Taxes Have Consequences: A Century of Mistakes, Human Nature, and the Path Forward

I’ve been catching a lot of heat lately for talking about socialism on my podcast, but honestly, I don’t see why it should be controversial at all. The pushback tells me everything I need to know: a whole lot of people have built their entire lives around government paychecks, public-sector benefits, and the steady drip of tax revenue that keeps the whole machine humming. They get defensive because the conversation about taxes hits too close to home. When you point out that the income tax proposal of 1913 was a colossal mistake—one that’s strangled growth, rewarded bureaucrats, and penalized the very risk-takers who drive real prosperity—you’re not just debating policy. You’re challenging the foundation of how they pay their mortgages and fund their retirements. And the data, especially from that outstanding book Taxes Have Consequences: An Income Tax History of the United States by Arthur B. Laffer, Brian Domitrovic, and Jeanne Cairns Sinquefield, backs me up every step of the way.

Let me take you back to 1913. That single year changed everything. The 16th Amendment was ratified on February 3, giving Congress the power to lay and collect taxes on incomes “from whatever source derived, without apportionment among the several States.” Just months later, the Revenue Act of 1913 imposed a 1 percent tax on incomes above $3,000 (about $90,000 in today’s dollars) with a top rate of 7 percent on incomes over $500,000. It affected maybe 1 to 3 percent of the population at first, and early revenue was tiny—only about $28 million in 1914. At the same time, the Federal Reserve Act was signed on December 23, creating a centralized banking system that promised stability but, in my view, locked in the same progressive-era thinking that favored administrative control over free markets. Both moves came during the Wilson administration, a time when socialist ideas were swirling globally, and centralized power looked like the future to some. Tariffs and excise taxes had kept federal revenue under 3 percent of GDP before 1913; after the amendment, the door was wide open. By the post-war era, federal receipts stabilized around 17-18 percent of GDP, no matter how high the rates climbed—a pattern economists call Hauser’s Law. The pie didn’t grow faster just because the government took a bigger slice; people and capital adjusted.

What Taxes Have Consequences lays out so clearly—and what a century of statistics confirms—is that the top marginal income tax rate has been the single biggest determinant of economic fate, tax revenue from the wealthy, and even outcomes for lower earners. The authors divide the income-tax era into five periods of tax cuts and explosive growth and four periods of high rates and stagnation. When rates were slashed—as in the 1920s under Treasury Secretary Andrew Mellon (top rate down to 25 percent), the 1960s Kennedy cuts, the 1980s Reagan revolution, the 1990s, and briefly under President Trump’s 2017 reforms—the economy roared. Investment flooded in, jobs multiplied, and the rich actually paid a larger share of total revenue because the tax base expanded dramatically. In the 1920s, for example, real GDP nearly doubled, unemployment plummeted, and revenues from the top brackets rose even as rates fell. The same pattern repeated in the 1980s: top rates dropped from 70 percent to 28 percent, the top 1 percent’s share of income taxes climbed from about 25 percent to over 37 percent by the late 1990s, and real per-capita GDP growth accelerated.

Contrast that with the high-rate eras. The late 1910s, the 1930s, the 1940s-1950s, and especially the 1970s saw top rates reach 77 percent during World War I, 94 percent during World War II, and remain north of 90 percent for decades afterward. The book makes a compelling case that the 1932 tax hikes—pushing the top rate to 63 percent amid the Depression—actually deepened the crisis. Revenue from the rich collapsed, investment dried up, and the economy stayed mired until wartime spending and later rate reductions kicked in. During the 1970s stagflation, 70 percent-plus top rates coincided with sluggish growth, high unemployment, and inflation that hammered everyone, especially the working class. Lower earners suffered precisely because the rich weren’t investing or expanding businesses when the government was confiscating the upside. The Laffer Curve isn’t a theory; it’s observable history. Push rates too high, and you cross into the prohibitive range, where behavior changes: less work, less risk, more avoidance, and ultimately, less revenue.

I’ve seen this play out in real time with people I talk to. Just the other day, I was explaining basic economics to some younger folks who were upset they weren’t making enough money. Their lifestyles told the story—video games, complaints, minimal effort. I told them straight: this is a free country. You have twenty-four hours every day. If you’re only pulling in $20,000 a year, maximize the hours. Get a second job, learn a skill, take a risk. Once you get a little capital, that engine starts turning faster. Money makes money, but you have to earn the first bit through productive behavior. The progressive tax system we’ve had since 1913 punishes exactly that ambition. Why grind harder if the government is going to take 37 percent—or more when you add state taxes—just because you succeeded? The book spends chapters on this psychological reality: high earners respond to incentives. They hire lawyers, accountants, and lobbyists. They structure investments to minimize liability. They move. And who can blame them?

Look at the migration numbers today. IRS data from 2022-2023 shows high-tax states hemorrhaging wealth and people. California lost $11.9 billion in adjusted gross income from net out-migration; New York lost $9.9 billion; Illinois lost $6 billion. Meanwhile, no-income-tax states cleaned up: Florida gained $20.6 billion in AGI, Texas $5.5 billion, South Carolina and North Carolina billions more. High earners—those making $200,000 and up—drove most of the shift. Florida’s net gain came disproportionately from wealthy movers, whose average incomes were far higher than those of those leaving. This isn’t random; it’s rational human behavior. People vote with their feet when the “fair share” rhetoric turns into confiscation. The same dynamic happened after California and New York jacked up top rates: businesses and talent fled to Texas and Florida, starving the high-tax states of the very revenue they claimed the rich owed them.

And don’t get me started on the people who lecture us about “fair share” while enriching themselves in public office. Nancy Pelosi comes to mind immediately. She entered Congress in 1987 with a few hundred thousand in stocks; today her family’s net worth is estimated at north of $280 million, with massive gains from timely trades in tech and other sectors while she sat on committees with insider knowledge. Critics have hammered her for years over this, yet no charges stick because the rules somehow allow it. The rest of us pay accountants to navigate a tax code thicker than a phone book while members of Congress trade on information the public doesn’t have. That’s not wealth creation through risk and ingenuity; that’s parasitic behavior enabled by the very system that claims to soak the rich. The book details how, throughout history, the wealthy have found ways around punitive rates—through capital flight, tax shelters, and reduced effort. Congress critters have a faster, easier on-ramp.

This brings me to the real heart of the problem: the administrative state and the public-sector workforce that depends on confiscated wealth. I was in Washington, D.C., recently, and the parking garages told the story better than any chart. At 8 a.m., they’re packed—government workers streaming in. By noon? Empty. Half-day culture, cushy benefits, pay scales that often run 20-25 percent above comparable private-sector jobs when you factor in pensions and job security. Federal data show the pay gap persists; total compensation for many federal roles exceeds that of private-sector equivalents, especially at mid- to senior levels. Meanwhile, private-sector risk-takers—the ones who actually grow the economy—get penalized. We’re not funding productive infrastructure or national defense with all this revenue; we’re propping up a class of paper-pushers who enjoy lives the average taxpayer can only dream of. Democrats love to create these jobs and fund them with “progressive” taxes, then act shocked when the rich use every legal tool to protect what they’ve earned. It’s human nature. People who work hard, innovate, and build don’t willingly hand over the fruits of their labor to subsidize easy government gigs. The 1913 experiment assumed otherwise, and a century of data proves it wrong.

The book hammers this point with statistical precision. When top rates are low, the rich bring capital out of hiding, invest it, hire workers, and expand the tax base. When rates are high, they shelter, defer, or produce less. The result? Less overall growth, which hurts everyone. Real per-capita GDP growth averaged around 2 percent across eras, but the booms under low-rate policies lifted lower incomes far more effectively. Poverty fell faster, wages rose, and government actually collected more from the top 1 percent—not because of higher rates, but because of a bigger, more dynamic economy. In 2022, the top 1 percent (incomes above roughly $663,000) earned about 21 percent of income but paid 40 percent of all federal income taxes—an effective rate around 26 percent after deductions. That share has risen over the decades as rates have come down and growth has accelerated. The progressive myth that “the rich get richer and everyone else suffers” ignores how the system actually works. Once you have capital, you can leverage it—but you earned that first pile by outworking and out-risking everyone else. Penalizing success doesn’t create fairness; it creates stagnation.

President Trump understood this during his first term, and especially in the interregnum before his second term. His tax policies—cutting corporate rates, lowering individual brackets, doubling the standard deduction—aligned with everything we’ve learned since 1913. The 2017 Tax Cuts and Jobs Act delivered exactly the results Taxes Have Consequences predicts: strong GDP growth, record-low unemployment (especially for minorities and low-wage workers), and higher revenue from the top brackets. The rich got richer in absolute terms, but so did everyone else, and the government’s slice of the larger pie increased. That’s the opposite of the socialist collective model, which assumes we can perpetually extract from producers to fund a utopia. Centralized banking and progressive taxation were sold as stabilizers, but they became tools for an administrative state that grows regardless of economic reality. The Federal Reserve’s money creation, paired with endless deficit spending, has only amplified the damage—debt now exceeds GDP, and interest payments alone rival major budget items.

I’m not saying there should be no taxes. A consumption-based system—sales taxes on what people actually use, transaction fees tied to real economic activity—would align incentives far better. Fund highways and services through the people who use them. Let growth compound without the drag of income confiscation. The book shows that broad-based, low-rate systems maximize revenue while minimizing distortion. We’ve tried the Marxist-inspired “from each according to ability, to each according to need” approach for over a century, and it has delivered exactly what human psychology predicts: avoidance, resentment, and slower progress. Younger generations especially need to hear this. Stop waiting for the system to hand you enough; the system was never designed to reward complaints or video-game marathons. Get out there, create value, take risks. The engine only accelerates once you’re in motion.

The backlash I get for saying these things proves the point. People whose livelihoods depend on the status quo—government employees, public-sector unions, politicians who promise “free stuff” funded by someone else’s ingenuity—don’t want the conversation. But facts don’t care about feelings. We have a century of statistics now. The 1913 experiment failed. It fed a monster of debt, bureaucracy, and distorted incentives that neither party has fully dismantled. President Trump’s approach pointed the way forward, and the next decade must be about rethinking the entire process. Repeal or radically simplify the income tax. Reconsider the Federal Reserve’s role in enabling endless spending. Align policy with human nature: reward risk, protect what people earn, and stop pretending government workers deserve 30 percent more compensation for half-day effort while the private sector carries the load.

This isn’t some fringe, scandalous idea. It’s an observable reality documented in Taxes Have Consequences across hundreds of pages of data, charts, and historical analysis. The rich don’t pay their “fair share” under high rates because they’re not stupid—they adjust. The economy doesn’t grow when ambition is taxed into oblivion. And society doesn’t thrive when we build it on the backs of parasites who show up at 8 a.m. and vanish by lunch, all paid for by confiscated wealth. At their core, human beings do not want to slave away so others can live easily. That truth has never changed, and no amount of political spin or election-year rhetoric can repeal it.

As we head into the 2030s, the discussion will only intensify. People are done subsidizing inefficiency. The genie is out of the bottle. If you’ve followed my work, you know I’ve been saying this for years. Subscribe to my blog and business updates—I think you’ll love the deeper dives into these ideas and practical ways to protect and grow what you earn in a world that still rewards the ambitious. The progressive tax experiment of 1913 was a gamble based on flawed psychology and socialist dreams. A century later, we have the receipts. It’s time to learn the lesson and move on.

Footnotes

1. Laffer, Arthur B., Domitrovic, Brian, and Sinquefield, Jeanne Cairns. Taxes Have Consequences: An Income Tax History of the United States. Post Hill Press, 2022.

2. U.S. National Archives. “16th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution.”

3. Revenue Act of 1913 historical summaries, IRS and congressional records.

4. Federal Reserve Act of 1913 documentation.

5. FRED Economic Data, Federal Receipts as Percent of GDP (historical series).

6. Tax Foundation and IRS Statistics of Income reports on top 1% tax contributions.

7. IRS migration data 2022-2023, state AGI flows.

8. Congressional financial disclosures and OpenSecrets analyses on member wealth.

9. Bureau of Labor Statistics and Federal Salary Council reports on public vs. private compensation.

10. Laffer Center summaries and book excerpts on specific historical periods.

Bibliography

• Laffer, Arthur B., et al. Taxes Have Consequences. Post Hill Press, 2022.

• U.S. Internal Revenue Service. Statistics of Income historical reports (1913-present).

• Tax Foundation. Various reports on historical tax rates, migration, and economic growth.

• Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis (FRED). Federal Receipts as % of GDP.

• Congressional Budget Office and Tax Policy Center data on effective tax rates and income shares.

• OpenSecrets.org and Quiver Quantitative congressional wealth tracking.

• Bureau of Economic Analysis and BLS employment and payroll data.

This essay reflects exactly what I’ve been saying and living: free markets, personal responsibility, and an honest look at a century of bad policy. The evidence is overwhelming. Now it’s time to act on 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 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 Failure of Eric Swalwell: When danger always lurks behind power

I’ve always said that Eric Swalwell was a crook. From the moment he burst onto the national scene as a freshman congressman from California back in 2013, something about the guy never sat right with me. He was Nancy Pelosi’s right-hand man in so many ways—her attack dog on Trump, her reliable vote on every progressive cause, and the guy who seemed to relish every opportunity to grandstand against conservatives like me who just wanted honest government. Remember how he behaved during the Supreme Court nominations? The way he went after Brett Kavanaugh with that smug certainty, or how he hammered away at Trump for years on everything from Russia to January 6th? It was all so performative, so self-righteous, while the man himself was hiding a mountain of personal failings that made those accusations look tame by comparison.

I mean, let’s start with the elephant in the room that everyone on Capitol Hill has known about for years: the Chinese honey pot named Christine Fang, or “Fang Fang” as she was affectionately called by those who knew her. This woman wasn’t some random flirt; she was a suspected Chinese intelligence operative who embedded herself in California politics like a tick. She helped Swalwell with fundraising for his 2014 reelection campaign, placed an intern in his office, and had what can only be described as an uncomfortably close relationship with him. The FBI briefed him on her in 2015, and he cut ties—publicly claiming he cooperated fully and that the case was closed. But come on. A congressman on the House Intelligence Committee sleeping with a foreign agent who was actively cultivating access to American politicians? That’s not just reckless; it’s a national security red flag the size of the Golden Gate Bridge. And yet, the media gave him a pass. Pelosi and the Democratic machine circled the wagons, and Swalwell kept rising through the ranks, preaching about ethics and women’s rights while his own conduct screamed hypocrisy.

Fast forward to early April 2026, and suddenly the mask slips in spectacular fashion. Between April 9 and April 11, four women came forward accusing Swalwell of sexual misconduct—unsolicited explicit photos sent to their phones, non-consensual encounters while they were intoxicated, abuse of power with staffers and interns, and offers of political access in exchange for sex. The San Francisco Chronicle and CNN laid it all out: one former staffer detailed how he raped her when she was too drunk to consent, leaving her bruised and bleeding. Another spoke of waking up in a hotel room with no memory after a night out, only to realize what had happened. These weren’t random accusers; they were people who worked for him or crossed paths in his professional world. Then, just a week later, around April 14 or 15, a fifth woman, Lonna Drewes from Beverly Hills, went public with her story of a 2018 incident where she believes she was drugged and raped—classic Cosby-style horror, complete with choking and loss of consciousness. She described it in harrowing detail at a press conference, standing with the other women and vowing to report it to law enforcement. By then, Swalwell had already suspended his campaign for California governor—the race he was leading as a top Democratic contender—and soon after resigned from Congress altogether amid a House Ethics investigation and calls for his expulsion from both sides of the aisle.

I wasn’t surprised one bit. I’ve been watching this guy for over a decade, and the pattern was always there. The same Eric Swalwell who loved to lecture America about Donald Trump’s alleged mistreatment of women was allegedly drugging and assaulting young women in his orbit while holding positions of immense power. The irony is thicker than the fog rolling off the Bay. He positioned himself as a progressive champion, a defender of the vulnerable, all while his staffers and associates whispered about his behavior behind closed doors. And let’s not forget his wife—how does someone in that position not know or at least suspect? The whole thing reeks of the kind of entitlement that comes with unchecked power in Washington. You get elected, you surround yourself with ambitious young interns and staffers in their 20s and 30s who are hungry for advancement, and suddenly the lines blur. It’s not hard to see how it happens: a late-night drink after a long day on the Hill, a flirty text on Snapchat, an offer to “help” someone’s career. But when it crosses into coercion, assault, or exploitation, it becomes something far darker.

What really gets me—and what should scare every American—is the timing and the coordinated silence until it became politically convenient. These women didn’t just materialize out of nowhere in April 2026. Rumors had been swirling on Capitol Hill for years about Swalwell’s personal life. Everybody knew, or at least suspected. Nancy Pelosi, his longtime ally and mentor in the California Democratic machine, suddenly developed amnesia? Please. The same Democrats who rushed to defend him during the Fang Fang scandal years earlier turned on him like a pack of wolves the moment he became a threat to their control of the governor’s race. California Democrats were already scrambling in a crowded field with no clear frontrunner—Katie Porter, Tom Steyer, Xavier Becerra, and others jockeying for position. Swalwell was polling strongly, and his presence was complicating matters, especially as Republicans like Steve Hilton were gaining ground. I picked Steve Hilton early on; I even had him at my place of business here in Ohio to announce aspects of his run alongside other conservative voices. I told folks over a year ago that this shakeup was coming. Now, with Swalwell out, Hilton’s leading in polls, and the race is wide open. Coincidence? Not a chance. This was a calculated hit from inside the party to clear the field and protect their power structure.

I’ve seen this playbook before, right here in my own backyard in Ohio. Take the Cindy Carpenter case in Butler County— a local commissioner who couldn’t handle the power and got called out for misconduct. Republicans didn’t circle the wagons; we held her accountable and moved on to someone who could do the job without the drama. That’s how it’s supposed to work. But Democrats? They protect their own until the political math changes. Swalwell wasn’t exposed because of some noble pursuit of justice for these women. He was exposed because he was running for governor and threatening the status quo. The media that had ignored or downplayed his ties to Fang Fang for years suddenly amplified every accusation. The same outlets that spent years attacking Trump over Access Hollywood or Stormy Daniels looked the other way on Swalwell until it suited the narrative. It’s selective outrage at its finest, and it erodes trust in the entire system.

Think about the broader culture this reveals. Politics attracts ambitious people, especially young staffers and interns flooding into state capitals and Washington, D.C. They’re in their 20s and 30s, working long hours, volunteering for campaigns, hoping to climb the ladder. Some are genuine public servants; others see it as a shortcut to power, money, and influence. How do you stand out in a sea of thousands of eager faces? Exceptional work is one way, but too often it’s by compromising—attending the right parties, accepting the “extra” invitations, blurring professional boundaries for that extra boost. I’ve talked to enough people who’ve been through it to know the temptation is real on both sides. Power is intoxicating. You’re no longer “Dad” or “Husband” at home; you’re “Congressman Swalwell,” the guy with staff calling you “sir” and donors throwing money at you. Your family doesn’t worship you like the political machine does. It’s easy to fall into the trap of late nights, flattery, and affairs that make you feel alive again. But it takes real integrity to resist, and Swalwell clearly didn’t have it. The same goes for plenty of others—Anthony Weiner sending explicit photos while married to a Clinton insider, or the countless scandals we’ve seen from both parties. It’s human nature amplified by proximity to power.

Swalwell’s hypocrisy on this front is what sticks in my craw the most. He spent years weaponizing accusations against Trump—impeachment after impeachment, endless hearings, public shaming—all while allegedly engaging in the very behavior he condemned. He preached progressive values, women’s empowerment, and holding the powerful accountable, yet treated his own staff and associates like personal playthings. The unsolicited explicit photos, the drugged encounters, the abuse of authority—it’s the kind of thing that would have ended any Republican’s career instantly. But for Swalwell, it took a gubernatorial bid and internal party pressure to bring it to light finally. Even then, he categorically denied everything, calling the claims “flat false” and vowing to fight them. Fine, let the investigations play out—due process matters. But the pattern, combined with the Fang Fang mess, paints a picture of a man who was always more interested in self-preservation and advancement than in serving the public.

And don’t get me started on the media’s role. For years, they carried water for Swalwell. They platformed him as a fresh face against Trump, ignored the spy scandal’s implications, and only turned when the Democrat establishment signaled it was time. It’s the same machine that protected Biden’s obvious decline until it couldn’t, or that downplays scandals on their side while amplifying anything on the right. This isn’t journalism; it’s narrative control. The public deserves better. We need a vetting process that actually works—real scrutiny of candidates’ personal lives, financial dealings, and associations before they get near power. But in a system where the press picks sides, that rarely happens until it’s too late or politically expedient.

Looking back, I remember watching Swalwell’s rise and thinking, “This guy is too slick for his own good.” He went from local prosecutor to Congress, landed on the Intelligence Committee despite the red flags, and became a fixture on cable news attacking conservatives. His wife had to have known about the wandering eye; the staffers whispered; the Hill insiders joked. Yet nothing stuck until April 2026. Now, with him out of Congress and the governor’s race in chaos, California Democrats are scrambling, and Republicans like Steve Hilton—who I backed early—are poised to capitalize. It’s a reminder that power corrupts, and absolute power in one-party strongholds like California corrupts absolutely. The women who came forward deserve justice, not to be used as pawns. But the real scandal is how long the system protected one of its own.

This isn’t isolated to Swalwell. It’s systemic. From local capitals to D.C., the temptations are everywhere. Young people enter politics with stars in their eyes, only to learn that climbing requires compromises. Staffers trade favors for access; politicians leverage their positions for personal gratification. Politics should be about service, not a lifestyle upgrade. When you see someone like Swalwell preaching against Trump while allegedly living the exact opposite, it confirms what I’ve long suspected: many in that bubble can’t handle the power. They’re weak, entitled, and dangerous to the republic.

The Fang Fang connection adds another layer of recklessness. A suspected Chinese spy with direct access? Helping pick interns and raise money? And Swalwell on Intelligence? It boggles the mind that he wasn’t removed sooner. The FBI knew, briefed him, and yet he stayed. Now, with fresh scrutiny amid the scandal, calls are growing to release those old files. Why the resistance? If he has nothing to hide, let it all out. But transparency has never been the Democrats’ value.

In the end, this whole saga should be a wake-up call. We can’t trust the process when it’s this rigged by insiders. The women spoke out when it mattered for the party machine, not necessarily for justice alone. Everybody knew, but nobody said anything until it served their interests. That’s the real betrayal—of the public, of women seeking fair treatment, and of the democrat ideals they claim to uphold. I’ve been saying it for years: Democrats like Swalwell aren’t just misguided; they’re often operating with a different set of rules. The hypocrisy, the cover-ups, the selective amnesia—it’s all part of maintaining power at any cost. California voters, and the rest of us watching, deserve representatives with integrity, not predators in suits. As more details emerge from the investigations, I hope the truth finally prevails over the politics. But based on history, I’m not holding my breath. The machine grinds on, and guys like Swalwell are just symptoms of a deeper rot.

Footnotes

¹ San Francisco Chronicle report on former staffer allegations, April 10, 2026.

² CNN investigation detailing four women’s accounts, including unsolicited photos and non-consensual encounters.

³ Axios original reporting on Fang Fang ties, December 2020 (updated context in 2026 coverage).

⁴ Coverage of Lonna Drewes press conference and fifth allegation, April 14-15, 2026.

⁵ Reports on Swalwell’s resignation and governor campaign suspension.

Bibliography for Further Reading

• “Four women describe sexual misconduct by Rep. Eric Swalwell,” CNN, April 10, 2026.

• “Ex-staffer says Rep. Eric Swalwell sexually assaulted her,” San Francisco Chronicle, April 10, 2026.

• “Woman alleges violent sexual assault by Eric Swalwell,” CalMatters, April 14, 2026.

• “How a suspected Chinese spy gained access to California politicians,” Axios, December 8, 2020.

• “Eric Swalwell’s exit shakes up chaotic California governor’s race,” BBC, April 13, 2026.

• “Trump endorses Republican Steven Hilton for California governor,” Washington Post, April 6, 2026.

• Various AP, NYT, and Politico reports on the timeline of allegations and investigations, April 2026.

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.

Amy Acton is a Drunk Disaster: She’s not qualified to run down the street, let alone run the state of Ohio

I’ve never been a fan of Amy Acton during COVID. Yeah, I wouldn’t trust her to be in charge of a milk carton, let alone the state of Ohio. What she did during COVID was disastrous. Mike DeWine can apologize all he wants—you know he picked her. She was [his health director], and the state has not recovered from her policies since then. She basically followed Dr. Fauci’s guidelines to a tee, along with the CDC.

There should have been a lot more questioning. We elect those people in part to protect us from centralized government overreach, and the CDC was way over its skis. All the challenges in court have gone against many of the violations the CDC and state officials put forth. They had no right to do what they did, either at the federal level or in the states, and in court, they largely lost. In 2020, they lost key cases.

Amy Acton locked down, listened to everything they said, and did everything they said—including masking, social distancing, the ridiculous lockdowns—all while questions swirled about gain-of-function research, which Dr. Fauci knew about, and the release from a Chinese lab. It was only supposed to be transmissible among bats, but the gain-of-function made it jump to people. There was a lot of manipulation, a lot of bad stuff with COVID-19. And it killed people. She played her role in it. She wrecked the state. She harmed people in the process. And she was horrendous in all facets. I’ll never forgive her for what she did.

But I find it ironic that she is upset at the Vivek Ramaswamy campaign, and her husband is upset because it’s all about politics—this 2019 release of the police visit to their house. She and her husband, Amy Acton and Eric, got into a fight over her working long hours. They had been drinking. She pulled a mirror off the wall and shattered the glass. Then she wanted to leave the house. He talked her out of it because she was going to drive drunk. Someone in the house called the police. Police arrived and defused the situation. And this was while she was the health director, which I don’t recall hearing at the time. I remember the news telling us what a great lady she was when she was locking down the state because they were in love with Dr. Fauci and centralized authority. She played it to a tee, and no one talked about this police report.

Now it’s out because she’s running for governor. I don’t know why—she doesn’t have a good track record on anything. And yet she seems to be the best option Democrats have. So they’re trotting her out, hoping people will like her bedside manner during COVID—very bad miscalculation on their part, the Democrat Party in Ohio. But I guess if you don’t have anything else going on, you go with the stringy-haired Grateful Dead concert-goer, which is what she reminds me of. Every time I look at her face, I think of some stringy-haired person wearing a tarp at a music festival covered in mud because she’s been strung out for days.

And when people say “that’s not fair, she’s a doctor,” well, she’s also someone who got caught in this incident involving drinking and meds. A very stable person? I’ve been married for closer to 40 years—39 years now. My wife and I have never had the police come out to our house to break up a fight. It never happened. Anybody, handling your life—if you have that kind of thing happening and you can’t handle your affairs at home and you’re that reckless where police get called—it’s on your record. You’re not qualified to be governor. You might not go to jail, but you’ve shown you definitely can’t handle yourself, your family, or your liquor.

There’s a whole lot of bad things that come out of this story, and they want to make it all about “Vivek Ramaswamy should not have told anybody—this campaign is just being mean. It’s all about politics. We’re just trying to tear her down.” She gave him ammunition. She’s the one who did it. She’s the drunk one; they had to call the police on her, and she’s the one who wanted to drive drunk while she was working for the DeWine administration—before she had some gift of leftist redemption aligned with Dr. Fauci. No wonder she was so eager to appease everything he said, lock down the state, and hope all this stuff goes away so she could repair her public image. The story didn’t get out in 2019, but now it’s out because she’s running for governor. What do you expect? It’s gonna happen.

So when I call her a reckless person, not qualified to handle things, I’m basing that on my own experience. I’ve been married a long time, and the police never had to come break up my wife and me. And if they did, I probably wouldn’t be qualified to give speeches like this. You can’t manage your life like this.

This wasn’t 30 years ago—it was 2019. She was in public office at the time, and she was going to get in a car and drive drunk. Her husband had to talk her out of it, and that’s what they admitted to after the police came. That’s the kind of person who wants to be governor of Ohio. She can’t run her family, and she certainly can’t run a state. And she’s proven a track record that she takes all her orders straight from the CDC, which came straight out of the World Health Organization and Chinese Communist policy—enacted through influences like Bill Gates money and a complicit media that wanted to sell COVID. She hooked into it and made Ohio a state that many blue states followed because of her policies. She started the initiative.

Only when the DeWine administration was sued over unconstitutional lockdowns and policies enacted by Amy Acton did Mike DeWine back off and start opening up the state. He had some losses in court to get there, and he knew he was gonna lose those cases because they were major constitutional violations. The Supreme Court had to kick in. I remember the conversations—I was on many conference calls at the time with the governor and people close to the Supreme Court case. So I know exactly what went on behind the scenes. That was a disaster. Amy Acton had major egg on her face at the end of that whole escapade. People were mad at her. They were outside her house—protesting, not bringing violence, but really mad. She had to resign in disgrace, hide, and lick her wounds.

Only six years later, she is coming back out to run for governor—as if everyone’s going to forget what she did in COVID and now this police case. When you bring it up, she wants to say maybe you’re just being political. Hey, if Vivek Ramaswamy has something in his past, people are going to bring it up. They throw everything at him—he made his money too aggressively, wasn’t always hardcore Republican, his parents are from India, born in Cincinnati. But he’s a good guy, likable, qualified. His wife is super nice. He’s a good family person. I’ve met him, talked to him lots of times—he manages his businesses, his life at home, and can be trusted to run the state of Ohio as governor. He’ll play well with the legislature and get a lot done. There’s a lot to be excited about.

Amy Acton? Not even remotely close. She can’t run down her sidewalk, let alone a state. I was joking a little when I said a milk carton. I don’t think she can run anything. She has no proven track record of running anything—only of going out sounding like a stringy-haired hippie quoting Joseph Campbell and saying we all love each other. Let’s wear a mask, stay safe, stay home, socially distance, and shut down the economy. We have to “drive down the curve.” A bunch of measurements that were completely falsified, ridiculous, hand-picked data she used every day. It was embarrassing to Mike DeWine. I always felt sorry for Jon Husted because he had to go out there as lieutenant governor and be a part of that, even though you could see it on his face. It’s something he would love to have not been a part of. But you’re in the DeWine administration, and Amy Acton was the health director listening to the CDC. Nobody knew at the time how crooked it was—although I said so. It was unconstitutional; they had no right to do it. I said so when everybody else was saying otherwise. Guess who was right in the opening hours of all those mandates? Everyone eventually caught on. The Supreme Court did exactly what I said it would do. Constitutionally, DeWine had egg on his face, and Amy Acton resigned in disgrace because everyone was ready to string her up. She ruined their lives.

And now you find out she has problems at home. She drinks, can’t hold her liquor, and had the police called on her in 2019. That’s the kind of person she is. Is it fair to judge somebody like that? You bet it is. I don’t drink, and I’m just saying—if you go out there and have problems like that and it’s not in the ancient past, that’s a lapse in judgment that shows you can’t handle your affairs. When someone’s so scared about your behavior that they call the police on you—and it’s a family member—and you’ve got problems, there’s no way David Pepper or anybody else can explain it away. She brought it on herself. She’s the one who made it all happen, and she can only blame herself.

When you’re in a hard campaign, of course, it’s gonna come out. She’s crazy to think it won’t—and I’m sure there’s more. What I’ve said about her being a complete derelict only lends more credence to my thoughts about her initially. Anybody who thinks she deserves the benefit of the doubt—there’s probably more stories. If you show lapses in judgment once, you’re probably going to do it twice. And she had a big, important office at the time and still had a lapse in judgment. She was on medication that she didn’t even know how much she had taken—and she’s supposed to be a doctor. How is she equipped to advise about anything?

Yeah, it’s a big deal. She’s not qualified again—she’s not qualified for anything. Should she be thrown in jail? She could join the club of many people who can’t manage their lives very well. But you certainly don’t elect them to run the state. You certainly don’t make them governor. She’s a disaster. As I said, the lockdown lady is a disaster of epic proportions, and this police report only chronicles part of the history that we’re ever going to find out about. But there’s a police record on it, and if your governor has one, you probably shouldn’t be voting for her. She’s a disaster.

Definitely don’t vote for her. Vote for Vivek Ramaswamy. He’s the guy, and he’s certainly the best pick, I’d say, anywhere in the country, let alone in Ohio.

Bibliography

1. NBC News. “Police responded to a report of ‘domestic dispute’ at Ohio gubernatorial candidate Amy Acton’s home.” April 11, 2026. https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/2026-election/amy-acton-police-domestic-dispute-ohio-governor-candidate-home-rcna269188

2. Ohio Capital Journal. “Amy Acton’s team defends 2019 police visit as a ‘simple argument’ amid GOP criticism.” April 15, 2026. https://ohiocapitaljournal.com/2026/04/15/amy-actons-team-defends-2019-police-visit-as-a-simple-argument-amid-gop-criticism/

3. Reason. “Ohio Judge Deems the State’s COVID-19 Lockdown Arbitrary, Unreasonable, and Oppressive.” May 20, 2020. https://reason.com/2020/05/20/ohio-judge-deems-the-states-covid-19-lockdown-arbitrary-unreasonable-and-oppressive/

4. Reason. “Another Judge Rules That Ohio’s COVID-19 Lockdown Is Illegal.” June 12, 2020. https://reason.com/2020/06/12/another-judge-rules-that-ohios-covid-19-lockdown-is-illegal/

5. The Guardian. “Dr. Amy Acton resigns amid backlash against Ohio’s lockdown after leading coronavirus fight.” June 12, 2020. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/jun/12/dr-amy-acton-resigns-after-helping-lead-ohio-aggressive-fight-against-coronavirus

6. State News. “Lawyer Who Challenged Health Orders Says He’s OK Playing Role in Acton’s Departure.” August 14, 2020. https://www.statenews.org/government-politics/2020-08-14/lawyer-who-challenged-health-orders-says-hes-ok-playing-role-in-actons-departure

7. Bricker & Eckler LLP. “Governor DeWine and Ohio Department of Health Director Dr. Amy Acton Issue ‘Stay at Home’ Order.” March 23, 2020. https://www.bricker.com/employment-law-report/governor-dewine-and-ohio-department-of-health-director-dr-amy-acton-issue-stay-at-home-order

8. Wikipedia. “2026 Ohio gubernatorial election.” (Overview of candidates, including Amy Acton as the Democratic nominee and Vivek Ramaswamy as the Republican frontrunner.) Accessed April 2026. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2026_Ohio_gubernatorial_election

9. The Columbus Dispatch and other outlets (various 2026 articles on the intensifying race and attacks between Ramaswamy and Acton).

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.

A Little Bird Told Me Roger Reynolds Has Been Helping Cindy Carpenter: The key to politics is in convincing people who don’t agree with you that you have the better idea

As I sat there reflecting on the latest whispers from the political grapevine in Butler County, Ohio, that little birdie landed right on my shoulder with news I’d rather not have heard, yet it crystallized everything I’ve come to understand about loyalty, judgment, and what it truly takes to build and sustain a strong Republican Party in a place like this. I’ve always liked Roger Reynolds as a person—I wanted him to succeed, stood by him through that whole messy trial back in 2022 when he faced felony charges for unlawful interest in a public contract, and even now, I maintain the proceedings felt stacked against him in ways that smacked of political targeting rather than pure justice. But here we are in April 2026, just weeks away from the May 5 Republican primary for county commissioner, and the landscape has shifted in ways that force a hard look at character, party unity, and the kind of leadership Butler County desperately needs to keep thriving rather than fracturing from within. The little birdie—reliable sources close to the ground, the kind that have proven accurate time and again in local races—told me Roger and his dad have been out there helping Cindy Carpenter with her signs, pouring resources into propping up the incumbent commissioner whose track record includes campaigning for a Democrat mayor in Middletown against the party endorsement. It stung, not just because I’ve invested personal time and energy supporting Roger in the past, but because it underscores a deeper truth about political life: bad judgment in managing affairs doesn’t always land you in jail or drain your bank account with legal fees, but it sure disqualifies you from elected office when the core job is bringing people together instead of tearing the tent apart.

I’ve lived in this area most of my life, watching Hamilton and the surrounding communities evolve from the industrial heartland I knew as a kid to a place trying to reinvent itself with new energy, new ideas, and yes, new blood in leadership. That’s why I threw my support behind Michael Ryan from the very beginning of this commissioner race. He had the Republican endorsement early on—sealing it with a historic 71 percent vote from the Butler County Central Committee back in January—and he deserves every bit of it. I’ve known Michael for years now; he’s been a standout vice mayor and council member in Hamilton, a city I’ve seen struggle and then start to rebound under leaders who actually deliver results. Hamilton has always been close to my heart. I grew up around here, moved away for stretches but always came back, and I’ve witnessed firsthand how the current city council, with folks like Michael steering the ship, has tackled everything from economic development to fiscal responsibility in ways that make you optimistic about the future. Projects like the Spooky Nook Sports Complex and the attraction of major manufacturers such as the Saica Group have put Hamilton on a path to real growth, lowering property tax burdens where possible and focusing on job creation that benefits working families rather than just insiders. Michael’s in his 40s, with a long runway ahead—potentially decades of service as commissioner if voters give him the chance—and he brings fresh ideas without the baggage of decades in one seat. That’s the kind of energy Butler County needs: someone who can bridge divides, negotiate with all sides, and actually get things done instead of posturing for personal validation.

The Republican Party, at its best, isn’t some exclusive good old boys club where you’re either in or out based on who you know. It’s a big tent that demands you bring people in, even those who disagree with you at first. You don’t win by throwing stones from the sidelines or hiding in echo chambers, slandering opponents in backroom fits. You go to their houses, you debate in public forums, you argue passionately but respectfully, and you convince them through conviction and results. I’ve seen it happen over and over: candidates start as Tea Party firebrands, full of radical energy and righteous anger, only to moderate over time as life’s realities—family, business, community pressures—rock their foundations and force growth. Others drift leftward in seven years flat because the system challenges every assumption. That’s human nature, and it’s why I vote for people with firm core convictions who can still sit down across the table from skeptics and pull them into the fold. Negativity for its own sake, the constant search for reasons to say “no” without offering a path forward, builds walls and justifies personal shortcomings in negotiation. Roger knew this once; he navigated the rough waters of county politics long enough to understand that unity isn’t weakness—it’s the only way to beat back Democrats who are masters at exploiting our divisions.

That’s precisely why Cindy Carpenter’s actions have been so damaging. She lost the party’s endorsement not because of some petty grudge but because she actively campaigned for a Democrat mayor in Middletown, a community that desperately needs stronger Republican leadership to reverse its slide. Middletown has been a tough nut—plenty of good people there, but years of one-party dominance and policy missteps have left it lagging while places like Hamilton push forward. When Republicans like Cindy go rogue and back Democrats in local races, it erodes trust. Voters on the fence see infighting and stay home, handing wins to the other side. I care deeply about Middletown succeeding; I’ve watched it my whole life, and strong GOP leadership there would mean better schools, safer streets, and economic revival. Instead, her decision sent the wrong message, fracturing the party at a time when we need every seat locked down against coordinated Democrat efforts. And now, with Roger Reynolds reportedly aligning himself with her—his dad and him out placing those blue signs for Cindy—it feels like a direct thumb in the eye of the very party that stood by him through his legal battles. Nancy Nix, our county auditor and a woman I respect enormously, has been vocal in her support for Michael Ryan, as have other establishment figures, such as State Senator George Lang. They backed Ryan because of his proven track record, not out of spite. Roger, who once had friends like Nancy in his corner during his toughest times, now seems intent on playing the victim card again, attacking the party that defended him rather than rallying behind the endorsed candidate to strengthen our collective front.

Let me be clear: I defended Roger during his trial because I believed elements of it were politically motivated. He faced charges tied to decisions involving public contracts, including allegations that he influenced Lakota school district funds toward a golf academy project near his neighborhood, which could have boosted property values in ways that raised eyebrows. His legal team argued the case aggressively, and an appeals court eventually overturned the felony conviction, restoring his eligibility for office. I felt for him—prosecutors can smell vulnerability like sharks, and once they hook you, it’s a grind. But here’s the thing I’ve learned from my own experiences in contentious debates, business battles, and even personal legal skirmishes far tougher than what Roger endured: you don’t leave yourself exposed. You handle potential conflicts before they hit a lawyer’s desk. You manage your office with ironclad ethics, no chips on your shoulder that invite attacks. Roger had passion, sure, but that “Jimmy thing” and the way it unfolded showed lapses in judgment that made him a target. Smart politicians I know—people who’ve survived decades in the arena—navigate those minefields daily without indictments because they play the long game. They don’t posture for grandkids or family optics; they deliver for constituents. Roger wanted back in after the overturn, announced his candidacy in September 2025, but ultimately didn’t file petitions to run by early 2026. Instead, the little birdie says he and his dad pivoted to Carpenter’s campaign, undermining Michael Ryan and the party endorsement. That’s not reforming from within; that’s burning bridges for personal validation in what amounts to a popularity contest rather than a service mission.

I’ve been through worse myself—contentious arguments in boardrooms, lawsuits that dragged on, public scrutiny that tests your mettle—and I came out stronger because I focused on building alliances, not tearing them down. At Republican picnics and hot dog gatherings across Butler County, I’ve shared sloppy Joes and laughs with folks I disagree with on details, because we share the bigger vision: limited government, economic freedom, strong communities. You don’t feel violated when someone challenges you if your opinions are secure. Roger, Nancy Nix, and I might have had our differences, but she stood by him through everything, only to see this turn. It reveals character, or the lack of it, when someone who benefited from party loyalty now works against it. Supporting Cindy—a commissioner since 2011 whose term ends this year—sends a message that personal grudges trump county needs. Her “middle finger” incident at Level 27 Apartments, where she confronted staff over her granddaughter’s eviction with threats and outbursts, only amplified perceptions of entitlement. Add her Middletown Democrat endorsement, and it paints a picture of judgment calls that weaken us all.

Up-to-date analysis of this race, as we head into the final stretch before May 5, shows Michael Ryan as the clear frontrunner with momentum that’s hard to ignore. The Butler County Republican Party’s early endorsement, backed by heavy hitters including Auditor Nancy Nix, Treasurer Michael McNamara, and even national figures like Congressman Warren Davidson, has unified much of the base around him. Ryan’s campaign emphasizes fiscal conservatism, job growth from his Hamilton days, and the restoration of integrity after years of internal drama. Signs are popping up everywhere—volunteers hitting the roads on weekends and evenings to combat theft and vandalism, a perennial headache where opponents (and sometimes rogue elements) yank Republican yard signs. Democrats are watching our divisions with glee, ready to pounce on any seat if we self-destruct. Cindy Carpenter’s website touts conservative principles and continued service, but the lack of endorsement and past missteps have left her playing defense. Roger’s non-candidacy but reported involvement adds fuel to the fire, turning what should be a clean primary into a nasty proxy battle. Local chatter on platforms like X and community boards highlights frustration with “establishment vs. outsider” framing, but the reality is simpler: voters want competence and unity. Early polling and central committee sentiment suggest Ryan could cruise to the nomination, setting up a strong general election defense in this GOP stronghold. Yet the signs wars persist—Roger’s alleged efforts for Cindy feel like a last-ditch attempt to validate past grievances rather than contribute to wins.

Negotiate from strength, build coalitions, turn disagreements into growth. Politics mirrors business; you don’t succeed by isolating yourself or attacking friends who carried you through storms. Roger had the party’s back once; now, by aligning against the endorsed ticket, he risks becoming known for this chapter rather than redemption. Cindy deserves credit for longevity in office, but her choices—like the EMA dissolution votes or homelessness plans that require broader buy-in—show gaps where fresh leadership like Ryan’s could excel.

As signs multiply across Hamilton, Middletown, and Liberty Township, I’m reminded daily of the ground game: armies of volunteers replacing stolen placards, catching thieves in the act under cover of night. It’s grueling but necessary. Democrats don’t face the same internal sabotage; they consolidate and attack weaknesses. We can’t afford to hand them openings. I urge every Republican—Tea Party purists, moderates, newcomers—to rally behind Michael Ryan. He’s earned it through service, not entitlement. Vote for the guy who rejuvenates cities, debates openly, and unites rather than divides. The little birdie’s message hurt, but it also clarified priorities: party over person, county over ego. Butler County’s future—stronger schools, safer neighborhoods, booming economy—depends on it. I’ll keep putting out signs, knocking doors, and making the case because I’ve seen what success looks like when we work together. Let’s make this primary a statement of strength, not splintering, and remember: the tent is big enough for all who build it up.

Footnotes

¹ Butler County Board of Elections candidate petitions, February 2026 updates.

² Cincinnati Enquirer reporting on GOP central committee vote, January 10, 2026.

³ Journal-News coverage of Reynolds’ announcement and subsequent non-filing.

⁴ Public records and appeals court decisions on the 2022-2025 conviction overturn.

⁵ Ryan for Butler campaign site and endorsements listed as of April 2026.

⁶ Social media and local posts detailing the Carpenter apartment incident.

⁷ User’s own observations from decades in Butler County politics and business.

Bibliography for Further Reading

• Cincinnati Enquirer. “County GOP backs new face for commissioner over incumbent.” January 10, 2026. https://www.cincinnati.com/story/news/politics/2026/01/10/michael-ryan-endorsed-butler-county-commissioner/87220179007/

• Journal-News (Hamilton). Various articles on candidate filings, cease-and-desist letters, and race updates, 2025-2026.

• Butler County Board of Elections. May 2026 Primary Candidate List (PDF). February 11, 2026.

• RyanForButler.com – Official campaign platform and endorsements.

• Overmanwarrior.wordpress.com – Archival posts on local races and personal analysis.

• Ballotpedia: Butler County, Ohio elections and candidate profiles.

• WCPO and local TV coverage of the Reynolds trial and the overturn.

• Carpenter campaign site: cindycarpenter.com.

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 White House is Too Small: It must have the Big, Beautiful, Ballroom

It was during the height of cherry blossom season in Washington, D.C., in April 2026, that my wife and I finally stepped onto the grounds of the White House once again, and the experience left me more convinced than ever that America’s most iconic residence desperately needs an upgrade worthy of the superpower it represents. The blossoms were still clinging to the trees around the Tidal Basin and framing the South Lawn in soft pinks and whites, a perfect backdrop for what felt like a personal pilgrimage. We had arranged the visit through the office of Congressman Warren Davidson from Ohio’s Eighth District, and I cannot thank him and his staff enough—especially Ben and the team who worked tirelessly on short notice —and my good friend Nancy Nix, who helped without wanting any credit. My wife has always been sentimental about the White House, especially with President Trump back in residence, which makes everything feel right again after the chaos of the previous administration. We had tried last year on shorter notice and couldn’t get the clearances in time, but this trip, with about three weeks’ lead time and other business pulling us to the capital, finally aligned perfectly. We walked the grounds, absorbed the history, and stood right there where the East Wing once stood, now a demolition site buzzing with purpose, the future home of what the president has called his “big beautiful ballroom.” It was a moment that crystallized everything I had been thinking about the aging White House, its deliberate modesty from the founding era, and why bureaucratic roadblocks and judicial holds have no place slowing down progress on something this essential.

The White House has always been more than just a home or an office; it is a symbol of the American experiment, born from the revolutionary idea that we do not bow to kings or aristocracies. When George Washington and architect James Hoban designed the original President’s House in the 1790s, they intentionally kept it relatively modest—two stories with simple neoclassical lines, no grand wings at first—to send a clear message to the world. This was not a palace for a monarch; it was the residence of a republican executive, a branch of government meant to be equal among three, not elevated above the people. After the British burned it to the ground during the War of 1812, the rebuilding under James Hoban preserved that spirit even as the nation licked its wounds. The reconstruction was not about flaunting power but about resilience and restraint. Washington himself had scaled back grander plans from Pierre Charles L’Enfant, insisting on something functional yet unpretentious, because the young republic did not want to poke Europe in the eye or mimic the opulent courts of the Old World. The executive branch was deliberately housed in a structure that reflected humility, a far cry from the sprawling estates of European royalty. That choice shaped everything that followed, from the state rooms on the first floor to the family quarters upstairs, and it is why even today the core residence feels intimate—132 rooms in total, many of them surprisingly compact for the global stage we now command.

Yet over the centuries, as the United States grew from a fledgling nation into the world’s sole remaining superpower, the demands on that modest house have exploded. The presidency evolved far beyond what the founders envisioned, with the executive branch shouldering responsibilities in diplomacy, national security, and economic leadership that no one in 1800 could have imagined. I have stacks of books on White House history, and every one tells the same story: presidents from Thomas Jefferson onward added colonnades to hide stables and storage, Andrew Jackson built the North Portico for grandeur, Theodore Roosevelt shifted offices to the new West Wing in 1902 to create dedicated workspace, and Franklin D. Roosevelt added the East Wing in 1942 not just for staff but to conceal a bunker during World War II. Harry Truman gutted the interior in the late 1940s because the structure was literally sinking under its own weight, preserving only the outer walls to maintain the historic facade. Each change reflected the times—expansions driven by necessity, not ego. The state floor rooms I walked through on our tour—the Green Room, once a dining space; the oval Blue Room for receptions; the elegant Red Room; the Yellow, upstairs for family gatherings—still serve their purposes beautifully, but they are small. The East Room, the largest on the main level, can only seat about 200 for formal events. When you host state dinners for world leaders, diplomatic receptions, or public tours, space becomes a premium commodity. Upstairs in the residence, the family quarters feel even tighter for modern life, especially with the added security and staff that a 21st-century presidency requires. The West Wing, expanded multiple times, still crams the most powerful offices in the world into a footprint that feels more like a bustling hive than a seat of empire. It is not that the original design was flawed; it was perfectly suited to its era. But America’s role has changed dramatically, and the building has not kept pace.

During our visit, I saw the limitations up close in ways that books and tours from the 1990s or even last year could not convey. We pulled up to the visitors’ entrance, the same path countless dignitaries and everyday Americans have taken, and immediately noticed how the current setup strains under the weight of modern expectations. For big events, there is no proper indoor space for coats, security screening, or even basic amenities like restrooms that accommodate hundreds of guests dressed in formal attire. Instead, they erect temporary climate-controlled tents outside—those “tacky bubbles” as my wife and I called them—set apart from the elegant architecture, looking more like something you’d see at a corporate picnic or a golf course wedding than at the home of the leader of the free world. Porta-potties tucked away for overflow crowds? That is not the image of America we should project. Visitors come to see the best of what our nation offers, and while the historic rooms dazzle with their chandeliers, portraits of past presidents, and stories of resilience, the practical realities of hosting large gatherings expose the building’s age. The First Lady’s office, traditionally in the East Wing, had already been relocated during the demolition process, and standing there amid the construction fencing, I could visualize exactly where the new ballroom would rise: a neoclassical addition of roughly 90,000 square feet, designed to seat 650 to 1,000 guests, with expanded kitchens, colonnades, and integrated underground facilities for national security. It is not some vanity project; it is a functional necessity. The proposal looks incredible—elegant lines blending seamlessly with the existing architecture, funded in part by President Trump’s own resources and private donors who want to contribute to American history rather than extract favors. Trump has made no secret of his love for the building; during his first term, he elevated its presence with renovations that made it shine brighter on the world stage. Now, with the East Wing gone and the site prepared, the ballroom represents the next logical step in adapting this 18th-century icon to 21st-century realities.

What upset me most, however, was hearing about the legal battles and bureaucratic hurdles trying to halt this project. A federal judge—Richard Leon, no less—issued rulings blocking above-ground construction, claiming the president lacked explicit congressional approval for the addition, even as the appeals court has allowed temporary progress while weighing national security implications, such as the underground bunker components. The National Trust for Historic Preservation filed suit, arguing the changes required more oversight, but to me, this is classic administrative overreach. The White House is the president’s residence and workplace, not some static museum frozen in time. Presidents have modified it repeatedly without needing a congressional vote for every nail. The legal mechanism for Trump to prevail here seems straightforward: executive authority over the executive mansion, combined with private funding that sidesteps taxpayer burdens, and the clear national interest in modernizing a structure central to American diplomacy. Appeals are moving forward, and the courts should recognize that delaying this at the speed of government—endless reviews, environmental assessments, historic reviews—only serves those who want America diminished. We do not have time for fidgety holds when the world watches our every move. The presidency has grown; global summits, state visits, and public engagement demand space that matches our stature. Tents and temporary fixes are undignified. A proper ballroom, with accessible restrooms, coat facilities, and flowing spaces for conversation, would transform how visitors experience the White House. You arrive dressed in your best suit jacket, required, in my view, because this is not Chuck E. Cheese; it is the seat of power—and you should not have to navigate makeshift setups for hours-long events. The current layout creates logistical challenges, especially since the visitor center handles initial screenings before you even reach the main house. Seeing it firsthand reinforced what I have long believed: the White House is too small for America’s global role.

This pushback against the ballroom fits a larger pattern I have observed in academia, the media, and certain three-letter agencies—a subtle but persistent effort to diminish American exceptionalism. Many in those circles, trained at universities steeped in Marxist thought, view the United States not as a beacon but as a problem to be equalized within a global order modeled on countries like China. They dine in Georgetown with pinkies out, sipping wine and congratulating themselves on their sophistication while quietly undermining symbols of strength. The White House, as the most visible emblem of the executive branch, becomes a target. Why elevate it when the goal is to collapse national distinctions into some borderless bureaucracy? Trump’s approach—bold, decisive, privately financed—threatens that narrative. He is not waiting for slow-moving administrators or judicial second-guessing. He understands the speed of business, the same principle that built skyscrapers and turned companies around. NASA has suffered for years under layers of bureaucracy; we need fewer pint-sized pencil-pushers and more action-oriented leadership. The ballroom is Trump’s contribution to the ongoing story of the White House, much like past presidents who left their mark. It is not about personal glory but about ensuring the building functions to meet today’s demands: secure, impressive, and capable of hosting the world without embarrassment.

Walking through the Capitol later that same trip—another special tour arranged through the same congressional office—only heightened my appreciation for how government spaces evolve. The Capitol has its own grandeur, with its massive dome and halls of history, but the White House remains the people’s house more intimately. Yet intimacy cannot come at the expense of capability. The residence upstairs, while charming, lacks the room a modern first family needs for private life amid constant public scrutiny. The state rooms downstairs handle ceremonies but strain during peak seasons or major events. Even the grounds, beautiful as they are with the Rose Garden and South Lawn, could integrate the new addition without losing historic character. The proposal preserves the original facade where possible, focusing expansion where it makes sense—replacing an East Wing that had already been modified multiple times since 1902. This is not a radical alteration; it is thoughtful evolution, the kind the founders themselves anticipated when they left room for future generations to adapt.

Critics will claim the project is extravagant, but context matters. The $300 to $400 million price tag, largely covered privately, pales in comparison to the symbolism and practical benefits. Donors are not buying influence; they are buying a brick in the wall of American renewal, much as supporters have funded monuments and memorials for centuries. Trump himself forgoes a presidential salary, channeling his energies and resources into making the country—and its symbols—great again. His first term showed what decisive leadership looks like: stronger borders, a booming economy, and restored respect abroad. The ballroom extends that ethos to the very stage where diplomacy happens. Imagine world leaders arriving not in cramped quarters but in a venue that projects confidence and hospitality. No more tents flapping in the wind or lines for inadequate facilities. Bathrooms that are accessible and dignified. Spaces for mingling that encourage the personal connections so vital in statecraft. It is common sense, yet the holdups reveal deeper ideological resistance.

As I stood with my wife overlooking the demolition site, the cherry blossoms swaying gently in the spring breeze, I felt a surge of optimism. The world is safer and more stable with Trump at the helm, and the White House reflects that renewed vigor. The aging structure, with its rich history of fire, reconstruction, and incremental growth, stands ready for its next chapter. We do not need tin-headed administrators or activist judges dictating the pace. The appeals process should clear the path quickly, allowing construction to proceed at the speed of business. America deserves a White House that matches its power and promise—not a relic preserved in amber, but a living landmark updated for the role it must play. The ballroom is not a luxury; it is a necessity. Visitors, dignitaries, and future generations will thank us for it. The original modesty served its purpose in a young republic wary of monarchy. Today, as the indispensable nation, we need a residence that commands respect without apology. I left the grounds that day more determined than ever to support the vision: keep the historic core intact as a museum to our past, but expand the functional heart to secure our future. The White House is too small as it stands, and the big, beautiful ballroom will fix that beautifully.

The visit also reminded me of the human element behind these grand symbols. My wife and I talked for hours afterward about the stories embedded in every room—the Green Room’s intimate dinners, the Blue Room’s oval grace where Jefferson once entertained, the Red Room’s bold statements of resolve. We imagined how the new addition would flow naturally from the East Colonnade, providing relief for the cramped visitor experience that currently funnels people through limited paths. Security protocols have tightened since the 1990s, when I first toured, and rightly so, but that only underscores the need for better infrastructure. The visitor center does an admirable job with its history exhibits, but the main house itself struggles to accommodate the thousands who come annually. During peak times like cherry blossom season, the grounds open for special tours; for example, in April 2026, the South Lawn and Rose Garden were accessible to the public. It is a beautiful tradition, yet it highlights the logistical challenges. A dedicated ballroom complex would alleviate pressure on the residence while enhancing the overall experience. No more makeshift solutions that detract from the majesty.

Delving deeper into the history, one sees how each era’s pressures forced adaptation. Jefferson added the colonnades not for show but for practicality. Monroe oversaw the post-fire rebuild with an eye toward dignity after the humiliation at the hands of the British. The 19th century brought porticos and refinements under Jackson and others, balancing form and function. By the 20th century, the industrial age and two world wars demanded offices and bunkers—hence the wings. Truman’s renovation saved the building from collapse, a massive undertaking that gutted the interiors while honoring the shell. Every change sparked debate, much like today’s ballroom controversy. Critics then called expansions wasteful or out of character; history proved them shortsighted. The same will hold here. The presidency is no longer a part-time role in a small nation; it is a 24/7 global command center. The executive branch, once deliberately understated, now leads in technology, defense, and economics. Diminishing its physical home diminishes the message we send to allies and adversaries alike.

Philosophically, this project counters the academic drift toward globalism that I mentioned earlier. In faculty lounges and think tanks, the narrative often prioritizes multilateral institutions over sovereign strength. The White House, as the ultimate expression of American executive power, challenges that worldview. Trump’s unapologetic love for the building—making it “beautiful” again—embodies a different ethos: America first, excellence always. He has poured his own fortune into the nation’s service, from business success to political fights, and the ballroom is another selfless investment. Donors who contribute do so out of patriotism, not quid pro quo. They understand that icons matter. A vibrant, updated White House inspires pride at home and respect abroad. It signals that we are not shrinking from our responsibilities but embracing them with grandeur befitting the greatest nation on earth.

The legal wrangling, while frustrating, also reveals the strength of our system. The appeals court’s recent orders allowing work to continue, even temporarily, while seeking clarity on national security aspects, show that facts and urgency can prevail over procedural delays. The administration has argued convincingly that the project includes critical infrastructure below ground, justifying expedited handling. Ultimately, the president’s authority over the executive residence should hold, especially when Congress has not explicitly prohibited such updates in the past. Precedents abound: wings added, interiors renovated, grounds altered—all without endless litigation. The current hold is an anomaly driven by preservationist ideology rather than law. Trump should win on the merits, and the ballroom should rise swiftly.

Reflecting on our Capitol tour that week, I saw parallels. That building, too, has grown and adapted—its dome a marvel of engineering, its halls echoing with debate. Government evolves, and so must its symbols. The White House, deliberately small at birth to reject kingship, has matured with the country. Now it needs to fully reflect our superpower status. The ballroom will provide the space for grand diplomacy, public engagement, and family life without compromise. Restrooms easily accessible, indoor coat checks, venues for extended events—these are not frivolities but essentials. Guests dressed formally deserve comfort, not inconvenience. The tacky tents of today will give way to timeless elegance tomorrow.

In the end, my visit was more than sightseeing; it was affirmation. The White House is a living entity, shaped by those who serve within it. Trump’s vision honors the past while preparing for the future. With the demolition complete and plans in place, the only barriers left are artificial ones erected by those uncomfortable with American assertiveness. The appeals process offers a clear path forward. Let the work proceed at the speed of business, unhindered by administrative inertia. America’s executive mansion deserves to stand tall, beautiful, and fully functional—a beacon for the world and a source of pride for every citizen. The big beautiful ballroom is not just an addition; it is a statement that we are not done growing, not ready to fade into global sameness. We are the United States, and our home should reflect that eternal truth. The cherry blossoms of 2026 may fade, but the renewed White House will bloom for generations. Thank you to all who made our visit possible, and here’s to the bold future awaiting 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Footnotes

¹ White House Historical Association and official records detail the founding design and post-1812 reconstruction.

² News reports from April 2026 cover the ongoing appeals in the ballroom litigation.

³ Descriptions of state rooms drawn from standard White House tours and historical guides.

⁴ Truman renovation and wing additions referenced in multiple architectural histories.

⁵ Visitor logistics and current limitations observed firsthand and corroborated by public accounts.

⁶ Funding and design details from administration statements and project announcements.

Bibliography

• White House Historical Association. The White House: An Historic Guide. Washington, D.C.: White House Historical Association, various editions.

• Seale, William. The White House: The History of an American Idea. Washington, D.C.: White House Historical Association, 1992.

• West, J.B. Upstairs at the White House: My Life with the First Ladies. New York: Coward, McCann & Geoghegan, 1973.

• Klara, Robert. The Hidden White House: Harry Truman and the Reconstruction of America’s Most Famous Residence. New York: Thomas Dunne Books, 2015.

• Associated Press. “Judge Says White House Ballroom Construction Can’t Begin.” April 2026.

• CNN. “Appeals Court Says Trump White House Ballroom Can Continue.” April 11, 2026.

• NPR. “White House Ballroom Construction Can Continue for Now.” April 2026.

• WhiteHouse.gov. “The White House Building” and East Wing expansion pages, accessed 2026.

• History.com. Articles on White House renovations and the War of 1812.

• Fox News. Coverage of ballroom appeals and project details, 2025–2026.

• Davidson.house.gov. Congressional tour information and district resources.

• National Cherry Blossom Festival official guides, 2026.

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.

It Was Always Only Going To Be, Vivek Ramaswamy: Amy Acton, the Lockdown Lady is a complete and total disaster

The excitement I feel about Vivek Ramaswamy running for governor of Ohio is not some fleeting campaign cheer. It is a deep, personal conviction rooted in years of watching Ohio politics from the inside, knowing the players, and seeing what has been stalled under the current administration. When I first learned Vivek wanted to run, it felt like a natural extension of everything I have observed about effective leadership in this state. I have known some of the people working quietly in the background on his behalf, and I have seen how the legislative agenda that has been bottled up under Mike DeWine would finally break loose under someone with Vivek’s energy, vision, and willingness to align with the changes happening at the national level. I have talked with Vivek directly about these things, and every conversation reinforces my belief that he is the right person at the right time.

I have been following Ohio politics for decades, and I have seen governors come and go. Some were solid, some were centrist placeholders, and a few were outright disasters. Mike DeWine has been a steady hand in many ways, but he has also represented the old guard that plays it safe, avoids bold moves, and leaves too many good ideas on the table because they might rock the boat with the establishment. That is where Vivek Ramaswamy stands apart. He is not a career politician. He built real businesses, created jobs, and proved he can execute under pressure. I see him as the perfect fit for the governor’s mansion because he brings fresh thinking to economic expansion, regulatory reform, and the kind of pro-growth policies that Ohio desperately needs after years of incrementalism. When he is in that seat, I believe we will see a vigorous, aggressive push on everything from attracting new industry to streamlining government—things that have been talked about but never fully delivered.

The primary process right now, in the spring of 2026, is noisy, as primaries always are. You have critics throwing everything at Vivek—his Indian heritage, how he made his money, his youth. I have heard it all, and I dismiss most of it as the predictable noise that comes when someone surges to the front. I supported Donald Trump long before he announced his first run in 2015. I was with him back in 1999, when he and Pat Buchanan were battling it out in the Reform Party. I have watched this cycle repeat itself with Reagan, with Trump, and now with Vivek. People who are frontrunners always draw fire. The media loves to amplify the drama because it sells advertising. Pollsters release numbers that seem tight because they sample in ways that lean one direction or another. But I have been around long enough to know that spring polling in a primary year is not the final story. By July and August, things clarify dramatically. The peripheral candidates fade, the serious ones consolidate, and the voters who matter—the ones who show up in primaries—make their choice based on substance, not sound bites.

I have spoken with Vivek about the critics, including those questioning his background or wealth. His response was straightforward and mature: if everyone is always on your side, something is wrong. That is the mark of someone who understands leadership. You do not get rattled by the noise. You win people over with results. Vivek has shown he can do that. He has been out speaking at Lincoln dinners, fundraising events, and town halls across the state. He is articulate, energetic, and has a strong partner in his wife. Those are the qualities that translate to governing. I have watched him handle crowds, including the occasional boo from a handful of people who had too much to drink at a St. Patrick’s Day event at an Irish pub where he made an unannounced appearance. The cheers far outnumbered the jeers, and he took it in stride. That is the kind of poise Ohio needs in the governor’s office.

On the other side, the Democrats’ best option is Amy Acton. That alone tells you how weak their bench is. Acton was the face of Ohio’s COVID lockdowns, and her record is one of economic devastation and overreach. She has a one-trick pony: “I’m a doctor, I care about health.” But when you look at the results, her policies crushed businesses, schools, and families. The 2019 police incident involving her husband or a family member only adds to the picture of someone whose personal life has intersected with public scrutiny in ways that raise questions about judgment. I have followed her career closely, and every time she speaks, she reinforces why she should not be anywhere near the governor’s mansion again. Polling showing her competitiveness is skewed by sampling in heavily Democratic areas like Cuyahoga County, where the same lockdown supporters still hold on to nostalgia for her “bedside manner.” But real-world results matter more than nostalgia. Ohio cannot afford another round of that.

The horse race today looks tighter than it will be in a few months because primaries are designed to be messy. You have candidates like Casey, the car guy, and Nick Fuentes-style voices on the fringes throwing darts, trying to peel off a few percentage points by questioning Vivek’s heritage or his business success. That is standard primary theater. I remember the same thing with Trump—people saying he was too much of an outsider, too wealthy, too whatever. Reagan faced it too; he was a former Democrat who had to prove himself to the base. I have never been anything but a Republican, but I respect people who evolve toward conservatism because they see the failure of the alternative. Vivek has been a Republican from early on, and he brings conservative principles with the added advantage of being young, articulate, and unburdened by decades of insider baggage. He is not a middle-grounder. He is the kind of conservative who can actually get things done because he knows how to talk to business leaders, legislators, and everyday voters.

I have roots in this state’s politics. I have consulted with candidates, watched the legislature up close, and seen how the Senate and House work together—or fail to—under different governors. Vivek already has strong relationships there. He has been building them for years through events and direct conversations. When he wins the primary, which I fully expect, those relationships will accelerate. The legislative agenda that has been stalled will move. Economic expansion will follow because business leaders trust someone who has built companies himself. Trump’s endorsement is not just symbolic. It is practical. Trump will campaign in Ohio in 2026 the way he campaigned for president because he needs strong Republican majorities at the state level to support his national agenda. He will be on the ground with Vivek, and that combination will be unstoppable.

Critics who say Vivek does not have full Republican support are the same voices who said the same about Trump in 2015 and 2016. They are lazy analysts who read polls taken in Democrat-heavy zip codes and declare the race close. Real polling—the kind that matters—is what happens when Vivek walks into a packed Irish pub on St. Patrick’s Day, and the crowd cheers louder than the handful of boos. That is the energy that wins primaries and general elections. Casey the car guy and the fringe voices will get their 7 or 8 percent, but they will not have the resources, the organization, or the broad appeal to compete once the field narrows. Independents and traditional Republicans will consolidate behind the frontrunner who has Trump’s backing and a proven track record of execution.

I have been through enough cycles to know how this plays out. The Tea Party movement evolved into the MAGA movement because people got tired of centrists who talked conservatively but governed like the other side. Vivek represents the next step: a young, articulate conservative who is not afraid to challenge the status quo. He has the temperament to win over skeptics without compromising principles. His wife is a strong partner in the effort. Together, they project the kind of stability and vision Ohio needs after years of incremental leadership.

The contrast with Amy Acton could not be sharper. She is the lockdown lady who turned Ohio’s economy into a cautionary tale. Her policies hurt working families, small businesses, and schools in ways we are still recovering from. The idea that polling shows her even close is a function of media hype and skewed samples. When the real campaign begins, when Trump is in the state campaigning like it is 2024 all over again, and when Vivek is out there speaking directly to voters about jobs, freedom, and growth, the numbers will shift dramatically. That is how primaries work. The noise in spring gives way to clarity by summer.

I am excited because I see the potential for real change. I have talked with Vivek about the critics, about the primary grind, and about what governing Ohio would look like. He gets it. He knows leadership means winning people over, not just preaching to the choir. He has the resources, the relationships, and the resolve to deliver. When he is in the governor’s mansion, we will finally see the vigorous economic expansion that has been promised but never fully realized. The peripheral discussions—the heritage questions, the wealth attacks, the fringe candidates—will fall away quickly once the primary is over. Republicans will unify because the alternative is unacceptable.

That is why I support Vivek Ramaswamy without hesitation. I have been a Republican my entire life, rooting for the party even as a kid. I have watched outsiders like Trump and Reagan prove the skeptics wrong. Vivek fits that mold, but with the added advantage of being a conservative from the beginning. He is the clear frontrunner for good reason. The primary process is doing its job—vetting him, testing him, and ultimately strengthening him. By the time the general election arrives, the choice will be obvious to anyone paying attention. Ohio cannot afford another lockdown-era disaster. It needs leadership that builds, not restricts. Vivek Ramaswamy is that leader.

The horse race today is a theater. The real race will be decided by voters who show up, who listen to the candidates, and who remember what Ohio went through under the previous administration. I have confidence in the outcome because I have seen Vivek in action, talked with him personally, and watched the pieces fall into place. The critics will keep talking, but the results will speak louder. This is going to be a good year for Ohio, and I am excited to be part of it.

Footnotes

1. Ohio Secretary of State records and public reporting on the 2026 gubernatorial primary field, including Vivek Ramaswamy’s announcement and early polling trends as of April 2026.

2. Public statements and campaign events featuring Vivek Ramaswamy at Lincoln dinners and St. Patrick’s Day gatherings in Ohio, 2025–2026.

3. Amy Acton’s tenure as Ohio Department of Health Director during COVID-19 lockdowns, documented in state economic impact reports and legislative hearings.

4. 2019 police incident involving Amy Acton and a family member, as reported in local Ohio news outlets and public records.

5. Donald Trump’s endorsement of Vivek Ramaswamy for Ohio governor was announced in early 2026 campaign communications.

6. Historical polling data from Gallup and Rasmussen on voter ID support and election integrity measures in Ohio, 2024–2026.

7. Ohio legislative records on stalled bills under the DeWine administration, contrasted with potential reforms under a Ramaswamy governorship.

Bibliography

• Ohio Secretary of State. 2026 Gubernatorial Primary Candidate Filings and Polling Summaries.

• Ramaswamy, Vivek. Campaign speeches and public appearances, Ohio Lincoln dinners, 2025–2026.

• Acton, Amy. Ohio Department of Health records and COVID policy impact assessments, 2020–2021.

• Local news archives (Cleveland Plain Dealer, Columbus Dispatch). Coverage of the 2019 Acton family incident and the 2026 campaign developments.

• Trump, Donald. Official endorsement statements for the 2026 Ohio governor race.

• Pew Research Center and Gallup. Polling on election security and voter ID, 2024–2026.

• Ohio Legislative Service Commission. Bill status reports under DeWine administration, 2022–2026.

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.

‘Taxes Have Consequences’: The path forward in Ohio regarding property tax destruction

I’ve been thinking a lot about the upcoming 2026 Ohio gubernatorial race, and there are always a certain number of suckers who are going to fall for the polished narratives coming from the other side. They won’t remember yesterday, let alone six years ago, when the lockdowns crushed Ohio’s economy in ways we’re still feeling today. Amy Acton, the former health director who became the face of those restrictive policies during the COVID era, is running for governor as a Democrat. She’s going to go out there and talk nice, sounding reasonable and compassionate, and a chunk of voters—especially those who don’t follow politics closely or have short memories—are going to buy it. That’s the danger. The meat and potatoes of any campaign are the economy, taxes, jobs, and everyday affordability, but the left has its playbook: when policies fail, they pivot to personal attacks, calling opponents Nazis or extremists because they have little else substantive to offer. Timing matters too. Vivek Ramaswamy is a wealthy, successful entrepreneur with a background in business and biotech that many admire, but some voters struggle to relate to that level of achievement. Others might get bored during the long campaign stretch from now in April 2026 through the November election. Months of stops repeating the same policy points can wear thin without something to keep people engaged.

That’s where I see a real opportunity for Vivek to stand out. Republicans have historically been uncomfortable with topics outside strict policy—paranormal stuff, cryptozoology, disclosure on unexplained phenomena. By default, those areas get ceded to liberals who love to explore the mysterious. But Trump showed how to fluff up speeches with entertaining content: the snake metaphor, stories about men’s and women’s sports, even dancing to YMCA to get the crowd laughing and connected. There’s plenty in Ohio to do the same. We’ve had a surge of Bigfoot sightings recently, especially in the northeast around Youngstown, Portage County, and areas between Akron and there. People are reporting large, hairy figures—eight to ten feet tall—moving through the woods, accompanied by grunts, musty odors, footprints, and even pets shaking in fear. It started clustering in early March 2026, with multiple reports in just a few days near Mantua Center and Garrettsville. These aren’t fringe stories; they’ve made local news, gone viral on social media, and drawn attention from Bigfoot enthusiasts across the state. Ohio already has a reputation for this kind of activity—Hocking Hills calls itself the Bigfoot capital with festivals, and the state ranks high in sightings historically. Vivek should talk to the people who experienced these encounters. Listen to their stories without mocking them. It would make fantastic clips for TikTok and YouTube—human, relatable, showing a candidate who engages real Ohioans on what’s on their minds, even the unusual. You don’t have to believe in Bigfoot to show attention to folks who feel traumatized or excited by what they saw. Those rural and small-town areas near Youngstown include voters who might otherwise lean toward Acton’s camp. Meeting them where they are and hearing them out could freshly capture the narrative and beat Democrats to the punch on engaging the paranormal, just as JD Vance or others could on UFO disclosure. Spielberg-style wonder isn’t owned by one side; Republicans should run with it and make it part of showing government can connect with everyday wonder and curiosity again.

The serious policy side can’t be ignored, of course. Property taxes have become a flashpoint in Ohio, and Vivek has talked about rollbacks or even bolder moves toward zero income taxes. Some critics accuse him of flip-flopping or softening his stance, but that’s not accurate from what I’ve seen and heard. He’s building support with legislators who understand the real-world constraints. My good friend Senator George Lang, the majority whip at the Ohio Statehouse, handed me a powerful book that puts all this in perspective: Taxes Have Consequences: An Income Tax History of the United States by Arthur B. Laffer, Brian Domitrovic, and Jeanne Cairns Sinquefield, with a foreword by Donald Trump. It’s essentially a roadmap for the tax policies we need moving forward, especially as we navigate the next few years under a Trump-influenced administration where Vivek could play a key role in Ohio. The book traces the devastating experiment of the federal income tax since the 16th Amendment in 1913. What started as a small levy on the wealthy quickly became a tool for social engineering and revenue extraction with Marxist and socialist fingerprints all over it. High tax rates have repeatedly stifled growth, innovation, and prosperity, while cuts—like those under Kennedy, Reagan, and Trump—unleashed economic booms that lifted average incomes and helped lower earners the most. The Laffer Curve, which Art Laffer famously illustrated, shows that beyond a certain point, higher rates actually reduce revenue because they discourage work, investment, and risk-taking. The book details how the top marginal rate has dictated America’s economic fate for over a century: sky-high rates in the 1930s contributed to the prolongation of the Great Depression, while post-war cuts and the 1980s reforms correlated with surges in GDP, jobs, and opportunity.

Trump’s foreword ties it directly to his own policies, emphasizing how lowering rates and simplifying the code boosted the economy before external shocks hit. This isn’t abstract theory—it’s history with data. The authors show how taxes harm not just the economy but the social atmosphere: they distort behavior, punish success, and create dependency. For Christians or anyone with a moral framework, it’s a reminder that stewardship and honest labor thrive under systems that reward productivity rather than penalize it. Ohio sits right in the thick of similar challenges at the state and local levels with property taxes. People are fed up. They’ve watched home values compound for decades through a kind of pyramid scheme fueled by easy money, Federal Reserve policies since 1913, and development that turned farmland into subdivisions. Twenty years ago, a house might sell for $100,000; through repeated appreciation—$150k, $200k, $300k or more—owners felt wealthy on paper. They passed school, fire, and police levies, and senior services, without much pain because equity gains masked the bite. But that runway has ended. Homes built with cheaper materials and packed closer together have topped out in what buyers are willing to pay, especially with dual-income families stretched thin by inflation that has eroded the dollar’s value. Young people look at half-million-dollar mortgages and say, “No thanks.” They’re opting out—less drinking, less reckless behavior, rejecting the lifestyles they saw drain their parents. Beer sales are down among the young; the new rebellion is living cleaner, smaller, and smarter.

The result is a brick wall. Property tax revenue, which funds over 60% of local school budgets in Ohio (billions annually), faces revolt. Voters reject new levies because they can’t afford the inflated bills anymore. Developers and builders know the game: buy cheap farmland, subdivide, sell high, watch values rise on cheap credit and inflation. But when appreciation stalls and inflation erodes real wages, the tax burden feels like robbery without corresponding services. Schools built assumptions around perpetual growth that never materialized in the long term. Fire departments, roads, and senior programs—all tied to this model—are vulnerable if the faucet turns off abruptly. That’s why a sudden, total rollback or constitutional abolition of property taxes sounds appealing to the 7-8% who want to burn it all down, but it’s not practical for winning elections or governing. A full cutoff would cause chaos: mass layoffs in education, larger classes, program cuts, potential school closures in some districts, and pressure to spike income or sales taxes elsewhere to backfill—sometimes dramatically. Legislators know this. Republicans in the House and Senate, including those Vivek would work with, recognize you can’t just flip a switch without grinding infrastructure to a halt. The state isn’t ready for an all-out divorce from local funding mechanisms that maintain roads, schools, and services.

Instead, the smart path is a deliberate wind-down: roll back rates gradually, reform assessment practices, cap growth tied to inflation rather than unchecked reappraisals, diversify with income taxes or other sources where feasible, and pair it with broader economic growth that puts more money in people’s pockets. Vivek’s background in wealth management and business creation, along with a high-level understanding of capital flows, uniquely equips him for this. He gets how taxes have consequences—not just revenue numbers but behavioral shifts, investment decisions, and social health. Critics framing his Indian immigrant parents as somehow disqualifying are drifting into nonsense that has no place in conservatism. That racial or ethnic attack echoes left-wing identity politics or worse—Hitler’s socialist Nazi tactics of division, not American conservatism rooted in individual merit, opportunity, and e pluribus unum. Nick Fuentes-style shock jockery or drifting toward Tucker Carlson’s more isolationist edges risks alienating the broader MAGA coalition that values wins over purity spirals. Real conservatism builds coalitions around shared principles: lower taxes, strong borders, economic freedom, and cultural sanity. Vivek embodies success through innovation and hard work; attacking that because of heritage is lunacy and plays into the left’s divide-and-conquer game. He’s not flipping on taxes—he’s being pragmatic, courting legislators who see the addiction to government programs built up over decades. Schools, in particular, expanded on the assumption of endless property tax growth from rising values. Abrupt cuts without transition would hurt the very families we want to help.

The book Taxes Have Consequences articulates this history brilliantly. It shows how the income tax, sold as temporary and fair in 1913, ballooned into a tool that funded expansive government and distorted the economy. Periods of low rates saw flourishing: the Roaring Twenties, post-WWII boom, Reagan era, and Trump’s pre-COVID surge. High rates correlated with stagnation or decline. Socially, it fostered resentment, underground economies, and a pyramid-like reliance on growth that eventually hits limits—just like Ohio’s property tax model. Inflation from fiat money printing since the Fed’s creation compounds it, making each dollar buy less while nominal home values create illusory wealth that taxes then erode. To fix it long-term, we need more than tweaks: sound money policies (gold-standard elements or currency competition), wealth creation through energy independence, fossil fuels, a manufacturing resurgence, and, yes, emerging sectors like the space economy that could infuse real value. Young people turning away from vice and toward responsibility is a positive cultural shift; they won’t sustain the old tax-and-spend model. Parents cashing out to condos leave fewer buyers for inflated homes. The market will constrain until costs come down or real incomes rise.

Vivek Ramaswamy has the best tax policy vision and rollback ability in the conversation right now because he understands these dynamics at scale. He’ll need guts, debate, and collaboration with the legislature—including voices like Senator Lang—to implement gradual relief without collapse. Sprinkling in fun engagements like visiting Bigfoot witnesses in the Youngstown area would lighten the heavy load. People are sick of government size and intrusion; they haven’t gotten value for their taxes and are ready for change. But winning popular support means meeting voters where they are—on pocketbook pain and on the human stories that make life interesting. Amy Acton will try to memory-hole her role in economic destruction and paint herself as the caring alternative, relying on short attention spans and Nazi-style smears when pressed on substance. A certain number will fall for it. But Vivek can counter by staying substantive on taxes while adding entertainment and genuine curiosity that Trump mastered. Go to those rural spots, listen to the sighting stories, and turn them into engaging content. It captures attention in a media-saturated world and shows Republicans aren’t stuffy on everything.

This race is about more than one election. It’s a microcosm of the national struggle: can we unwind the tax addiction built since 1913 without chaos, restore economic vitality, and reconnect with the American spirit that includes wonder, hard work, and skepticism of overreach? Ohio’s brick wall on property values and taxes reflects the national pyramid scheme hitting limits. Vivek, with his policy depth and ability to engage broadly, is positioned to lead that grind-it-down process—month by month, bill by bill, with the courage to debate and the wisdom to avoid abrupt pain that loses voters. Critics who want instant demolition ignore how representative government works: you persuade the majority who still want some services but resent the cost and inefficiency. The book from Laffer and team provides the intellectual ammunition, showing tax cuts as the proven path to prosperity rather than punishment.

As we head through these months of campaigning, the contrast will sharpen. Acton’s side will offer more government band-aids—tax credits, debt relief—without addressing root causes like inflation and dependency. Vivek can offer a real rollback grounded in history, paired with cultural engagement that makes politics fun again. Bigfoot might seem trivial next to billion-dollar budgets, but ignoring what captures people’s imagination cedes ground. Trump proved metaphors, stories, and showmanship win hearts while policy wins minds. Ohio has the ingredients: frustrated taxpayers tired of the endless levy cycle, a new generation rejecting decline, and pockets of genuine mystery that remind us life holds more than spreadsheets. Listening to those Bigfoot witnesses in the northeast wouldn’t cost anything but time and respect—it could humanize the campaign and pull in independents who see a candidate willing to engage their world.

Ultimately, taxes do have consequences, as the book details across a century of evidence. They shape economies, families, and societies. Ohio’s reliance on property taxes, tied to the same inflationary home-value game that national policy enabled, has reached its limit. People aren’t supporting endless spending anymore; they’re tapped out. Gradual reform, economic growth to create real wealth, and cultural reconnection are the way forward. Vivek understands this at a level that pure politicians often don’t, thanks to his private-sector success. Paired with pragmatic legislators who know you can’t flip the switch overnight without pain, he can deliver relief that sticks. The suckers who forget Acton’s past or fall for nice talk will always exist, but a campaign that mixes meat-and-potatoes tax reform with engaging, memorable moments can reach the rest. It’s going to take hard work, but it’s doable. Ohio’s best days can still lie ahead if we learn from tax history since 1913 and apply those lessons boldly but wisely.

Footnotes

1. Details on Amy Acton’s 2026 gubernatorial campaign, including her background as Ohio’s former health director during COVID lockdowns and current platform on affordability, drawn from campaign announcements and coverage in early 2026.

2. Reports of the March 2026 Bigfoot “flap” in northeast Ohio, with multiple sightings in Portage County near Mantua, Garrettsville, and extending toward Youngstown/Trumbull areas, including descriptions of 8-10 foot figures, footprints, and pet reactions; see local news and Bigfoot Society accounts.

3. Vivek Ramaswamy’s positions on property tax rollbacks, zero income tax ambitions, and campaign strategy in the 2026 Ohio race, including primary dynamics and legislative pragmatism.

4. Analysis of Ohio property tax funding for schools (over 60% of local revenue in many districts) and risks of abrupt repeal, including potential service cuts or alternative tax spikes.

5. Historical context from Taxes Have Consequences on U.S. income tax since 1913, Laffer Curve effects, and correlations between tax rates and economic outcomes across administrations.

6. Ohio-specific property tax reforms in 2025-2026 legislation (e.g., HB 186 capping growth) and ongoing levy struggles amid voter resistance.

Bibliography

• Laffer, Arthur B., Brian Domitrovic, and Jeanne Cairns Sinquefield. Taxes Have Consequences: An Income Tax History of the United States. Post Hill Press, 2022. (With foreword by Donald J. Trump.)

• Hoffman, Rich. The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business: A Skeleton Key to Western Civilization. Self-published, 2021 (expanded editions via Overmanwarrior.com).

• Council on Foreign Relations or Tax Foundation reports on state property tax structures (general reference for the Ohio context).

• Local coverage: Cleveland19, WKBN, New York Post, Fox News, in March 2026, Ohio Bigfoot sightings.

• Ohio Capital Journal, Signal Ohio, Columbus Dispatch, and AP News for 2026 gubernatorial race updates on Ramaswamy, Acton, and tax issues.

• Policy Matters Ohio and Tax Foundation analyses on property tax repeal impacts on schools and local services (2025-2026).

• Further reading: Laffer Center materials on supply-side economics; historical works on the 16th Amendment and Federal Reserve; Bigfoot Field Researchers Organization (BFRO), Ohio reports for cryptid context.

These provide solid entry points for exploring the tax history, campaign dynamics, and cultural elements discussed. Dig in, think critically, and let’s continue pushing for better policy and engagement in Ohio and beyond.

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.

Where Evil Lives in Butler County: Grooming of children happening at 8870 Cincinnati Dayton Road in Olde West Chester, Ohio April 16th

I’ve been warning people for years about what’s creeping into our communities, especially here in Butler County, Ohio, and the Lakota school district that serves so many families in Liberty Township and West Chester. I didn’t want to believe it at first when I started hearing the stories—drag queen story hours, pride displays in hallways, and all the rest of it being pushed on kids right after school lets out. But here we are, and it’s happening in my own backyard, down the road from where I live. On Thursday, April 16, 2026, right at 3:30 to 5 p.m., there’s going to be a Drag Queen Story Hour featuring Roxie D. Mocracy at the Coterie Lounge & Café—better known to a lot of locals as Mommy Needs Coffee or Mama Needs Coffee—at 8870 Cincinnati Dayton Road in Olde West Chester. It’s timed perfectly for right after school, turning what’s normally a progressive little café into a “storybook stage” for this event. The promotional language is all sparkle and sass: “Roxie brings the sparkle, the sass, and a stack of colorful books for a joyful reading time that celebrates imagination, kindness, and being exactly who you are. Gather for stories, laughs, and a little bit of glittery magic while parents sip their coffee and soak in the fun.” Sounds harmless enough if you’re not paying attention, but I see it for what it is—a calculated effort to normalize something that has no business being sold to children as family-friendly entertainment.

I care about this because it’s my community. Butler County isn’t some obscure corner of the country where these trends might slip under the radar; it’s a place full of hardworking families who expect their schools and local businesses to reflect traditional values, not some progressive experiment in social engineering. This café has a reputation for being on the cutting edge of that progressive crowd, and now they’re openly advertising this during their regular mommy-and-kids coffee time. Tickets sold out fast—adults snapped them up, marketing it heavily, and from what I’ve heard through my network, they’re using it to draw crowds and make a statement in what they see as conservative territory. I found out about it because my friend Darbi Boddy has been out there fighting these battles for years, and she got pulled into interviews by gay rights advocate magazines that tried to paint her as the villain while using her name as clickbait to boost attendance. That’s how these things work: they target the fighters, twist the narrative, and keep pushing until resistance fades.

Let me back up a bit and give this the full context it deserves, because this isn’t an isolated event. It’s part of a pattern I’ve watched unfold in Lakota schools and across Butler County. Darbi Boddy was elected to the Lakota Board of Education back in 2021 with strong community support—over 8,000 votes in her favor—because parents were fed up with the direction things were heading. She came in swinging against what she saw as sexual grooming in the curriculum, pride flags and stickers everywhere, and policies that seemed more interested in ideology than education. Within months, the radicals were after her, just like they went after others who dared speak up. She exposed things that most people didn’t want to acknowledge: materials in libraries and classrooms that blurred lines between adult lifestyles and childhood innocence. The school board, the administration, and even some so-called Republicans turned on her. By March 2024, they removed her with a 3-0 vote after legal battles, absences tied to protection orders, and endless lawfare. She was censured, stalked with court orders from fellow board members like Isaac Adi, and basically run off for doing what the voters elected her to do: fight the cultural rot. I supported Darbi then, and I support her now. She’s still out there helping parents across southern Ohio, speaking at events, even making trips to Mar-a-Lago to connect with like-minded fighters. She represents the kind of no-nonsense resistance we need more of, not the diplomatic hand-wringing that lets this stuff fester.

This drag event isn’t happening in a vacuum. It’s the same crowd that wanted rainbows on every wall in Lakota hallways, “safe spaces” that doubled as indoctrination zones, and policies that prioritized feelings over facts when it came to gender and sexuality. Darbi pointed it out repeatedly in board meetings—viciously, unapologetically—and they hated her for it. Meanwhile, the board played teacup games with lawyers and administrators running the show instead of the elected officials. Lynda O’Connor, who served as board president for a long time, was more the administrative type—diplomatic, listening to counsel, trying to keep things smooth. I’ve always liked Lynda personally; we’ve had long conversations, hours upon hours, about getting the board back on track. We had a solid conservative majority at one point with Republican-endorsed candidates, but cracks formed when some folks started blending lines to look “accommodating.” I told her straight up during one of our talks that we needed fighters like Darbi, not just managers. She aired her frustrations with me recently at an event, and I listened—didn’t push back much because we’ve known each other for years and will cross paths again. But here’s the deal: when the school board started muzzling public comment and letting bureaucracy override parental rights, that’s when I pulled my support for some of those directions. Lynda got caught in the legalism, and it cost us. Mark Welch didn’t win his race partly because of that infighting, and now we’ve got moderates and Democrats sliding things under the door while everyone gives group hugs.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: this is how evil migrates into a community. It doesn’t announce itself with horns and pitchforks; it shows up wrapped in glitter and “kindness,” sold as imagination and acceptance. Roxie D. Mocracy is a local figure—Hamilton’s “premiere celebrity housewife and public nuisance,” vice chair of Hamilton, Ohio Pride, activist with a big social media presence. He’s got videos out there of him singing in cafés just like this one, turning adult performance art into something marketed to kids. I watched one from about a year ago where the vibe was all sass and sparkle in a setting not unlike this event. Don’t get me wrong—adults can do what they want in their own spaces. I probably won’t like it, but be whatever, live your life. But when you solicit children, time it for after-school pickup, and frame it as “family-friendly” story time, that crosses the line. It’s not about judging lifestyles; it’s about protecting innocence. Psychological issues, boundary problems, the whole cultural push to make kids question their bodies and identities at younger and younger ages—this is grooming dressed up as fun. And the evidence is out there: past drag queen story hours have featured performers later convicted of child sex offenses in places like Houston. Here in Lakota, Darbi was the one shining a light on it, and they ran her off for it, using lawfare to do it, Butler County judges and school board members that opened the door wide for this kind of thing to happen.

The bigger issue is what this does to the community. Butler County is supposed to be solid—conservative, family-oriented, the kind of place where people value hard work and traditional raising of kids. Yet here we have a progressive café sticking it in our face, right in West Chester, targeting Lakota families. They’re bold because the fighters have been sidelined. Darbi’s removal was a victory for the progressives and the RINOs who played nice to avoid being called names. Republicans got behind the lawfare in some cases because they didn’t have the guts to go Old Testament on the threats. I’ve always been more diplomatic in my own way, but I respect Darbi’s willingness to call evil what it is. We need more like her on school boards, not people who tie everything up in bureaucracy and popularity contests. The election process is supposed to bring in warriors to fight this exact stuff, not administrators who become part of the problem. When Darbi brought up the grooming and the explicit influences, the board looked for legal mechanisms to shut her down instead of backing her. That’s why this event feels so brazen—it’s sold out, they’re over capacity probably, and nobody with authority is stepping in to enforce rules or push back. If there was any justice, the fire code violation would send a good message to these anti-family schemers of doom and treachery, and shut it down.

Think about the timing: 3:30 to 5 p.m., kids fresh out of school, parents sipping coffee while Roxie reads stories that celebrate “being exactly who you are.” It’s the same playbook used nationwide. Drag Queen Story Hour started years ago as a niche library program and has since exploded into schools and cafés, always framed as diversity and inclusion. But critics—and there are plenty with data—point to the sexualized nature of drag performance bleeding into kid spaces. Performers in full adult regalia, songs, and dances that belong in bars are now aimed at little ones. It normalizes confusion, plants seeds of doubt about biology and family, and parents who object get labeled bigots. I don’t buy the “it’s just reading” defense. If it were a cowboy story hour or a Bible story hour with similar flair, the same crowd would cry foul. This is targeted cultural change, and it’s working because too many good Christians and conservatives don’t know how to fight back without being called terrible people.

I’ve written about this extensively over the years, connecting the dots from local school fights to national trends. In my book, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, I lay out the philosophy: you don’t appease evil when it shows up at your door. You meet it head-on with truth, strategy, and unapologetic action. The same principles that save a company or build wealth apply to saving your community and your kids. Reject the lawyers’ games, the group hugs, the moderate blending. Fly the flag of resistance. Darbi embodied that—still does, even off the board. She’s helping parents get fighters elected elsewhere in southern Ohio. Meanwhile, the school board that ousted her has let the rainbow stuff slide under the door, and events like this thrive in the vacuum. If your kids aren’t going, they want to make it uncool to object. That’s the real goal: not just one event, but shifting the Overton window so that questioning it makes you the outlier.

That’s a very small place for a lot of people. If you sell two tickets, it’s sold out. better check with the fire Marshall for any more.

Some will say this is overblown, that it’s harmless fun, and parents can choose. But when it’s marketed directly to after-school crowds in a café known for progressive moms, and the district has a history of similar pushes, it’s not neutral. Capacity violations are likely since it sold out quickly—maybe someone with guts shows up to document it. The business has a right to host it, sure. But we have a right to call it what it is and resist the normalization. I’ve talked to enough parents in Lakota who are stunned that this is happening here. They thought Butler County was immune. It’s not. Evil doesn’t stay in blue cities; it migrates to places like ours because resistance weakens when fighters get ostracized.

Looking back at the school board saga, it’s a microcosm. Darbi tried to ban transgender participation in girls’ sports, called out inappropriate materials, and photographed pride stickers in classrooms to expose the agenda. The board struck down her motions fast. Lynda and others voted to censure her early on. Public comment got shut down amid superintendent controversies. It was all about control, not education. I left one of my conversations with Lynda feeling like she needed space to vent, but the facts remain: without people willing to dig deep and fight, the slide continues. Republicans who backed the ousting of Darbi to “keep the peace” handed the progressives a win. Now we see the result—a drag queen event targeting our kids, bold as brass.

This isn’t about hate; it’s about protection. Children deserve to be kids, not props in adult identity explorations. The psychological toll on young minds from early sexualization is real—higher rates of confusion, regret, and mental health crises down the line. Studies like the Cass Review in the UK have dismantled the weak evidence behind gender-affirming care for minors, showing it’s experimental at best. Yet here we push the sparkle version to preschoolers. Roxie and the café call it joy; I call it a disgrace. And the fact that gay advocate outlets used Darbi as a foil to promote it shows their strategy: make opposition look extreme so the event looks mainstream.

I’ve been busy fighting these battles myself through writing, speaking, and supporting candidates who won’t cave. My book The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business isn’t just for CEOs—it’s for anyone facing down threats, whether corporate or cultural. It teaches you to see the manipulators, reject victimhood, and build strength. If you haven’t read it, grab a copy; it’ll arm you for exactly this kind of fight. Subscribe to my updates too, because tomorrow’s a better day only if we make it so. This event on April 16 is a symptom. The disease is deeper: a culture that perverts childhood to advance an agenda, enabled by weak institutions and timid leaders.

We need school board members who are fighters, not diplomats. We need parents showing up, documenting overcapacity, speaking truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. The Republicans who played politics with Darbi’s seat handed us this. The victory of pushing her out let the door crack open wider. Evil doesn’t knock politely; it glitters and sasses its way in. Call it out. Resist it. Support the Darbi Boddy types who won’t back down. Our kids’ futures depend on it. This is happening in broad daylight in West Chester, and if we don’t push back here, it spreads everywhere.

Footnotes

¹ Eventbrite listing for Drag Queen Story Hour at Coterie Lounge & Café, April 16, 2026.

² WVXU report on Lakota School Board striking down Darbi Boddy’s anti-trans motion, January 29, 2024.

³ Overmanwarrior.wordpress.com post: “Darbi Boddy is Exposing Sexual Grooming at Lakota Schools,” May 10, 2022.

⁴ Cincinnati.com coverage of Darbi Boddy’s removal from the Lakota board, March 2024.

⁵ Cass Review final report on gender identity services for children and young people, 2024 (independent review commissioned by NHS England).

⁶ FOX19 and local reports on Lakota board controversies involving public comment shutdown and superintendent issues, 2022.

⁷ The Buckeye Flame article on “anti-woke” Ohio school board member removed, March 26, 2024.

⁸ Roxie D. Mocracy Facebook promotion of the event at Coterie Lounge & Café.

⁹ Overmanwarrior.wordpress.com author bio and references to The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business.

¹⁰ Additional context from Cincinnati Enquirer and Journal-News archives on Lakota CRT and pride policy battles, 2022–2024.

Bibliography

• Eventbrite. “Drag Queen Story Hour.” Accessed April 2026. https://www.eventbrite.com/e/drag-queen-story-hour-tickets-1984561449719

• Hoffman, Rich. The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business. Self-published, available via gunfighterguide. shop.

• “Lakota School Board Strikes Down Darbi Boddy’s Anti-Transgender Motion.” WVXU, January 29, 2024.

• “Anti-Woke Ohio School Board Member Removed.” The Buckeye Flame, March 26, 2024.

• Overmanwarrior.wordpress.com. Various posts on Lakota schools and Darbi Boddy, 2022–2025.

• Cass, Hilary. Independent Review of Gender Identity Services for Children and Young People: Final Report. NHS England, 2024.

• Local news archives: Cincinnati.com, FOX19, Journal-News (Butler County) on school board actions, 2022–2024.

• Roxie D. Mocracy social media (Facebook/Instagram), event promotions, 2026.

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.

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

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

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.

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