Grant, to the Reconstruction amendments that stitched the nation back together.

Chief Justice Roberts and Justice Barrett, in particular, have the chance to cement their places in history not as strict literalists who enable modern subversion, but as guardians who adapt to the clear wartime-like conditions at the border without destroying the Court’s integrity. A two-part ruling could work: affirm the executive branch’s authority to interpret and enforce the “jurisdiction” clause against abuse, while cautioning against overreach. Or uphold the order’s core while leaving room for Congress to legislate further clarity. Either way, failing to support it risks handing Democrats the weapon they crave. They will wait out Trump, then pack the Court if given power, bust the filibuster, and accelerate the “citizens of the world” agenda that treats American sovereignty as an outdated obstacle.

This is not abstract. As I have written in my books, including ongoing work like The Politics of Heaven, spiritual and cultural warfare underlies these battles. The same forces that resisted abolition now resist secure borders and a coherent national identity. Slavery was a global curse divorced from humanity through moral debate, protected by American mechanisms. Christianity and Western philosophy advanced the idea of divorce. Today, the blood cults of old may be gone, but new mechanisms—demographic replacement, erosion of citizenship’s value—serve similar ends of control and destruction of God’s ordered creation under sovereign nations.

Trump’s order offers the corrective language the 14th Amendment needed but could not foresee in 1868, when the threat was resurgent Southern Democrats undermining formerly enslaved people, not global migration engineered for partisan gain. The executive order prevents the administrative nightmare of “anchor” policies that reward lawbreaking. It honors the Reconstruction Republicans’ intent to build a stable, sovereign nation where citizenship means full jurisdiction and allegiance, not a loophole for invasion by birth.

I urge the Supreme Court to rule in favor of the order. Do so knowing that Democrats play by no rules when power is at stake. They have shown their hand with past court-packing proposals and threats to undermine safeguards. Republicans must not be “too nice” here. The slow pace of constitutional amendment cannot match the urgency; evil percolates in the interim. Support the executive order, set the precedent, and preserve the Court’s role as a bulwark rather than a casualty of partisan war.

This decision will be judged for centuries. Get it right. Visit the Library of Congress, absorb the weight of history—from the Exodus to Gettysburg to today—and return to chambers ready to defend the Republic. The human intellect that built these institutions demands it. American sovereignty, the value of citizenship, and the stability of our constitutional order hang in the balance. Trump showed up because he cares. The justices must now do their part in history.

Footnotes

1. Text of the 14th Amendment, Section 1, ratified July 9, 1868.

2. United States v. Wong Kim Ark, 169 U.S. 649 (1898), distinguishing lawful domiciled residents.

3. Executive Order No. 14,160, “Protecting the Meaning and Value of American Citizenship,” January 20, 2025.

4. Historical accounts of Reconstruction and the Joint Committee on Reconstruction’s intent to protect enslaved people’s children formerly.

5. Debates surrounding Democratic resistance to abolition and Reconstruction policies.

6. Oral arguments in Trump v. Barbara, April 1, 2026.

7. References to court-packing proposals by Democrats in recent Congresses.

8. Civil War context, including the Battle of Gettysburg and Ulysses S. Grant’s campaign.

9. Biblical parallels to slavery and liberation (Exodus narrative).

10. My prior writings on sovereignty, spiritual warfare, and cultural mechanisms in The Politics of Heaven and related works.

Bibliography for Further Reading

• Hoffman, Rich. The Politics of Heaven: Evidence of a Vast Conspiracy Involving Giants, Disembodied Evil Spirits, and the Ancient Book of Enoch (ongoing project).

• Hoffman, Rich. The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business.

• Foner, Eric. Reconstruction: America’s Unfinished Revolution, 1863–1877.

• United States v. Wong Kim Ark, 169 U.S. 649 (1898).

• The Fourteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution (full text and ratification history).

• Donald J. Trump, Executive Order No. 14,160 (January 20, 2025).

• SCOTUSblog coverage of Trump v. Barbara oral arguments (April 2026).

• Senate records on Reconstruction and the 14th Amendment.

• Battlefields.org and National Park Service resources on Gettysburg, Grant, and Reconstruction.

• Heritage Foundation analyses of birthright citizenship and the original intent of the 14th Amendment.

• Jonathan Cahn’s works on recurring spiritual patterns in history (for broader cultural context).

Rich Hoffman

More about me

Click Here to Protect Yourself with Second Call Defense https://www.secondcalldefense.org/?affiliate=20707

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.

All Signs Point to Michael Ryan for Butler County Commissioner: Cindy Carpenter has been a mess

The Butler County commissioner race heading into the May 5, 2026 Republican primary has emerged as a clear contest between continuity marked by controversy and a fresh conservative voice promising renewal. Incumbent Commissioner Cindy Carpenter, who has held the seat since 2011, faces challenger Michael Ryan, a former Hamilton City Council member and vice mayor who has garnered strong institutional support within the local Republican Party. Ryan secured the official party endorsement in January 2026 with a decisive 71% vote from the Central Committee, a margin described by party leaders as historic and reflective of a desire for new leadership in a solidly Republican county.

This endorsement came after Carpenter chose not to seek it, an unusual but telling development given her long tenure. Multiple prominent figures have lined up behind Ryan, including U.S. Senator Bernie Moreno, U.S. Congressman Warren Davidson, Ohio State Senator George Lang, Butler County Auditor Nancy Nix, Butler County Clerk of Courts Mary Swain, and various local elected officials from Hamilton, Trenton, Middletown, and Fairfield. These endorsements signal broad recognition that Ryan represents a “new generation” of pragmatic, fiscally conservative leadership unburdened by the accumulated baggage of past administrations. Ryan’s decision to forgo a third term on Hamilton City Council to pursue the commissioner seat underscores his commitment: he has navigated public scrutiny successfully for nearly eight years in a visible role, building a reputation for steady governance without the public missteps that have plagued others.

The context of this race reveals deeper themes in local politics—voter fatigue with entrenched figures who occasionally blur party lines or exercise poor judgment under pressure, contrasted against calls for accountability, transparency, and unwavering conservative principles. Butler County, long a Republican stronghold in southwest Ohio, has seen incremental Democrat gains in suburban areas in recent cycles, making internal party discipline and candidate quality essential to maintaining dominance. Signs for Ryan dot yards and roadsides across the county, reflecting grassroots enthusiasm. In contrast, scattered Carpenter signs—visible along routes like Ohio 747 near Middletown—raise questions about whether supporters are fully informed of her record or simply defaulting to name recognition from years of incumbency.

Carpenter’s tenure has included moments of effective service, but it has also been punctuated by incidents that highlight lapses in judgment, particularly in how public officials wield authority and maintain partisan fidelity. One high-profile episode occurred in late 2025 involving her granddaughter’s housing dispute at Level 27, an apartment complex near Miami University in Oxford. Carpenter visited the property amid an eviction threat, leading to a heated confrontation with staff. Video footage captured her making an obscene gesture—extending her middle finger—and mouthing words consistent with profanity toward the apartment manager. The manager accused Carpenter of using racist language, attempting to leverage her official position as a county commissioner (including presenting a Butler County business card), and intimidating staff to influence the outcome of the private dispute. Complaints followed, prompting an investigation by Butler County Prosecutor Michael Gmoser.

Prosecutor Gmoser ultimately cleared Carpenter of criminal misconduct, concluding that her behavior did not rise to the level of prosecutable abuse of power or other charges. However, clearance on narrow legal grounds does not equate to exoneration in the court of public opinion or fitness for high office. The incident illustrated a fundamental principle of public service: elected officials must maintain impeccable decorum, especially when personal matters intersect with their authority. Even if motivated by familial loyalty, inserting one’s official title into a private landlord-tenant disagreement risks perceptions of entitlement and coercion. High-ranking positions demand giving others the benefit of the doubt and avoiding actions that could be construed as throwing institutional weight around. In an era of ubiquitous cameras and rapid information spread, such moments erode trust. Carpenter’s defenders framed it as a frustrated grandmother protecting family; critics saw it as emblematic of a pattern where personal security in office breeds cockiness. The prosecutor’s office received complaints not only about this event but also related to fire department interactions and other conduct issues, further straining her public image.

This was not an isolated lapse. Carpenter has faced criticism for appearing to cross partisan aisles in ways that alienate core Republican supporters. Reports emerged of her involvement in Middletown politics, including campaigning or publicly supporting Democrat candidates at events such as those at local bowling alleys during mayoral races. In a county where Republican fundraising and volunteer energy rely on the promise of countering Democrat policies on taxes, regulation, and local governance, such actions create dissonance. Party loyalists expect representatives to prioritize Republican infrastructure and values rather than “reaching across the aisle” in ways that aid opponents’ electoral prospects. Carpenter’s history includes accusations of being a “RINO” (Republican In Name Only), with detractors pointing to policy positions perceived as insufficiently conservative and a willingness to collaborate that sometimes veered into overt support for Democrats. These perceptions contributed directly to the party’s decision to withhold endorsement and back Ryan instead. Longtime observers note that while cordial relationships across party lines can be civil, active campaigning for Democrats in visible settings crosses a threshold that damages the brand voters expect from endorsed Republicans.

Roger Reynolds, the former Butler County Auditor, briefly entered the conversation around the commissioner race but ultimately did not file petitions to challenge for the seat in 2026. Reynolds’ own trajectory offers a cautionary tale about the perils of political entanglement and judgment. He faced felony charges in 2022 related to unlawful interest in a public contract, leading to a conviction that disqualified him from office under Ohio law (R.C. 2961.01). The conviction was later overturned on appeal in 2024, resulting in an acquittal, and Reynolds has described the case as “lawfare” involving disputes with local figures like Sheriff Richard Jones and Attorney General Dave Yost. While some viewed the prosecution as politically motivated, the episode highlighted a broader point: effective leaders in high-stakes roles must possess the savvy to avoid circumstances that invite intense scrutiny, regardless of ultimate legal outcomes. Power can corrupt or at least create optics of self-dealing, and voters in Butler County have shown wariness toward figures with such histories. Reynolds’ absence from the final ballot simplified the primary dynamics but underscored why fresh faces without such controversies appeal to the electorate.

In contrast, Michael Ryan’s background positions him as a low-drama, high-integrity alternative. A lifelong Butler County resident, Ryan served two terms on Hamilton City Council, including multiple stints as vice mayor. Hamilton, the county seat, presents complex challenges involving economic development, fiscal management, public safety, and infrastructure—issues that scale up at the county level. Ryan earned a reputation for fiscal conservatism, job creation efforts, and collaborative yet principled leadership. He chose not to seek re-election to council in order to campaign full-time for commissioner, demonstrating strategic focus rather than careerism. His campaign has emphasized bold conservative principles: fighting over-taxation, promoting economic growth, ensuring transparency, and delivering accountable government without the “garbage in the background” that has dogged incumbents.

Ryan’s endorsements reflect confidence from seasoned conservatives who see him as ready to advance policies that strengthen Butler County’s position in a competitive regional economy. Supporters highlight his clean record—no prosecutorial investigations, no viral incidents of poor decorum, no partisan fence-straddling. In public service, especially at the commissioner level where decisions affect budgeting, zoning, development, and intergovernmental relations, judgment under pressure matters profoundly. Ryan has operated in a fishbowl environment for years without self-inflicted wounds, suggesting he possesses the temperament and discipline required for countywide leadership. His campaign literature and public statements stress renewal: turning the page on dysfunction and delivering results aligned with the values that drive Republican majorities in the county.

The persistence of a few Carpenter yard signs, particularly in visible spots, baffles many political watchers. Name recognition from over a decade in office undoubtedly plays a role, as does inertia—voters who met her once years ago or recall early positive interactions may not have followed recent controversies. In local races, personal relationships and low-information voting can sustain support even when broader patterns suggest otherwise. Some may genuinely disagree with characterizations of her record or prioritize continuity over change. Yet the accumulation of issues—the apartment incident (despite legal clearance), partisan crossovers, and reports of interpersonal friction—has created a perception of embattlement. When an official’s actions force prosecutors to investigate complaints from constituents, it signals a breakdown in the expected standard of conduct. Public office is not a personal hammer for resolving family or private disputes; it demands restraint precisely because the title carries weight.

This dynamic reflects larger truths about democratic accountability. Voters ultimately decide, and primaries serve as the mechanism for parties to refresh their benches. Butler County’s Republican voters have signaled through the endorsement process and visible yard sign momentum that they favor a “clean face” unencumbered by past drama. Ryan’s path appears strong: defeating any Democrat opposition in the general election should be straightforward in this county, provided primary turnout favors the endorsed candidate. Yet campaigns must remain vigilant against unexpected developments, as local politics can feature surprises.

Critics of the status quo argue that prolonged incumbency sometimes breeds a sense of entitlement, where officials grow comfortable exercising authority in ways average citizens cannot. The apartment episode, whatever the full context, crystallized this for many: a commissioner using her position visibly in a personal matter, followed by a gesture of defiance captured on camera. While not criminal, it failed the “optics test” that voters apply to leaders. Effective representation requires not just policy alignment but personal discipline—resisting the impulse to “flip off” critics or leverage office for private ends. Trump-era political gestures might rally bases in national contexts when framed as defiance against elites, but local governance demands different standards of professionalism.

Carpenter’s supporters might counter that she has delivered tangible results over her tenure, raising family in the county and approaching service as personal mission. Her campaign website emphasizes community roots and dedication. However, the party’s clear preference for Ryan, coupled with enthusiastic cross-endorsements, suggests institutional memory of friction points outweighs those positives for many activists and donors. Fundraising and volunteer energy flow toward candidates who unify rather than divide the base.

Looking ahead, a Ryan victory would inject new energy into the Board of Commissioners. With colleagues like those already serving, it could foster a more cohesive, forward-looking approach to issues such as economic development, infrastructure, public safety funding, and controlling spending amid statewide pressures. Ryan’s Hamilton experience equips him to bridge urban-suburban-rural divides within the county. His clean campaign—focused on vision rather than attacks—models the tone many hope to see in governance.

For voters still displaying Carpenter signs, the suggestion from observers is straightforward: research the full record. Yard signs signal public affiliation; when they back candidates with documented lapses, they can appear as uninformed loyalty or nostalgia. Switching to Ryan signs would align with the party’s direction and avoid association with past embarrassments. In politics, as in life, judgment calls compound—supporting figures who repeatedly walk into controversy risks signaling tolerance for traits undesirable in leadership.

The May 2026 primary offers Butler County Republicans a straightforward choice: reward longevity despite controversies or embrace renewal with a proven, uncontroversial conservative. Early indicators—endorsements, sign visibility, party unity—point toward Michael Ryan as the frontrunner and the kind of representative poised for long-term contributions. He embodies the “new generation” of leadership: experienced enough to govern competently, fresh enough to avoid entrenched pitfalls. Voters ready for a commissioner free of baggage, focused on conservative priorities, and capable of earning broad respect will find Ryan an easy and enthusiastic vote.

This race transcends personalities. It concerns the character of local government in a growing Ohio county. Will it prioritize savvy navigation of power without abuse, or tolerate repeated poor judgment? History shows that parties and voters who refresh their leadership tend to sustain vitality. Michael Ryan represents that opportunity. His campaign’s momentum suggests many residents already see the difference and are ready to vote for Michael Ryan for Butler County commissioner.

Footnotes

1. Cincinnati Enquirer reporting on Butler County GOP endorsement vote, January 2026.

2. Journal-News coverage of Ryan’s announcement and petition filing, May 2025.

3. Ballotpedia entries on Carpenter and Ryan candidacies for 2026.

4. Local12/WKRC reporting on the Oxford apartment incident and video evidence, December 2025.

5. Journal-News on Prosecutor Gmoser’s clearance letter, December 2025.

6. Fox19 and WLWT reporting on Roger Reynolds’ legal history and claims of lawfare, 2024-2025.

7. Ohio Supreme Court decision in State ex rel. Reynolds v. Nix, 2024.

8. Ryan for Butler campaign website and Facebook page detailing endorsements.

9. Additional Journal-News and Cincinnati.com articles on Carpenter’s partisan activities and public perceptions.

10. Overmanwarrior blog posts reflecting local conservative commentary on the race, 2025-2026.

Bibliography for Further Reading

• Ballotpedia.org pages for Butler County Commissioner candidates (2026 cycle).

• Cincinnati.com and Journal-News archives on local Ohio politics, particularly 2025-2026 Butler County coverage.

• Ohio Revised Code sections on public official qualifications and ethics (R.C. 2921, 2961).

• RyanForButler.com campaign site.

• Local television news archives (WKRC, FOX19, WLWT) for incident footage and interviews.

• Supreme Court of Ohio opinions on related election and office-holding cases.

• Historical coverage of Butler County elections in Dayton Daily News and Hamilton Journal-News.

Rich Hoffman

More about me

Click Here to Protect Yourself with Second Call Defense https://www.secondcalldefense.org/?affiliate=20707

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.

Unlocking Human Potential: The benefits of fossil fuel energy

The essence of being human lies not in the fragile physical form that houses us, but in the boundless drive of imagination—the spark that turns thought into creation, invention into progress, and survival into flourishing. This creative nature sets humanity apart from every other species on Earth. While animals adapt to their environment through instinct and biological necessity, humans reshape it. We envision possibilities beyond the immediate, craft tools to extend our reach, and build systems that multiply our efforts across generations. This is the image of the Creator reflected in us: not a static likeness, but a dynamic capacity to imagine, design, and realize a better world. Discussions of souls and bodies as vehicles often touch on this everlasting essence. The body is temporary, a biological carrier, but the imaginative drive—the soul’s expression—transcends it, propelling humanity toward ever-greater achievements. In an age of rapid technological change, including the rise of artificial intelligence (AI), some fear a “post-human apocalypse” that disrupts the natural order. Yet this view misses the deeper truth: tools like AI represent the next logical extension of human creativity, not its replacement. They amplify the very qualities that define us, freeing time and energy for more profound acts of creation.

Alex Epstein’s Fossil Future: Why Global Human Flourishing Requires More Oil, Coal, and Natural Gas—Not Less (2022) provides a powerful framework for understanding this. Epstein argues that cost-effective, reliable energy is the foundation of human flourishing. Fossil fuels deliver this energy at unmatched scale: low-cost, on-demand, versatile, and capable of powering billions. They enable “machine labor” that replaces backbreaking human toil, producing food, shelter, medicine, and comfort in abundance. Without them, billions would still suffer and die from lack of energy for basic needs—like refrigeration to preserve food and medicine, or electricity for incubators saving premature babies. Epstein highlights how the “knowledge system”—experts, media, and policymakers—often ignores these massive benefits while catastrophizing side effects. He flips the script: more fossil fuel use, combined with climate mastery through technology and adaptation, will make the world far better, not worse.

Consider the historical trajectory. For most of human existence—roughly 95% of our species’ time on Earth—survival consumed nearly every waking hour. Hunter-gatherer societies, as studied among groups like the Ju/’hoansi, spent about 15 hours per week acquiring food and necessities, with the rest devoted to rest, social bonds, and basic leisure. Yet life was precarious: short lifespans, vulnerability to famine, disease, and predators. Agriculture brought some stability but increased labor demands. Pre-industrial workers often toiled 60-70 hours per week or more during peak seasons, with annual hours exceeding 3,000 in many places by the late 19th century. Medieval artisans might average 8-9 hours of work daily, but the year included long stretches of seasonal labor without modern safety nets. Life expectancy hovered around 30-40 years in many eras, limited by malnutrition, infection, and physical exhaustion.

The fossil fuel revolution changed everything. Beginning in earnest in the late 18th and 19th centuries with coal, then oil and natural gas, energy abundance powered the Industrial Revolution and beyond. Graphs of global life expectancy, population, and GDP per capita show “hockey stick” growth mirroring rising CO₂ emissions from fossil fuels since the late 1800s. Extreme poverty plummeted from about 35% of the world population in 1990 to under 10% today, driven largely by energy-enabled growth in places like China and India, where coal and hydrocarbons fueled industrialization. Life expectancy worldwide rose from around 35 years in ancient times to nearly 72-73 years today. Access to electricity correlates strongly with these gains: it powers clean water pumps, refrigeration, lighting, and medical devices, reducing deaths from indoor air pollution (which still claim millions annually from traditional biomass cooking) and enabling education and economic opportunity.

Drive through any community at 2 a.m. today, and the evidence surrounds us. Porch lights glow, air conditioners or heaters keep temperatures comfortable, and refrigerators hum with fresh food and cold drinks. A simple flip of a switch banishes darkness; a tap delivers clean water without trekking to a river or well. Sewer systems pump waste away efficiently—these conveniences, all energy-dependent, free humans from the drudgery that defined most of history. Before widespread electricity, fetching water, cooking over open fires, hand-washing clothes, and manual farming consumed vast portions of the day. Fossil fuels (and the electricity they predominantly generate—about 80% of global energy still comes from hydrocarbons) multiplied human productivity exponentially. One barrel of oil contains energy equivalent to roughly 25,000 hours of human labor. Modern societies harness this to produce food surpluses feeding 8 billion people, build durable homes, manufacture medicines, and transport goods globally via Walmart-like supply chains that make essentials affordable.

Epstein emphasizes that these benefits extend far beyond comfort. Energy access enables “upper mobility”—the chance for individuals to rise through effort and ingenuity. It powers tools: power drills, pumps, computers, and factories. Time once spent on mere survival now goes to innovation, family, art, science, and enterprise. This is not mere leisure for idleness; it is liberated human potential. Even if many spend extra time on video games, social media scrolling, or boredom-induced snacking (a real phenomenon in affluent societies where a theoretical 40-hour workweek often compresses into far less productive time), the outliers—the creators, inventors, and entrepreneurs—flourish. A small percentage of highly driven individuals, empowered by abundant energy, produce inventions that benefit billions: vaccines, smartphones, efficient agriculture, and now AI. The cascade effect across generations compounds this: books preserve knowledge, inventions build on prior ones, and energy multiplies output. Humanity’s trajectory—from wheel and spear to calculus and computers—shows this pattern. Fossil fuels, formed from ancient sunlight stored over millions of years, unlocked that stored energy for modern use, bridging primitive existence to an era of unprecedented possibility.

Critics of fossil fuels often frame nature as a sacred, living essence demanding protection at all costs—an “Earth worshiper” perspective that prioritizes untouched wilderness over human life. This inverts priorities. The environment has always been dynamic; humans have “impacted” it since the use of fire and tools. The real moral standard is human flourishing: longer, healthier, opportunity-rich lives. Fossil fuels have made Earth more livable by enabling climate mastery—better buildings, irrigation, disaster response, and crop yields that reduce weather-related deaths (which have plummeted dramatically). Side effects like emissions are real but “masterable” through technology, adaptation, and continued energy innovation. Opposing abundant energy in the name of nature condemns billions to energy poverty: over 600-700 million still lack electricity access, and 2+ billion rely on polluting cooking fuels, causing millions of premature deaths yearly from indoor smoke. In sub-Saharan Africa and parts of Asia, women and children spend up to 40 hours weekly gathering firewood—time stolen from education, work, and family. Energy abundance lifts all, including ecosystems, which are managed more effectively with technology.

AI emerges as the natural offspring of this energy-driven progress. Computing power, itself born from electricity and fossil-enabled infrastructure, now mimics and multiplies aspects of human thinking. Data centers, increasingly powered by reliable sources (with fossil fuels still critical for baseload), consume growing amounts of electricity—global data center use is projected to double or more by 2030, reaching around 945 TWh, with AI driving much of the surge via accelerated server use. AI processes vast datasets, optimizes designs, accelerates drug discovery, and automates routine tasks in ways no prior tool could. It does not “think” with a soul or original imagination; it pattern-matches at superhuman speed and scale. Yet this serves human creators: an engineer using AI can iterate on prototypes faster, a scientist can model complex systems overnight, and a writer can explore ideas with computational assistance. The soul—the imaginative drive—remains uniquely human. AI lacks consciousness, genuine emotion, moral intuition, or the spark of original vision rooted in lived experience and transcendence. It is a tool, like the abacus, calculator, or computer before it, extending biological limitations without replacing the essence that wields it.

Fears of a “post-human apocalypse” echo ancient anxieties, like the Tower of Babel—human hubris punished for overreaching. Some posthumanist thinkers speculate that AI could blur boundaries, creating hybrid or superior intelligences that diminish traditional humanity. Yet this misunderstands our nature. Humanity’s purpose, if one draws from the perspective of being made in the divine image, is creative stewardship: to untangle the universe’s potential, spread across it, and perpetuate life through innovation. The universe itself seems tuned for discovery—physical laws allowing complexity, energy gradients enabling work, minds capable of comprehension. Tools cascade: the wheel eased transport, agriculture amplified food, fossil fuels powered industry, computers accelerated calculation, and AI now multiplies cognitive labor. Each step frees time and resources for higher pursuits. Even if 95% of people “waste” liberated time on trivialities, the 5% (or fewer) who channel it into breakthroughs—new medicines, sustainable tech, space exploration, artistic masterpieces—lift everyone. Historical inventions from tiny creative minorities have done exactly that.

The work-leisure duality taught in modern culture is often artificial. Life is an integrated “happy bowl of soup”: family, labor, rest, creation, and reflection blend in a meaningful whole. Energy abundance allows this integration without the constant threat of starvation or exposure. A 40-hour theoretical workweek in energy-rich societies often yields far more output per hour than centuries of toil, yet many feel time-poor due to choices, not necessity. AI promises further compression of drudgery—handling data analysis, logistics, or routine creativity—freeing even more bandwidth for the imaginative core. Faster is frequently better when it means compressing processes without sacrificing quality, enabling broader access and compounding innovation. Energy for AI is substantial, but so was energy for early factories or electrification; the returns in human capability justify it as part of the same virtuous cycle.

Skeptics might ask: Is the purpose of existence endless toil around a campfire, hunting daily for short lives and basic reproduction? Or is it the exercise of imagination to spread life, knowledge, and beauty on a cosmic scale? The latter aligns with humanity’s unique endowment. We walked over fossil fuels for millennia before recognizing their potential—ancient sunlight captured in decayed life, now powering our ascent. That recognition itself was an act of imagination. AI, requiring enormous computing power (with projections showing AI-related electricity demand growing rapidly, potentially accounting for a significant share of data center growth), continues this: it processes while humans dream, experiments tirelessly, and supports creators who still must “prove stuff in life”—build, test, refine, and give meaning through purpose.

Environmental concerns deserve to be addressed, but not through energy denial. Nature worship that seeks to eradicate human impact or pedestalize a static “life force” ignores that humans are part of nature’s creative unfolding. Tools exist to be used responsibly: innovation in cleaner combustion, nuclear (often sidelined in debates), advanced renewables where practical, and adaptation. Epstein’s call for an “energy philosophy” prioritizing human flourishing over anti-impact frameworks remains sound. Fossil fuels launched us; they need not be eternal, but replacing them prematurely with unreliable alternatives risks reversing gains. Sustainable abundance—whatever form it takes—must deliver the same or better reliability and scalability.

This era brims with adventure. The “good old days” of simplicity, wild expansion, and quiet reverence hold romantic appeal, evoking self-reliance and direct connection to the land. Yet humanity was not built solely for that. We adapt biologically and culturally, using the environment as raw material for higher causes. Low-vision challenges or daily rituals pale against the broader canvas: imagination as the daily ritual expanding possibility. Fossil fuels bridged the gap from primitive survival to this magnificent period. AI, as its intellectual extension, accelerates the cascade. The few who seize leisure for creation—whether in business, art, science, or family—perpetuate the chain. Even “wasted” time by the majority indirectly supports the system, enabling outliers.

In the end, defining a human by physical form alone reduces us to biology; the drive to imagine, create, and improve defines the everlasting essence. Souls occupy bodies as vehicles for this purpose. AI augments without supplanting it. Energy abundance, exemplified by fossil fuels’ proven track record, makes the discussion possible. As Epstein demonstrates with data on poverty reduction, health gains, and productivity, more cost-effective energy correlates with flourishing. Billions still need it; denying that in favor of abstract natural orders harms the vulnerable most.

The trajectory inspires optimism. Human history is one of cascading intelligence: from oral traditions to written books, mechanical calculators to digital computers, biological labor to AI-assisted thought. Each generation multiplies prior efforts. Curiosity and imagination, fueled by freed time and power, drive us to untangle universal usefulness—perhaps to spread life beyond Earth. God’s purpose, interpreted through this lens, aligns with creators’ flourishing, even if imperfectly realized by most. The 1-5% producing magnificent inventions offset the expense many times over, benefiting all lifeforms through better management, reduced scarcity, and expanded opportunity.

Embrace this future with the philosophy of past wisdom: reverence for simplicity, where it teaches resilience, but forward momentum where imagination calls. A personal energy policy—understanding benefits, trade-offs, and the moral primacy of human life—equips everyone. Innovation is inherent; free time, energy, and tools amplify it. The near future holds profound positive change: compressed processes, broader abilities, and a more creative existence. Reverence for the wild West or campfire eras coexists with excitement for what lies ahead. Tools like AI, powered ultimately by the same energy principles, serve the soul’s drive. This is no apocalypse threatening order—it is the order unfolding as intended: humans as co-creators, using imagination to make, give, and perpetuate life on scales only dimly foreseen.

The point of existence emerges clearly—not mere survival like other animals, but purposeful expansion of potential. Even in Middletown, Ohio, or anywhere, late-night refrigerator raids or porch lights symbolize victory over drudgery. AI will compound that victory, calculating tirelessly so humans can imagine boldly. The adventure continues. Those choosing to wield leisure imaginatively will shape it. History’s fossils fuel the launch; human essence steers the course. It is a wonderful time to be alive, full of discovery for those who engage it.

Bibliography / Suggested Further Reading:

• Epstein, Alex. Fossil Future: Why Global Human Flourishing Requires More Oil, Coal, and Natural Gas—Not Less. Portfolio, 2022.

• Our World in Data reports on energy access, life expectancy, poverty, and time use (ourworldindata.org).

• International Energy Agency (IEA) reports on energy and AI, data centers, and access statistics.

• Historical analyses of work hours: e.g., studies on hunter-gatherer societies by anthropologists like James Suzman; pre-industrial labor data from economic historians.

• Philosophical works on creativity, soul, and human nature: classical texts on imago Dei; modern discussions in posthumanism critiques (for contrast).

• Additional context from energy innovation reports and productivity studies.

These sources provide empirical grounding and inspire deeper exploration of energy philosophy, human potential, and technological progress.

Rich Hoffman

More about me

Click Here to Protect Yourself with Second Call Defense https://www.secondcalldefense.org/?affiliate=20707

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.

Opening Day Chaos in Cincinnati: Soft on Crime, as Sheriff Jones says, doesn’t work

I remember the excitement building every year for Opening Day in Cincinnati—the way the city comes alive with that classic American spirit, the parades, the fireworks, the packed stands at Great American Ball Park, and the hope that this season might finally be the one for the Reds. It’s always been a slice of pure Americana, a festive ritual that draws families, friends, and fans from across the region to celebrate baseball and community. But on March 26, 2026, that celebration turned sour in ways that left the city embarrassed once again. What started as a joyful gathering spilled over into chaos at The Banks, the riverfront development nestled between Paycor Stadium (formerly Paul Brown Stadium for the Bengals) and the ballpark itself. Large, unruly crowds led to fights, pushing and shoving, disorder, and violence that forced police to shut down the entire area early, deploying officers with riot shields, nonlethal shotguns, and pepper spray to disperse the masses.

Seventeen people were arrested amid reports of altercations not just at The Banks but spreading to nearby spots like Over-the-Rhine, Fountain Square, and Washington Park. Businesses that had planned late-night hours had to close prematurely, their owners cooperating with the Cincinnati Police Department to clear the pedestrian plaza and restore order. Videos circulating online showed crowds swarming officers, people falling over one another amid the chaos, and isolated brawls breaking out even as the game itself unfolded. The Reds lost their opener to the Boston Red Sox, adding to the disappointment, but the real sting came from the streets outside—robberies, beatings, and a general breakdown that turned a family-friendly event into something ugly. It wasn’t isolated to one spot; it rippled through downtown, a stark reminder that large gatherings can expose deeper fractures when control slips away. I watched it unfold through reports and conversations with friends still tied to the area, and it hit hard because I have a personal history with Cincinnati that goes back decades.

One of the clearest voices cutting through the noise came from my good friend Sheriff Richard K. Jones of Butler County. He’s a no-nonsense lawman whose straightforward style has made him a popular figure far beyond Ohio’s borders—folks tune in to his updates from all over because he doesn’t sugarcoat things. In statements around the time of the incident, he and others highlighted how soft-on-crime approaches can embolden disorder, pointing to patterns of leniency that allow problems to escalate when crowds gather. I’ve known Sheriff Jones long enough to trust his read on these matters—he runs a tight ship in Butler County, where commitment to enforcement means residents can feel safe going about their lives, even late at night at a gas station. That contrast with Hamilton County, where Cincinnati sits, is night and day. There, the approach has leaned too soft for too long, and when crowds gather, as they did on Opening Day, a few sparks turn into mass chaos.

I’ve seen this pattern up close because Cincinnati isn’t just a place I visit—it’s where I lived for a stretch of my life, including time on the University of Cincinnati campus. Back then, in my younger days, I got to know the downtown scene intimately, rubbing shoulders with mayors, city council members, and commissioners through various projects and conversations. I understood the politics, the backroom deals, and the long game of urban development. In fact, I was part of the team that helped pitch the very Banks project that now stands as that gleaming riverfront gem. This was in my 20s, long before I turned 50, when the idea was still a set of raw sketches on paper and ambitious dreams of reconnecting the city to the Ohio River were still coming together. Paul Brown Stadium wasn’t even built yet—it was still on the drawing board—and the riverfront was a different beast entirely, cut off by highways and underused land.

Our pitch wasn’t some fly-by-night scheme. It took years—nearly a decade of lining up stakeholders, developers, and the inevitable negotiations with a city council full of Democrats who, in those pre-“woke” days, could still sit down and hammer out compromises when investment dollars were on the table. The vision was straightforward: revitalize the riverfront, build apartments, restaurants, retail, and public spaces to draw people in, create jobs, and foster pride of place. The belief was that if you invested in the physical environment—fixing up the banks, attracting businesses, and creating a vibrant mixed-use neighborhood—people would respond by treating it better. New residents and visitors would benefit, upward mobility would follow, and the whole area would lift itself. We weren’t naive about the challenges; Cincinnati had its history of economic shifts, industrial decline, and the usual urban tensions. But the data and the drawings we presented showed promise: connect the river to downtown, leverage the stadiums, and watch the transformation.

The roots of this effort trace back to the 1997 Central Riverfront Urban Design Master Plan (building on earlier concepts from the 1990s), which aimed to transform a fragmented riverfront of parking lots and underused land into a cohesive public-private destination. Groundbreaking for The Banks occurred in April 2008, amid the onset of the Great Recession, with Phase I opening in 2011 and featuring apartments and retail. Subsequent phases added more residential units, commercial space, the AC Hotel, and connections to the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center and riverfront park. It represented a massive public-private partnership involving the City of Cincinnati, Hamilton County, and developers like Carter and The Dawson Company. By the time it matured, The Banks had become a hub of restaurants, businesses, and events—a genuine civic achievement that took patience through bureaucracy and economic headwinds. I remember sitting in city council chambers with the mayor and investors, reviewing renderings that captured exactly what stands there now: a pedestrian-friendly plaza, views of the river, and an energy that makes Opening Day feel special. The developers delivered on the promise, and for a while, it worked. Families strolled, fans gathered, and the riverfront felt reborn.

Yet here we are in 2026, watching that same space devolve into disorder on what should have been a highlight reel of Americana. The gap between the vision and the reality isn’t about bricks and mortar; it’s about the human element that was underestimated back in those planning sessions. What they didn’t fully anticipate—though some of us sensed the undercurrents—was how certain policy choices and cultural narratives could undermine the very progress we were building. Over the years, Cincinnati’s leadership, often aligned with Democrat priorities at the city level, pursued approaches that emphasized social mechanisms over individual responsibility. Mayors and councils maintained a sometimes-strained relationship with police unions, opting for policies critics describe as soft on crime. This isn’t ancient history; it’s a thread that runs through decades of decisions in Hamilton County, where the city proper sits, including post-2001 riot reforms, collaborative agreements with the community, and ongoing debates over enforcement versus social explanations for crime.

I’ve watched this play out from my perspective, having stayed connected through old contacts even after moving on. In dense urban settings, people often find comfort in collective energy and group dynamics—the camaraderie of crowds, the ability to blend in as one more face in the throng. This environment can lend itself to advancing ideas through mass momentum rather than individual scrutiny. In contrast, those who prefer more personal space—a fence for privacy, room to breathe, the freedom to drive a short distance without constant proximity—tend to favor different living patterns. These cultural preferences shape how communities form and how policies resonate. In urban cores, political strategies have sometimes involved mobilizing large voting blocs, including minority communities, around shared narratives. When those narratives emphasize perpetual underprivilege or systemic barriers without equally stressing personal agency and upward mobility, they can foster a sense of discontent that persists across generations.

I’ve seen the cycle of victimization through my interactions in the region. It’s not unique to Cincinnati; similar dynamics appear in other Midwest cities where high-crime neighborhoods grapple with the tension between opportunity and grievance. Decades of approaches that prioritize group empowerment through collectivism while downplaying individual responsibility didn’t always build the self-reliance we hoped the Bank’s investment would encourage. Instead of residents fully embracing the new development as a ladder for climbing—earning enough to enjoy those riverfront spots—some carried affiliations and instincts shaped by longer-term patterns. When large crowds form on festive days like Opening Day, with its draw of disenchanted youth alongside older participants, a few instigators can turn the energy into mob behavior: ganging up, beatings, theft. It’s not every person, of course, but enough to derail the night for families and fans who expected safe, wholesome fun. The arrested ranged in age from 14 to 50, illustrating how these issues span generations.

The last major flare-ups saw leadership respond with statements emphasizing accountability while also noting the challenges of policing large events. Yet critics, including law enforcement voices, argue that consistent leniency—quick releases and an emphasis on social factors over swift consequences—sends mixed signals. In Butler County, Sheriff Jones’s office demonstrates a different model: firm enforcement paired with community presence that deters rather than excuses. Hamilton County’s prosecutor and officers, I’ve known, share that commitment when supported, but city-level dynamics have sometimes constrained them. The difference is palpable: residents in one area can go about their daily lives with greater confidence, while those in the other wrestle with recurring disruptions.

This isn’t about assigning blanket blame; it’s about examining how ideas and policies translate into street-level results. Soft-on-crime stances—reduced emphasis on certain prosecutions, strained relations with police, or framing disorder primarily through external excuses—can create environments where chaos festers, especially when paired with cultural stories that discourage personal accountability. When combined with narratives that keep people anchored in feelings of victimization, crowds become pressure points where group dynamics justify acts that would be unacceptable individually. The 2026 Opening Day chaos, with its fights, resistance to officers, and shutdown of The Banks, exemplified that risk. Businesses and families paid the price for what should have been a celebration.

Looking back on my time in my 20s, pitching alongside those developers, I remember the optimism. We drew up plans to bridge the river and connect to downtown, making the area a point of pride that would draw high-income earners, families, and tourists alike. The stadiums were anchors, the Freedom Center a cultural draw, and The Banks the connective tissue. It took patience—slow-walking through bureaucracy, aligning public funds with private capital amid economic challenges. But it happened, and for years it delivered that vibrant experience. Opening Day should embody safe fun, community pride, and kids enjoying the day without fear. Instead, the 2026 version left fans disappointed on the field and disrupted off it, with national headlines focusing on the disorder rather than the game or the setting.

Those arrested weren’t random; reports described a mix of ages and backgrounds amid the unruly crowds. Many fit patterns that are shaped by long-term reliance on public systems and narratives that frame individuals as perpetual victims rather than agents of their own mobility. They weren’t typically aligned with policies that emphasized self-reliance, the rule of law, and personal space. The embarrassment runs deep because Cincinnati is a nice town at its core—river views, sports heritage, hardworking people. But when leadership fails to maintain consistent boundaries, when mayors and councils prioritize other considerations over robust partnerships with police, the vulnerabilities show. Sheriff Jones and similar voices are right to call it out—they’ve proven that committed enforcement yields safer communities.

I’ve reflected on this a lot since the incident, drawing from my insider view of the Banks’ origins. That project wasn’t born in a vacuum; it was a deliberate bet on human potential meeting opportunity. The belief was that nicer surroundings would breed better behavior, that economic infusion would break cycles. What we missed—or what later policies and cultural shifts exacerbated—was how certain victimization rhetorics, paired with collectivist approaches, could keep segments of communities anchored below the line of full mobility. It turns festive crowds into pressure cookers where “mass movements” sometimes justify impulsive acts. The result? A once-promising development becomes a stage for the very problems it aimed to solve, embarrassing the city and saddening fans who came for Americana, not chaos.

This isn’t fatalism. Cities can course-correct—through stronger, more consistent partnerships with law enforcement, policies that balance accountability, and investments that pair infrastructure with cultural encouragement of responsibility and mobility. Cincinnati has the bones: a revitalized riverfront that took decades to realize, stadiums that draw millions, and a baseball tradition that’s pure Americana. The shame of Opening Day 2026 should serve as a wake-up call, not just for locals but for anyone observing how enforcement approaches and culture play out in real time. People involved that night owe it to the community to reflect. Excuses about external classes or quick releases only risk perpetuating the cycle. True progress comes when we teach responsibility alongside opportunity, when policies deter harm while supporting those willing to climb.

As someone who helped lay the groundwork for The Banks all those years ago, I feel a personal stake in seeing it thrive without these recurring embarrassments. The developers delivered; the vision held. Now it’s on leadership and broader culture to match that investment with clear expectations of civilized behavior. Sheriff Jones and others calling it out are right to do so—they’ve shown the alternative works. For Cincinnati to reclaim its Opening Day magic, it needs to reject cycles that undermine agency and embrace the ethos that builds sustainable communities: space to grow as individuals, rules that stick, and pride that lifts everyone without excusing harm. That’s the Americana worth celebrating—not the disorder that overshadowed it in 2026.

Footnotes

¹ Cincinnati Enquirer, “Over a dozen arrested in Opening Day ruckus,” March 27, 2026. Details arrests and shutdown of The Banks.

² FOX19, “17 arrested over ‘unruly’ behavior at Cincinnati’s Opening Day,” March 27, 2026. Covers charges including disorderly conduct, assault, and resisting arrest; ages 14–50.

³ WCPO, “Cincinnati police: 17 arrested amid Opening Day ‘disorder and violence,’” March 27, 2026. Reports on crowd behavior and police response with riot gear.

⁴ The Banks Public Partnership, “History of The Banks,” official timeline. Outlines development from the 1997 Master Plan through the phases opening in 2011 and beyond.

⁵ Wikipedia / The Banks, Cincinnati entry. Confirms the mixed-use nature between Paycor Stadium and Great American Ball Park, groundbreaking in 2008.

⁶ Central Riverfront Urban Design Master Plan (2000). Details the public planning process begun in 1996–1997, aimed at reconnecting downtown to the riverfront.

⁷ Riverfront Redevelopment Return on Investment report (2019). Discusses public-private partnerships, infrastructure, and economic context for The Banks.

⁸ New Yorker, “Don’t Shoot” (2009). Provides historical context on Cincinnati’s 2001 riots and subsequent policing reforms/collaborative agreements.

⁹ The Atlantic, “How Cincinnati Fixed Its Broken Police Department” (2015). Analyzes post-riot reforms and their impact on crime and community relations.

¹⁰ Mayor Aftab Pureval statement via FOX19 and LOCAL12, March 27, 2026. Describes the events as “an outrage” and calls for accountability while praising coordinated police response.

¹¹ Interim Chief Adam Hennie’s statements were reported across Enquirer, WCPO, and WLWT. Notes resistance from crowds and difficulty reaching victims.

¹² Butler County Sheriff’s Office communications and related commentary. Sheriff Jones has long emphasized enforcement priorities contrasting with urban approaches.

¹³ Additional context from Governing magazine and other analyses on Cincinnati’s community policing evolution since the early 2000s.

Bibliography

• Cincinnati Enquirer and WCPO live coverage and articles on the March 26–27, 2026 Opening Day disturbances (multiple reports cited above).

• The Banks Public Partnership official website: history and timeline sections.

• Central Riverfront Urban Design Master Plan (Urban Design Associates, 2000).

• “Riverfront Redevelopment Return on Investment: 1997-2019” (Hamilton County Special Project Counsel report).

• Historical analyses: The Atlantic (2015), New Yorker (2009), and Governing magazine pieces on Cincinnati policing reforms.

• FOX19, WLWT, and LOCAL12 are reporting on arrests, the mayor’s response, and police actions.

Rich Hoffman

More about me

Click Here to Protect Yourself with Second Call Defense https://www.secondcalldefense.org/?affiliate=20707

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.

The Anti-Human Nature of Democrat Energy Policy: When they want to destroy you, there is nothing to talk about

The book that now sits on shelves and in offices across Ohio, including that of my friend George Lang, the longtime Ohio State Senator and Majority Whip from West Chester, began as a simple conversation about energy policy and the deeper forces shaping our world. George, who serves on the Energy Committee and has been instrumental in pushing legislation like Senate Bill 294 to prioritize truly affordable, reliable, and clean energy sources—defining fossil fuels and nuclear power in those terms while scrutinizing intermittent renewables—handed me a copy of Alex Epstein’s Fossil Future during one of our discussions. He had been reading it closely, multiple times, as he worked on reforms to counter the distortions in Ohio’s energy markets. I knew the book existed, but it was George’s recommendation that finally prompted me to dive in. What I found was not just a defense of fossil fuels but a philosophical framework that resonated with everything I had observed over years of political involvement, from local battles in Butler County to the broader national fights over regulation, subsidies, and human progress.

That encounter crystallized why I spent nearly a year writing The Politics of Heaven, a roughly 20-chapter manuscript that draws on my proximity to these stories—energy scandals, regulatory overreach, and cultural undercurrents that few dare to name. Publishing a book is no small feat; it demands flushing out ideas across chapters, refining arguments through beach walks where the sand and waves clear the mind, and confronting the hard realities of distribution, branding, and getting the work into readers’ hands. But books endure in ways podcasts or interviews cannot. They invite readers to pause, take notes, and pursue their own research. This one explores the intersection of energy policy, philosophy, and what I term the “non-human” movement—a force older and more lethal than partisan bickering, one that masquerades as environmentalism or compassion but ultimately seeks to curb human flourishing. It ties directly to Ohio’s energy debates, where George and others are fighting to defend fossil fuels and nuclear power against policies that subsidize wind and solar at the expense of reliable baseload sources. And it explains why, despite scandals like the FirstEnergy affair that ensnared some Republicans, the bigger picture reveals a systemic bias against the very energy that powers human advancement.

To understand the stakes in Ohio, one must revisit the FirstEnergy scandal surrounding House Bill 6 in 2019. That legislation provided ratepayer-funded subsidies—ultimately costing consumers around $1.3 billion over time—for two nuclear plants, Perry and Davis-Besse, owned then by a FirstEnergy subsidiary, along with some coal-related support. Federal prosecutors later charged that roughly $60 million in bribes flowed through a dark-money group to influence the bill’s passage and defeat a repeal effort, leading to the arrest of then-House Speaker Larry Householder and associates in 2020. Householder received a 20-year federal prison sentence, one of the most significant political corruption cases in Ohio history. Democrats have rightly highlighted the Republican involvement, using it to paint the entire party as captured by utilities. Yet many who supported HB6, including some who later faced scrutiny, acted out of genuine concern for energy reliability—nuclear power provides carbon-free baseload electricity, avoids millions of tons of emissions annually, and supports high-paying jobs. I feel for those wrapped up in the fallout, even those I disagree with on other issues; the scheme was wrong, but it did not negate the underlying need to protect nuclear assets from market distortions caused by renewable mandates. What the scandal obscured was the broader regulatory environment, shaped by decades of policies that tilted the scales toward intermittent renewables through subsidies, mandates, and penalties on fossil fuels and nuclear power. Ohio’s earlier renewable portfolio standards, set in 2008 at 25 percent by 2025, were scaled back under HB6 to 8.5 percent by 2026, but the damage from prior distortions lingered. As recently as late 2025, the Public Utilities Commission of Ohio ordered FirstEnergy utilities to pay roughly $250 million in restitution and forfeitures related to HB6 violations, with additional settlements bringing consumer relief to around $275 million total in some agreements. George Lang’s recent work on bills like SB 294 seeks to correct this by redefining “clean” and “reliable” energy around true cost accounting—fossil fuels and nuclear emerge as superior on affordability and dispatchability (with high capacity factors), while wind and solar, with their capacity factors often below 35 percent, require massive backups.

Nuclear energy, in particular, stands as a triumph of human ingenuity. It generates a substantial share of America’s emissions-free electricity, powering communities across dozens of states, avoiding enormous emissions, and supporting thousands of high-paying jobs. Plants like Ohio’s Perry and Davis-Besse employ hundreds of workers each at salaries well above average, injecting billions into local economies. Safety records are exceptional: nuclear results in approximately 0.03 deaths per terawatt-hour (TWh), compared to coal’s roughly 24.6 deaths per TWh (from accidents and air pollution), oil at 18.43, and even natural gas at 2.82. This makes nuclear about 99.8 percent safer than coal on a deaths-per-TWh basis. Wind and solar sit at 0.04 and 0.02 deaths per TWh, respectively, but their system-level challenges (intermittency requiring backups) complicate direct comparisons. Yet Democrat-driven policies have subsidized solar and wind—now cheaper on levelized cost in some projections but unreliable without subsidies or storage—while burdening nuclear with regulatory hurdles that inflate costs. The result? A society paying more for less reliable power, all while fossil fuels remain the backbone of upper mobility.

Electricity from any source, especially dense, reliable sources like coal, gas, and nuclear power, has transformed human life. Consider medieval Europe, where a king’s luxuries—climate control, preserved food, instant global information—mirror what even modest American households take for granted today. Air conditioning, refrigeration, lighting, and appliances that once defined royalty now enable low-income people to escape drudgery. Strong correlations exist between electricity access and human development metrics: health, education, income, and gender equality improve markedly where power flows consistently. Globally, basic electricity access rose to around 92 percent by 2023, with the number without access falling to roughly 666 million (down from higher figures earlier in the decade), lifting billions from energy poverty—though deeper “energy poverty” (inadequate reliable usage) affects an estimated 1.18 billion people, including many officially “connected” but unable to use power meaningfully due to outages or cost. Without abundant energy, upper mobility stalls; with it, creativity flourishes. Fossil fuels powered the Industrial Revolution, fertilizer production that feeds billions, and the machines that built modern medicine and transport. Opposing them while ignoring these benefits reveals a deeper motive.

This brings us to the heart of The Politics of Heaven: the non-human movement. Epstein’s Fossil Future articulates this brilliantly, arguing that opposition to fossil fuels cannot stem from genuine concern for the environment or the climate alone, given their overwhelming benefits. He contrasts the “human flourishing framework”—where energy abundance is measured by its capacity to advance life, health, and prosperity—with the dominant “anti-impact” or “delicate nurturer” worldview. In the latter, any human alteration of nature is suspect, and experts systematically ignore benefits while overstating side effects. Epstein notes that “mankind’s use of fossil fuels is supremely virtuous—because human life is the standard of value, and because using fossil fuels transforms our environment to make it much better for human beings.” Those pushing rapid phase-outs, he contends, reveal an anti-human core: they prioritize a pristine Earth over human potential, even if it means regressing to pre-industrial conditions. This is not hyperbole. We saw it during the COVID lockdowns, when many imposed draconian restrictions that shuttered businesses, closed churches, and isolated families, all while claiming public health as the goal. The policies sacrificed economic vitality, mental health, and small-scale enterprise on the altar of control, mirroring a willingness to limit progress if it served certain ends.

This non-human impulse echoes ancient cults of sacrifice. Across history, from Aztec temples in what is now Mexico City—where priests offered thousands of human hearts to gods like Huitzilopochtli, with archaeological evidence of massive skull racks (tzompantli) holding thousands of skulls and historical accounts of large-scale rituals during temple dedications—to headhunters in New Guinea and child sacrifices to Baal in the ancient Near East, societies have ritualized the destruction of life to appease higher powers or maintain cosmic balance. The Aztecs believed gods had sacrificed themselves to create humanity; humans owed blood in return, a debt repaid through ritual to prevent catastrophe. Mesoamerican cultures saw human sacrifice as essential reciprocity, nourishing deities so the universe endured. Similar practices appear in biblical warnings against Molech worship and in countless pre-modern traditions. Today, this manifests not in literal altars but in policies that treat human beings as expendable for an idealized “nature.” Radical environmentalism, influenced by deep ecology thinkers like Arne Naess, promotes “biocentric egalitarianism”—granting all living things equal moral status, often elevating the biosphere above human needs and rejecting anthropocentrism. Rooted in earlier works and formalized in the 1970s, deep ecology views humans as part of a holistic web rather than exceptional stewards, sometimes framing human impact itself as the core problem. It fuels a modern impulse in which “saving the planet” justifies limiting energy use, population rhetoric, and opposition to technologies that expand human life. Epstein captures this: advocates cling to the “delicate nurturer” assumption to mask anti-human goals, convincing themselves they save humanity from itself while halting the very activities that enable flourishing.

In politics, this anti-human stance permeates certain energy agendas and cultural positions. Subsidies for renewables—often requiring vast land use, rare-earth mining, and backup power—distort markets while fossil and nuclear provide dense, scalable energy. Nuclear is “very clean vigorously”: low emissions, high capacity factors near 90 percent, and a safety profile unmatched. Yet policies born of environmentalism created barriers, favoring wind and solar despite their intermittency and higher system costs. The result harms the poor most—energy poverty correlates with stalled development, as seen in regions without reliable power where hardships persist. Upper mobility flows from energy: refrigeration prevents spoilage and disease, air conditioning combats heat-related deaths, and digital access opens education and opportunity. Epstein documents how fossil fuels have enabled unprecedented global progress; denying them is anti-human because it denies this reality. We witnessed ruthlessness in policy responses that prioritized control over empowerment. The same mindset underlies positions that treat certain lives as disposable and resist breakthroughs powered by abundant energy. It is an anti-God position, opposing the biblical mandate to “be fruitful and multiply” and steward creation productively. Fallen angels, cultural influences, and worship of anti-divine entities all point to a spiritual war against God’s creation—humans included. No one who values divine commandments should embrace a worldview that sacrifices human potential on abstract altars.

The Politics of Heaven unpacks these layers across its chapters. Early sections examine the non-human nature of radical environmentalism and its hunger to regress society, drawing parallels to historical sacrifices. Later chapters dissect the philosophical roots of energy policy, using Epstein’s stats and my own observations from Ohio battles. I explore how electricity has eradicated the worst forms of poverty, turning “luxuries” into necessities. One chapter details revelations from policy responses that exposed a desire to control rather than empower. Another ties energy to creativity—human ingenuity thrives with power, from medieval kings’ dreams to modern innovators. The book culminates in policy prescriptions: defend fossil fuels and nuclear power as bridges to a future in which renewables mature, but never at the cost of reliability. For Ohio, this means supporting Lang’s initiatives and approaches that prioritize American energy dominance. I am heading to Washington, D.C., to finalize the 20th chapter, perhaps adding an epilogue on emerging developments. The content cohered powerfully because it addresses timeless truths: politics is spiritual at root, a battle between human advancement and forces that would sacrifice us to false gods.

Critics will dismiss this as partisan, but the evidence transcends parties. Some Republicans erred in aspects of HB6, yet the structural biases against reliable energy predate and outlast individual scandals, embedded in frameworks that favor subsidized intermittents over “solid, great suppliers” like fossil fuels and nuclear power. Renewables will improve—costs have dropped—but they remain unready for full grid dominance without massive, expensive storage. Fossil and nuclear are here now, delivering the energy density civilization requires. Opponents who ignore benefits while amplifying costs reveal the non-human core: a lust to limit growth, echoing Malthusian fears or deep ecology’s egalitarianism. As Epstein writes, the knowledge system of experts disguises anti-human goals behind “save the planet” rhetoric. We cannot assume common ground when some outright reject human flourishing. The book implicates this reality without apology, using examples from Ohio’s nuclear plants to global poverty metrics. It defends the human race against oblivion, arguing that good energy policy perpetuates creativity, wealth, and options.

Writing demanded rigor: a year of research, reflection, and revision to articulate the non-human element without descending into conspiracy. It connects energy advocacy to broader cultural fights. George Lang recognized this when he passed the book; his office in Columbus now stocks copies for those seeking clarity on Ohio’s path. Knock on his door, and you might secure one. The arguments align with policies emphasizing energy independence, which Ohio can lead. Fossil fuels remain vital for decades, enabling the transition without regression. Renewables have roles, but not as forced replacements that harm reliability.

Ultimately, The Politics of Heaven exists because books outlast soundbites. They equip readers with receipts—stats on energy deaths (nuclear and renewables at under 0.1 per terawatt-hour versus coal’s ~25), historical sacrifice patterns, and policy outcomes. They invite further study: Epstein’s works; Our World in Data on electricity’s poverty links; IAEA and World Bank reports on nuclear’s role and global access trends; archaeological accounts of Mesoamerican rituals; and philosophical texts on deep ecology. In an era of anti-human aggression—from regressive energy mandates to cultural erosion—the book asserts a counter: human beings are meant to flourish, powered by the energy God’s creation provides. Those supporting anti-fossil stances must confront alignments with older impulses. Republicans, even those scarred by scandals, must defend the ground. Ohio, with its nuclear assets and fossil resources, is pivotal. By prioritizing reliable energy, we secure upper mobility, creativity, and the perpetuation of human potential. This is not mere policy; it is a defense of heaven’s politics against earthly cults that would erase us. The iceberg’s tip is touched here, but the depths reward those who read, research, and act. The book is worth the discussion, the defense, and the fight—because human life, powered and free, is the ultimate good.

Expanded Bibliography / Footnotes for Further Research

1. Epstein, Alex. Fossil Future: Why Global Human Flourishing Requires More Oil, Coal, and Natural Gas—Not Less. Penguin Random House, 2022. (Core source on anti-impact vs. human flourishing frameworks; see also Epstein’s substack summaries of Chapter 3 on the anti-impact moral goal.)

2. Ritchie, Hannah. “What Are the Safest and Cleanest Sources of Energy?” Our World in Data, updated analyses (death rates per TWh: nuclear ~0.03, coal ~24.6, etc.). https://ourworldindata.org/safest-sources-of-energy

3. World Bank / Tracking SDG 7: The Energy Progress Report 2025 (global electricity access ~92%, ~666 million without basic access in 2023).

4. UNDP reports on energy poverty (deeper metrics affecting ~1.18 billion with inadequate, unreliable usage).

5. Ohio Capital Journal and PUCO records on HB6/FirstEnergy scandal and 2025 settlements (~$250M+ restitution orders).

6. Ohio Legislature records on Senate Bill 294 (sponsored by Sen. George Lang, focusing on affordability, reliability, and capacity factors for new generation).

7. Archaeological and historical accounts of Aztec sacrifice (e.g., Science magazine on skull racks at Templo Mayor; estimates of large-scale rituals).

8. Naess, Arne, and George Sessions. “Basic Principles of Deep Ecology” (1984) – on biocentric egalitarianism and non-anthropocentrism.

9. U.S. Energy Information Administration (EIA) and International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) reports on nuclear safety, capacity factors, emissions avoidance, and economic impacts.

10. Additional context from energy poverty and human development links: UNDP Global Multidimensional Poverty Index 2025; studies on electricity’s role in lifting populations from extreme poverty.

Rich Hoffman

More about me

Click Here to Protect Yourself with Second Call Defense https://www.secondcalldefense.org/?affiliate=20707

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.

The End of the Socialist Experiment: People are tired of high property taxes to fund Democrat dreams

The governor of New York, Kathy Hochul, recently stood up at a forum and essentially begged the wealthy who have fled her state to return and keep paying the bills that fund her vision of big government. She said something along the lines of, ” Go down to Palm Beach, see who you can bring back home, because our tax base has been eroded. She admitted that New York is now in direct competition with other states that impose a lighter tax burden on corporations and individuals, and that Wall Street businesses are looking to Texas instead of staying captive in Manhattan. This is the same Kathy Hochul who, just a couple of years earlier, had told political opponents to jump on a bus and head down to Florida, where they belong, if they didn’t represent New York values. Now she’s pleading for those same people—and their money—to return so she can keep the generous social programs afloat. It’s a stunning reversal that proves exactly what I have been saying for four decades: liberal policies, built on endless taxation, endless spending, and the assumption that people will stay put and keep writing checks, are collapsing under their own weight. The free market is working exactly as it should, and people are voting with their feet.

I was recently talking with folks in my local community here in Butler County, Ohio, about the Lakota Local School District, and the conversation crystallized everything happening on the national stage. Lakota had put a massive $506 million bond issue and levy on the ballot in November 2025—one of the largest school funding requests in Ohio history—tied to a master facilities plan that would demolish and rebuild buildings, supposedly to accommodate growth and modernize things. The district discussed reducing the number of buildings from 21 to 16, improving safety, and freeing up money for students. But voters saw through it. The levy was rejected by a decisive 61 to 39 percent margin. Even with promises that the actual net tax increase would be phased in later and capped at something like $93 per hundred thousand dollars of appraised value, thanks to debt roll-offs and state matching funds, people said no. They were tired of the trajectory. They didn’t want more property taxes funding a system that keeps growing its administration, its facilities wish list, and its social agenda while the real value delivered to families keeps getting questioned. This isn’t just a local story. It’s the same story playing out in New York, in California, and in every high-tax, high-spending blue state or district where the easy-money days of the past have finally run out.

For decades, people tolerated these large social programs and bloated public education budgets because the economy seemed to be working in their favor. Compound interest in savings accounts was real. Home values kept climbing year after year, creating paper wealth that let families cash out when the kids grew up—sell the house, pocket half a million or more, and move into something smaller while still feeling ahead of the game. Property taxes felt like a tolerable price to pay for nice communities, decent schools that acted as reliable babysitters during work hours, and the social approval that came with supporting “the kids.” You could afford to be a little generous at the next neighborhood gathering or school board meeting because your net worth was rising faster than the tax bill. But that scheme is over. Inflation has eroded real returns. Interest rates have fluctuated wildly. Home appreciation isn’t the guaranteed golden ticket it once was for everyone. People are looking at their tax bills, looking at what their money is actually buying in public schools, and saying enough. The taxation trajectory that propped up liberalism for generations is now pointing downward, and the people who built their political power on it are panicking.

Look at what Hochul and her fellow Democrats are confronting. New York has been bleeding residents and businesses for years. Domestic migration data from the U.S. Census show New York losing hundreds of thousands of people, net, to lower-tax states like Florida and Texas. California is in the same boat, with net losses exceeding 200,000 annually in recent cycles. Florida alone has gained hundreds of thousands of domestic migrants, and Texas even more. These aren’t just retirees heading south for the weather. They are working families, entrepreneurs, corporations, and high-net-worth individuals who have had it with sky-high income taxes, property taxes, regulatory burdens, and the cultural policies that come attached. New York’s per-pupil spending is among the highest in the nation—often topping $30,000 per student—yet educational outcomes measured by national assessments like NAEP remain middling at best. Florida and Texas spend far less per pupil, around 12,000 to 14,000, and deliver competitive or better results in many categories while keeping taxes lower overall. No state income tax in either place. That is real competition, and Hochul is finally admitting it out loud even as she tries to guilt-trip people into returning for the “patriotic” duty of funding her programs.

This is liberalism eating itself. For years, I have pointed out that every socialist experiment in history required walls—literal or figurative—to keep people from leaving. North Korea has its borders sealed. Cuba had its rafters and its political prisoners. East Germany built the Berlin Wall because people were fleeing to the West. China, even with its economic openings, maintains tight control because the alternative is mass exodus. The Soviet Union collapsed when the pressure to contain its people became unsustainable. Here in America, Democrats have relied on the soft walls of economic dependency, guilt, and cultural pressure. But those walls are crumbling because people can move. They can load up a U-Haul, drive to a free state, and never look back. Florida, under Governor Ron DeSantis, has become a magnet precisely because it refuses to play the high-tax, high-regulation game. Texas is booming for the same reasons. And here in Ohio, we are seeing the early stages of the same shift. People are coming to us from the collapsing blue states, and the lesson is clear: competitive models win. Punitive taxation and endless government expansion lose.

The property tax itself is at the heart of this fight, and it always has been a flawed, almost feudal concept dressed up in modern language. Its roots go back to William the Conqueror in 1066 England, where the king claimed ownership of all land and extracted perpetual payments from tenants and knights. The American version evolved through the Northwest Ordinance and the general property tax of the nineteenth century, which treated land and personal property as subject to state taxation indefinitely in exchange for “protecting” them. It was never truly about voluntary contribution; it was rent paid to the government for the privilege of owning what you thought you owned. Critics have long called it the most hated tax in America for good reason. It punishes ownership, discourages improvement, and ties local services—especially schools—to ever-rising assessments that have nothing to do with a family’s ability to pay. In places like New York and California, it became a weapon to fund expansive social programs that many residents never asked for and no longer support. Florida is leading the charge to change this. Governor DeSantis and state lawmakers have advanced multiple constitutional amendments to phase out homestead property taxes over time, ultimately eliminating them. Proposals include massive increases in exemptions—hundred-thousand-dollar jumps annually until nonschool property taxes on primary residences disappear. Ohio has its own movement gathering signatures for a 2026 ballot initiative to ban real property taxes altogether. Even some national voices aligned with President Trump have floated ideas for broader relief or elimination as part of a freedom agenda that recognizes property rights as fundamental. Why should anyone be penalized year after year simply for owning a home? It is a socialist march concept from the beginning, and people are waking up to it.

Here in Butler County and at Lakota specifically, the failed levy is a microcosm of the larger revolt. The district wanted hundreds of millions for bricks and mortar, for renovations, and for a smaller footprint that supposedly saves money in the long term. Yet the community looked at the track record: rising administrative costs, questions about curriculum priorities, and the reality that public education has been turned into something far beyond basic reading, writing, and arithmetic. Parents are sick of teacher strikes or walkouts that leave kids without instruction while unions demand more pay and less accountability. They are tired of seeing resources funneled into social experiments—coloring hair purple, pushing premature discussions of sexual lifestyles on young children, and ideological lessons that many families consider inappropriate or even damaging. Schools were supposed to be trusted babysitters that prepared kids for smart, productive lives. Instead, too many have become vehicles for cultural agendas that parents never voted for and refuse to subsidize with their property taxes. When the easy-money era ended, and families started feeling the real pinch, the willingness to keep writing blank checks vanished. One more mill or two more mills might not sound like much on paper, but when it is attached to policies people actively oppose, it becomes unacceptable—even if it is just one extra dollar.

The same dynamic plays out with every other government service funded by these taxes. Look at the TSA—Transportation Security Administration—as a perfect example of what happens when critical infrastructure is handed to unionized government workers attached to the Democratic extortion economy. Long lines, delays, sickouts, threats of shutdowns whenever funding fights arise. People who once flew without a second thought are now choosing sixteen-hour drives rather than enduring the inefficiency and the political games. Airlines struggle to maintain themselves while government mandates and union leverage create artificial bottlenecks. Taxpayers are funding something broken, something that punishes them for trying to travel freely, and they are done with it. Democrats love to attach these unionized workforces to essential services because it gives them leverage—hold the public hostage, blame Republicans or “underfunding,” and demand more money. It is the same playbook with public schools, public transportation, and welfare systems. When people can no longer afford it or no longer support the ideology behind it, they stop paying voluntarily. They move. They vote against levies. They support politicians who promise reform.

I have been part of the no-more-taxes, lower-taxes movement my entire adult life because I saw this coming. High taxes deter growth. They drive away the productive. They reward inefficiency. In New York, California, and places like them, the richest were supposed to stick around for the social clubs, the prestige, the elbow-rubbing with the political class. Instead, they took their money, their businesses, and their talent to Florida, Texas, and increasingly to states like Ohio that are positioning themselves as the next frontier of opportunity. Ohio’s future cannot be more government, more spending, more taxes. It has to be the opposite. We have legislators and potential future leaders who understand that. We have a governor’s race and local movements that are aligning with the national shift toward lower costs, smaller government, and actual freedom. Property tax relief is coming—whether through caps tied to inflation, homestead exemptions that grow dramatically, or outright abolition in some form. Sales taxes can be reformed or reduced. Income taxes, where they exist, must be kept competitive. The gravy train that funded reckless social spending is over because the people who pay the bills have decided they no longer consent to the product being delivered.

This is why the walls of the old order are failing. In communist countries, the only way to keep the system intact was violence and threats—shooting people who tried to cross to freedom. Here, Democrats assumed guilt, cultural inertia, and the inability to leave would suffice. But remote work changed everything. The pandemic accelerated the realization. Free states with lower taxes, better governance, and respect for individual rights became irresistible. People are not afraid anymore. They are packing up and leaving New York, California, Illinois—anywhere the liberal model has run its course. The tax base erodes, the deficits grow, the pleas become more desperate, and the cycle accelerates. Hochul’s Palm Beach pilgrimage is just the latest symptom. She and the supermoms and the big-government cheerleaders who built careers around this model are late to the party. Bernie Sanders-style socialism always sounded good in the abstract until the bill came due and people realized the cost to their communities, their families, and their futures. Now the bill is here, and the payers are walking away.

Locally, Lakota and districts like it will have to adjust. No more assuming taxpayers will fund every wish list. Superintendents and boards will need to trim administration, focus on core education, respect parental values, and operate within realistic budgets. If that means fewer buildings, fewer non-essential programs, or actual efficiency reforms, so be it. The same applies statewide. Ohio cannot import the failing model from the coasts. We have to export the successful low-tax, high-freedom model. That is how we attract the people and businesses fleeing the collapse. That is how we keep our own residents from looking elsewhere. Competitive states win. Coercive ones lose.

I have warned about this for forty years because the math was always inevitable. Socialism requires coercion. When the coercion fails—when people can leave or vote no—the system collapses. We are watching it happen in real time. New York’s tax base is eroding. California is eroding. The liberal dream of endless spending funded by other people’s money is dripping through their fingers like water. They cannot hold it. They cannot force it. And they certainly cannot guilt-trip a free people into submission when better alternatives exist just a moving van away.

The future belongs to the states and communities that understand this. Florida is already moving toward eliminating property taxes on primary homes. Texas thrives without an income tax. Ohio has the chance to lead the Midwest in the same direction. Property tax abolition movements are gaining steam nationally because people are tired of being treated like tenants on their own land. Schools will be funded differently—perhaps through choice, vouchers, or learner operations that actually deliver value. Overall, government services will shrink because the public will no longer subsidize failure. TSA lines will either improve through competition and accountability, or people will keep driving. Either way, the extortion ends.

This is the movement of the world now. Anti-tax sentiment is rising everywhere because people have lived through the consequences of big government. They have seen the waste, the indoctrination, the inefficiency, and the cultural decay funded by their dollars. They voted for change at the national level with President Trump and the Republican wave because they want a different kind of government—one that does not punish success, ownership, or families trying to raise children in line with their values. Fraud in elections will continue to be exposed. The 50-50 split on paper was never real; it was propped up by manipulation. When people vote their true preferences without interference, the results will be even stronger.

For anyone still clinging to the old model, the message is simple: it is over. The easy money is gone. The guilt trips no longer work. The walls are down. People are free, and they are choosing freedom. Here in Ohio, in Butler County, at Lakota and beyond, we will learn the same lessons New York is learning the hard way. Budgets will be cut. Priorities will be realigned. Taxes will come down. And communities will thrive—not because government spends more, but because it spends less and interferes less.

I have always been clear on this. Beware of any politician who wants higher taxes. They are dangerous. They are going out of fashion fast. My book, Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, lays out the philosophy of self-reliance, competitive thinking, and the rejection of coercive systems that have guided my warnings for decades. It is more relevant now than ever. Subscribe, read it, and join the fight. The future is bright for those willing to embrace lower taxes, smaller government, and genuine freedom. The collapse we are witnessing is not the end of America—it is the end of a failed experiment. And the rebirth that follows will be something worth building.

Footnotes

1. U.S. Census Bureau migration estimates, 2024-2025 data releases.

2. Tax Foundation State Business Tax Climate Index, 2026 rankings.

3. National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP) reports on per-pupil spending vs. outcomes.

4. Historical analysis of property tax origins from feudal England through the U.S. Northwest Ordinance.

Bibliography for Further Reading

• Fox News coverage of Hochul’s Palm Beach comments and tax base erosion (March 2026).

• Cincinnati Enquirer and local Butler County reporting on Lakota levy failure (November 2025).

• U.S. Census Bureau State-to-State Migration Flows tables (2023-2025).

• Tax Foundation reports on property tax relief proposals in Florida, Ohio, and national trends (2026).

• The Atlantic historical piece on feudal roots of American property tax (2016, with updates in policy debates).

• DeSantis administration statements on Florida homestead tax elimination proposals.

• Hoffman, Rich. Gunfighter’s Guide to Business (self-published, available via subscription platforms).

• Additional data from NAEP/Nations Report Card and state education spending comparisons.

These sources provide the factual backbone while the analysis reflects four decades of observation on tax policy, education funding, and the failure of coercive governance models. The era of unchecked liberalism is ending, and the evidence is everywhere for those willing to see it.

Rich Hoffman

More about me

Click Here to Protect Yourself with Second Call Defense https://www.secondcalldefense.org/?affiliate=20707

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

Rich Hoffman is an independent writer, philosopher, political advisor, and strategist based in the Cincinnati/Middletown, Ohio area. Born in Hamilton, Ohio, he has worked professionally since age 12 in various roles, from manual labor to high-level executive positions in aerospace and related industries. Known as “The Tax-killer” for his activism against tax increases, 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.

He publishes the blog The Overmanwarrior (overmanwarrior.wordpress.com), where he shares insights on politics, culture, history, and personal stories. Active on X as @overmanwarrior, Instagram, and YouTube, Hoffman frequently discusses space exploration, family values, and human potential. An avid fast-draw artist and family man, he emphasizes passing practical skills and intellectual curiosity to younger generations.

	vwells34 on Where Evil Lives in Butler Cou…
	Rich Hoffman on The Blurry Bigfoot in Ohio: Pa…
	Anonymous on The Blurry Bigfoot in Ohio: Pa…
	Anonymous on The Mysterious London Stone: S…
	Anonymous on ‘Prehistoric Worlds Or,…
	Rich Hoffman on ‘Prehistoric Worlds Or,…
	Anonymous on ‘Prehistoric Worlds Or,…
	Anonymous on ‘Forbidden Archaeology…
	Rich Hoffman on Amanda Ortiz the Termite of We…
	Anonymous on Amanda Ortiz the Termite of We…

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: