I feel for President Trump. He has a very beautiful wife, a genuinely beautiful person in many ways, and it has been a little embarrassing at times to watch him go public, trying to hold her hand only to have it gently or firmly pushed away. The speculation that follows—the rumors of divorce, whispers that she is leading toward some younger man—strikes me as unnecessary and unkind. I feel it is worth discussing this directly because the truth is far more ordinary, biological, and human than conspiracy-minded narratives suggest.
Melania Trump is the same age as my wife. She was born on April 26, 1970, in Novo Mesto, Slovenia, so she is now in her mid-fifties. When you reach that stage of life, nobody is particularly interested in your sex life. Nobody wants to hear the details, and almost nobody wants to picture it. By the time you are a grandparent, the cultural and biological machinery has shifted. Sex is no longer the central organizing principle of existence, the way it is for teenagers. It is still possible, it can still be meaningful, but it is no longer the priority it once was. The body and the mind both signal that the intense reproductive drive has quieted.
Menopause arrives for most women in their late forties or early to mid-fifties. Periods become irregular and then stop. Estrogen and other hormones decline. Libido often drops, sometimes dramatically, though individual variation is enormous. Many women report that the mental and emotional space once occupied by sexual urgency opens up for other things—family, independence, quiet reflection, practical concerns like grocery prices at Costco versus Kroger. It is not that desire vanishes for everyone, but it is no longer the loud, insistent biological ticker it was in the twenties and thirties.
For men, the parallel process is slower but real. Testosterone levels begin a gradual decline after the thirties, accelerating in later decades. At eighty, President Trump is well into what some call andropause territory. The body changes. Recovery takes longer. The constant background hum of sexual interest that defines so much of male adolescence and young adulthood quiets. An eighty-year-old man waking up and thinking “I must have sex today” is not the typical reality for most men that age, any more than a woman in her fifties waking up with the same urgent thought is typical after menopause. Biology is not destiny in every case, but it sets powerful defaults.
Studies bear this out. Research from the National Social Life, Health, and Aging Project found that sexual activity declines with age: roughly 73 percent of adults aged 57–64 reported being sexually active, dropping to 53 percent for those 65–74, and lower still beyond that. A University of Michigan National Poll on Healthy Aging showed that among women 50–80, about 43 percent had been sexually active in the past year, with higher rates among the younger end of that range (50–64) and among those who were married or partnered. Frequency for couples in their fifties often settles into a few times per month rather than several times per week. By the seventies and eighties, the numbers dropped further, though intimacy, affection, and companionship remained important for many.
These are averages and ranges. Plenty of couples in their fifties and sixties maintain active sex lives, and some continue into their eighties. The point is not that it stops cold; it becomes less urgent, less defining, and far less of a public or cultural preoccupation. Teenagers are biologically wired to think about little else. Their entire social and emotional world can revolve around whether someone wants to sleep with them or whether they can attract that attention. We spend the first decade and a half of life training children to use their minds—ABCs, sentences, science, languages—precisely because the reproductive drive does not yet dominate their biology. Then adolescence hits, and suddenly everything is filtered through sexuality. That phase is real and powerful, but it is not supposed to be permanent.
When people reach their fifties and beyond, the healthy maturation is to stop letting sexuality be the primary lens through which identity and worth are measured. Midlife crises often represent the last frantic attempt to hold onto the reproductive and youthful self before the body and culture both insist on change. Some people handle the transition with grace. Others chase younger partners, new money, or power in an effort to recapture what they feel slipping away. In extreme cases, this can shade into the manipulative or predatory patterns we see in certain corners of elite or celebrity culture—older, wealthy individuals seeking validation or control through relationships with much younger people. That is not maturity; it is often a refusal to accept the next chapter.
I have watched my own children and their friends move through this. My kids are now in their mid-thirties. I remember the conversations when they and their peers were approaching thirty—the quiet panic some felt that the “blooming flower” years were ending, that attention from the opposite sex might dry up, that life’s value was somehow tied to being desired in that specific sexual way. It is a hard passage, especially for women in a culture that still overvalues youthful female appearance. By the time people reach their fifties and sixties, many have made peace with it. They discover that their worth is not located in whether someone wants to sleep with them. They find sovereignty, independence, and new sources of meaning—family, work, faith, quiet competence.
This brings me back to the Trumps. Donald Trump is eighty. He works long hours. He has the weight of the presidency on him again. Melania, in her mid-fifties, has raised their son to adulthood. She has her own privacy and independence. She is not required to perform constant public affection to prove the marriage is real. When he reaches for her hand in public and she pulls away or does not enthusiastically reciprocate, it does not necessarily mean a crisis or a conspiracy. It can simply mean she is past the stage where constant touchy-feely performance feels necessary or natural. Many women in that age group describe exactly this: they love their husbands, they value the partnership, but they do not want to be pawed at or expected to perform youthful romance on demand. They have earned their own space.
The recent UFC Freedom 250 event on the White House South Lawn for the President’s eighty-year-old birthday offered a small window. Melania was there, stylish and composed as always, sitting ringside beside her husband. Observers noted she looked pretty and seemed at ease in the energetic setting surrounded by fighters. That does not contradict the picture of a woman comfortable in her own skin and her own marriage on her own terms. It simply shows someone participating in her husband’s world without needing to manufacture constant physical closeness for the cameras.
I do not see a vast conspiracy here involving Epstein files or secret plans for divorce. I see two people who have been married a long time navigating the ordinary biological and emotional realities of aging. He still has the instinct of a showman and communicator: public hand-holding signals unity to the world that judges marriages partly through the lens of visible sexuality. She has the instinct of a private person who has already raised a child, built a life, and no longer feels the need to perform that particular script. Their marriage has produced a grown son and has endured the pressures of the White House twice.
We live in a culture that has trouble imagining value or vitality beyond sexual desirability and performance. Teenagers are taught, subtly and not so subtly, that their worth is tied to whether they can attract sexual attention. Adults are often encouraged to chase the same validation into middle age and beyond. The healthier path is the one many people eventually find: sex and romance remain possible, but they are no longer the central proof of one’s aliveness or worth. Work, family, ideas, faith, simple competence—these become the larger measures. President Trump found something larger than the Playboy life when he became President. Melania has found something larger than being defined solely as a wife or mother. That is growth, not failure.
It is natural for people to speculate. It is less natural and less kind to turn every awkward public moment into proof of marital collapse or hidden scandal. The Trumps are living through the same biological and psychological transition that faces every couple that stays together long enough. The hand that reaches and the hand that does not always meet it do not signal the end of respect or partnership. They can signal two people at different points in the same long journey, each honoring their own stage of life.
I have been married nearly four decades. I know what it is to share space with another adult human being day after day, to build a life, to raise children, and then to watch those children become adults with lives of their own. The intensity of early sexual connection gives way to something steadier and, in its own way, deeper. It is not better or worse; it is simply next. Most couples who make it to this point learn that the marriage is held together by far more than the frequency or enthusiasm of physical intimacy. Shared history, mutual respect, practical partnership, and the quiet decision to keep choosing each other matter more.
President Trump and Melania Trump appear to be making that choice. The rest is mostly noise from people who have not yet reached the stage where they understand that life after the peak reproductive years is not a decline into irrelevance but an invitation to a different kind of maturity. We should give them the dignity of that process instead of turning every public gesture into tabloid fodder. Their story is not a scandal. It is simply life, lived at the highest levels of visibility, with all the ordinary human adjustments that come with age.
We all age. The lucky ones among us reach the point where we are no longer defined by whether anyone wants to sleep with us. That is not a loss. That is freedom. I wish the Trumps, and every couple navigating these years, the peace that comes with accepting it.
Footnotes
1. Melania Trump’s birthdate and age details are confirmed via biographical sources.
2. National Social Life, Health, and Aging Project (NSHAP) data on sexual activity by age.
3. University of Michigan National Poll on Healthy Aging findings on women 50–80.
4. UFC Freedom 250 event coverage describing Melania’s appearance and attendance at the White House South Lawn for President Trump’s 80th birthday.
5. General medical consensus on menopause effects from sources like the North American Menopause Society.
6. Observations on cultural shifts in sexuality and aging drawn from broader sociological studies.
Bibliography
• Lindau, S.T., et al. “A Study of Sexuality and Health among Older Adults in the United States.” New England Journal of Medicine, 2007.
• University of Michigan National Poll on Healthy Aging. “Women’s Health: Sex, Intimacy, and Menopause,” 2022.
• North American Menopause Society. Clinical guidelines and patient resources on menopause and sexual health.
• Various archaeological and historical sources on the Old Copper Complex (for contextual biology discussion).
• Hoffman, Rich. The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and related writings on maturity and culture.
Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com. If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.
I have always lived outside the box. While most people see only the trees right in front of them—the regimented routines, the narrow daily concerns, the approved narratives—I have survived and found my greatest happiness and clearest insights almost exclusively through big-picture thoughts, concepts, and discussions. When I am forced into the box, I am extremely unhappy. Outside of it, I am pretty happy, and I have a lot to share with people who are willing to look up from the immediate and see the patterns across time. That is why, six or seven years from now, when the conversation about non-human intelligence and its long influence on human affairs becomes mainstream—partly through my own work with the book The Politics of Heaven—many will wonder how I knew what I knew back in 2020 and what I am saying now. The answer is simple: I live outside the box, where the forest is visible, and the hidden hands become apparent.
Just recently, as Tulsi Gabbard concluded her service as Director of National Intelligence in the Trump administration, she highlighted truths that those of us who have followed the COVID story closely have known for years.[^1] Gain-of-function research at the Wuhan Institute of Virology, funded with millions in U.S. taxpayer dollars through channels that included EcoHealth Alliance and ultimately NIH oversight, produced a virus that was made transmissible to humans in ways that natural evolution had not achieved.[^2] It was not a simple bat spillover in a wet market. Dr. Anthony Fauci, in his testimony before Congress, parsed words carefully and denied funding for gain-of-function research under the definitions he preferred, but the evidence from emails, proposals like DEFUSE, and the very nature of the research conducted shows otherwise. He misled the public and lawmakers. Perjury before Congress is a serious matter, and it should carry consequences. It took six years for these confirmations to gain official traction in some circles. I was calling it from day one when the virus emerged from that airport in China, and the stories began to shift. I saw it because the people inside the box were the ones constructing the narrative to hide the truth, and from the outside, the pattern was obvious.
The same dynamic unfolded right here in Ohio during the lockdowns. I was on those conference calls with Jon Husted, who served as a key point of contact trying to bridge the concerns of business owners and executives with the administration. We were asking practical questions: How do we keep businesses open? How do we protect workers and customers without destroying livelihoods and constitutional rights? Governor Mike DeWine was listening closely to his Health Director, Amy Acton—our version of Dr. Fauci in Ohio.[^3] The memos were floating around from the federal health establishment, and they knew the constitutional walls were being tested and breached. Stay-at-home orders, business closures, school shutdowns, and the whole apparatus of control were put in place under emergency powers that stretched far beyond what the people or the legislature had authorized. It was sold as keeping us safe, as if a public health official could write policy that would override the Constitution and turn the governor’s office into an extension of that vision. Now, years later, DeWine is positioning himself as the compassionate voice calling for the abolition of the death penalty, saying it is not a deterrent after all these decades.[^4] He helped craft the law as a state legislator, defended it as Attorney General, yet now on his way out, he wants to be remembered as the one who questioned it. The same man who expanded Medicaid under pressure to appear more progressive after earlier battles with public unions and collective bargaining. These politicians often find themselves in trouble because they listen to the wrong voices—the ones inside the box who prioritize short-term safety narratives and political positioning over the big picture of liberty, accountability, and human nature.
I remember the feeling in 2020 all too well. I carry firearms, as people who know me understand. I was prepared to draw a hard line if unconstitutional checkpoints or enforcement actions came to my door or my community. I was close to a bridge too far. The treatment of January 6 defendants—many held in harsh conditions for what amounted to political expression or presence—showed exactly what the machinery could do when it chose to. I love law and order and a stable society, but when that machinery is weaponized against free citizens who have done nothing wrong, it ceases to be law and becomes something darker. I was on those calls and in my writings arguing the constitutional problems from the beginning. With some influence among legislators who were also concerned, we helped prevent the worst scenarios from taking hold in Ohio. Thank God we did not end up with a situation where I or others were pulled over unconstitutionally and forced into a confrontation that could have escalated. But it was not because I was unwilling to stand. I had drawn my line. Even Rush Limbaugh, in the last year of his life, was cautioning about the overreach and the importance of listening to the right voices. I was saying it earlier, more directly, because I see where the inside-the-box crowd hides what they do not want examined—outside the box, in plain sight for those willing to look.
The costs were immense and are still being counted. More than 1.1 million Americans lost their lives in connection with COVID-19.[^5] Economic analyses projected GDP losses in the range of $3 trillion to $5 trillion or more in the initial years from the combination of the pandemic and the policy responses, with mandatory closures and reopenings being the dominant factor in the downturn. Small businesses—restaurants, gyms, shops, service providers—were shuttered or crippled, many permanently. Mental health crises surged, overdoses increased, domestic issues rose, and a generation of children suffered learning loss and social setbacks whose full measure we are only beginning to understand. In Ohio specifically, the early and strict orders under DeWine and Acton had real human and economic consequences. People died not only from the virus but from delayed medical care, from isolation, from the despair that comes when livelihoods and communities are upended by top-down decree. All of it was made worse because the truth about the virus’s origins and the proper limits of power was suppressed or attacked as dangerous misinformation by those inside the box who could not afford to admit what they had done or enabled.
Now the confirmations are emerging. Fauci and the apparatus he oversaw knew more than they let on. The research that made a non-transmissible virus transmissible to humans was real, and U.S. funding played a role. Taxpayers paid for it. Lives were lost or forever altered because of it and the subsequent cover stories. If we do not hold people accountable—if we do not prosecute perjury and malfeasance when the evidence is this clear—then we should not be surprised when the next crisis arrives, and the same patterns repeat. When you have the opportunity to confront the lie and you decline, the liar learns that there is no cost. That is not compassion. That is a weakness that invites more harm. The average annual cost to taxpayers for housing inmates in U.S. prisons runs $40,000 to $65,000 or more per person, depending on the jurisdiction[^6], a figure that makes long-term incarceration of irredeemable offenders a perpetual burden without the deterrent or finality some argue the death penalty provides for the worst cases.
But COVID is only the most recent and personal example of a much older and larger pattern. I have been speaking and writing for years about non-human intelligence and the ways it has influenced the human race—in our modern politics and in the deep politics of the past thousands of years. The creation of empires, the divine mandates claimed by pharaohs, the dreams and visions that shaped the decisions of kings and conquerors—these were not always purely human inventions or organic developments. They were often steered, amplified, or initiated by non-human intelligences operating through mechanisms of paranoia, superstition, and religious belief systems that were not the faith of the Bible but the polytheisms of the ancient world, particularly the gods of Canaan and their counterparts across the Near East and beyond. We are now discovering, through the accelerating study of UAP, that these intelligences have been present with Earth and human beings for many thousands of years. The same skepticism and ridicule I faced in 2020 when I spoke about the lab origin and the unconstitutional overreach, I face now when I connect these dots. But in six or seven years, it will be different. It will be safe. There will be correspondents and anchors discussing it who are actually non-human intelligence. There will be podcasts and series that treat it as established context rather than as fringe theory. What seems like science fiction today will be science fact tomorrow, just as the COVID truths I stated in 2020 are now being acknowledged years later.
The Book of Enoch provides one of the clearest ancient windows into this reality.[^7] That text, which I have studied and referenced for decades, describes the Watchers—divine beings who descended, took human wives, and produced the Nephilim, giants whose violence and appetites ravaged the earth. These Watchers did not stop at interbreeding; they taught humanity forbidden knowledge: the working of metals into weapons and ornaments, the use of cosmetics and sorcery for manipulation and deception, the arts of divination and the secrets of the stars and earth. This was technology and occult instruction delivered prematurely, corrupting human development and filling the world with bloodshed and chaos. The judgment of the flood followed, but the influence of these fallen ones and their offspring persisted through bloodlines, secret traditions, and the false religious systems that shaped the great powers of antiquity. The gods of Canaan—Baal with his storms and demands for sacrifice, Asherah and her fertility cults, Molech and the fires that consumed children—were not harmless myths. They were presentations of real intelligences that steered societies toward war, ritual, and control. The pharaohs of Egypt presented themselves as divine incarnations or the recipients of direct oracles from the gods, justifying their absolute rule and military campaigns. Similar patterns appear in Mesopotamian kingship, in the oracles and omens that guided Greek and Roman leaders, and in the visionary experiences claimed by conquerors and rulers across history. From outside the box, these are not random cultural developments; they are evidence of consistent non-human influence operating through the structures of power and belief.
We are seeing the modern face of this same presence in the UAP phenomenon.[^8] These unidentified anomalous phenomena are not new. Ancient texts across cultures record fiery chariots in the sky, beings of light or terror descending, and craft that defies the technology of the time. What has changed is our ability and willingness to document and disclose. Government videos released in recent years, testimony from trained observers including Navy pilots, and statements from intelligence community whistleblowers such as David Grusch have brought the topic into congressional hearings and public debate. In 2026, the push for transparency has led to concrete actions, including the release of historical records through mechanisms such as the PURSUE system under the current administration. Tranches of documents are emerging, adding to the body of evidence that something non-human has been here, interacting at times, and remaining largely hidden. Just as the lab-leak hypothesis for COVID was censored and mocked only to be treated as plausible or likely by multiple intelligence agencies years later, the NHI reality is moving from ridicule to reluctant recognition. The pattern is the same: truth that threatens existing power structures or comfortable narratives is suppressed until it can no longer be contained.
In six or seven years, the conversation will have shifted dramatically. People who today roll their eyes at talk of non-human intelligence influencing human events will be nodding along in podcasts and interviews. The age of disclosure will be in full swing. My book, The Politics of Heaven, completed in 2026 and moving toward publication, is my contribution to providing the framework for understanding what is coming.[^9][^10] It is a treasure hunt through heaven and all human history, tracing biblical conspiracies, the role of giants and demons, the reality of divine rebellion, the nature of spiritual warfare, and the population agendas that have shadowed humanity from ancient times into the present. It connects the dots between the Watchers of Enoch, the false gods of Canaan and Egypt, the hidden influences on empires and kings, and the modern manifestations in technology, media, global institutions, and the UAP question. When you understand the politics of heaven—the real power dynamics that operate behind and through earthly politics—you see why certain patterns repeat, why certain lies persist, and why accountability is so often delayed. The same intelligences that once presented themselves as gods demanding worship and sacrifice have not disappeared; they have adapted their methods to new veils and new technologies.
I was willing to risk confrontation in 2020 because I saw the pattern clearly. The fear was that it would be used to centralize power. Dissent was being pathologized. The Constitution was being treated as optional under the pretext of an emergency. Amy Acton did that in Ohio. I had seen enough of how power operates—in my younger years in the Cincinnati area and across the river in Newport, Kentucky, where I had front-row exposure to the coded ways influence and enforcement worked—to recognize when it was happening again. I was not going to be treated like a January 6 prisoner or have my community subjected to checkpoint enforcement without resistance. Thankfully, cooler heads and some influence in the right places kept the worst from occurring here. But the experience taught me again that being outside the box is not just a preference; it is a survival skill when the box is being used to hide dangerous truths.
Now the question is whether we will learn from the COVID chapter or repeat it on a larger scale. The revelations about gain-of-function and Fauci’s role are vindication for those who spoke early, but vindication without accountability is incomplete. If perjury and the engineering of a pathogen that killed over a million Americans carry no real consequence, then the system has learned nothing. The same applies to the bigger picture. When disclosure of non-human intelligence reaches the point where even former skeptics in the media and politics are discussing it openly, will we have the frameworks to understand it, or will we be caught flat-footed by the spiritual and political implications we have refused to consider? My book exists to help with that preparation. It argues that these influences are real, that they have shaped human history in profound ways, and that the age of disclosure is also an age of decision about who we are and whose agenda we will ultimately serve.
I am an older man now, but I have lived a life that kept me engaged with both the practical and the profound—from aerospace program management and the discipline of precision work, to writing books like Tail of the Dragon, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and The Symposium of Justice, to my podcasting and activism on behalf of limited government, traditional values, and individual responsibility. The cowboy hat I have worn since childhood is a declaration that I stand apart from the herd. The whip is my personal symbol of discipline, precision, preparedness, and the moral agency to impose order when chaos threatens. But above all, it is the commitment to big-picture thinking that has defined my path. I criticize the regimented life not because I disdain structure, but because too many people never lift their eyes from the trees to see the forest or the forces moving through it.
Six or seven years from now, when the podcasts, news segments, and public conversations are filled with talk of non-human intelligence and its historical role, remember that some of us were saying it when it was still costly to do so. Not for credit, but because the truth matters and because being outside the box allows you to see what is coming before it arrives. The COVID chapter proved that. The disclosure chapter will prove it again. The politics of heaven are the ultimate big picture, and understanding them is the only way to navigate what lies ahead without being steered by forces we refuse to name.
The truth always comes out. It came out on the origins of COVID after six years of resistance. It is coming out on UAP and the deeper history of influence. It will come out on accountability or the lack of it. I hope that when it does, enough people will have stepped outside the box to see it clearly, to demand what is right, and to prepare for the fuller reality of our place in a universe that has never been as empty or as human-centered as the inside-the-box narrative claimed.
Footnotes
[^1]: Tulsi Gabbard’s resignation as Director of National Intelligence was announced on May 22, 2026, effective June 30, 2026, citing her husband’s health; see reports from BBC, CNBC, and the New York Times (May 2026).
[^2]: On gain-of-function research, EcoHealth Alliance, Wuhan Institute of Virology, and Fauci testimony controversies, see RFK Jr., The Real Anthony Fauci (2021) and subsequent congressional reviews and intelligence assessments on COVID origins (2023-2026).
[^3]: Amy Acton served as Ohio Department of Health Director under Gov. Mike DeWine, issued stay-at-home orders in March 2020, and resigned in June 2020 amid criticism; see contemporary reporting from the Columbus Dispatch, WOSU, and the Ohio Capital Journal.
[^4]: Gov. Mike DeWine announced June 16, 2026, that Ohio should abolish the death penalty, reversing long-held support; see Associated Press, Ohio Capital Journal, and New York Times coverage (June 2026).
[^5]: U.S. COVID-19 deaths exceeded 1.1 million; economic impact studies project trillions in GDP losses from the pandemic and policy responses. See CDC data summaries and analyses, such as Walmsley et al. (2020) in the Journal of Urban Economics and Chen et al.’s economic burden projections.
[^6]: Average annual cost of incarceration in U.S. state prisons is around $ 60,000 per inmate (median figures from USAFacts and state reports); federal prisons are around $41,000 per inmate (FY2023 Federal Register). Life sentences for serious crimes impose an ongoing taxpayer burden of tens of thousands of dollars per individual per year.
[^7]: Book of Enoch (1 Enoch), particularly the Book of the Watchers (chs. 1-36), describes the descent of the Watchers, their instruction of humanity in forbidden arts, and the birth of the violent Nephilim giants. See translations by R.H. Charles (1917) and modern editions; scholarly discussion in The Torah.com and related ancient Near Eastern studies.
[^8]: UAP disclosure developments include 2017-2023 Pentagon video releases, the 2021 ODNI Preliminary Assessment, the 2023 congressional hearings with David Grusch’s testimony, and the 2026 releases under the PURSUE system (Department of War/ODNI tranches announced May-June 2026).
[^9]: Ancient historical patterns of divine kingship and oracular influence in Egypt (pharaoh as god-king), Canaanite pantheon (Ugaritic texts, Baal Cycle), and biblical accounts (Genesis 6, Numbers 13, Deuteronomy on Canaanite practices). See Biblical Archaeology Review archives and standard references such as The Oxford History of the Ancient Near East.
[^10]: Broader context on spiritual warfare, giants, and population themes in biblical and extra-biblical literature; see also the author’s forthcoming The Politics of Heaven (target 2027) for an integrated treatment that connects ancient influences to modern geopolitical and technological developments.
Bibliography for Further Reading
• Charles, R.H., trans. The Book of Enoch. London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 1917 (and subsequent reprints).
• Elizondo, Luis. Imminent: Inside the Pentagon’s Hunt for UAP. New York: William Morrow, 2024.
• Hoffman, Rich. Tail of the Dragon. (Author’s earlier work on personal and philosophical themes).
• Hoffman, Rich. The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business. (On resilience, problem-solving, and imposing will on circumstances).
• Hoffman, Rich. The Symposium of Justice. (Philosophical and justice themes).
• Hoffman, Rich. The Politics of Heaven. (Forthcoming 2027; manuscript completed 2026, exploring biblical conspiracies, giants, demons, spiritual warfare, and population agendas across history).
• Kennedy, Robert F., Jr. The Real Anthony Fauci: Bill Gates, Big Pharma, and the Global War on Democracy and Public Health. New York: Skyhorse, 2021.
• Biblical Archaeology Review. Multiple issues on ancient Near Eastern religion, giants/Nephilim debates, and archaeological context for biblical texts (ongoing since 1975).
• Office of the Director of National Intelligence. Preliminary Assessment: Unidentified Aerial Phenomena. June 2021 and subsequent UAP reports.
• Various 2023-2026 congressional hearings and whistleblower testimony on UAP (Grusch et al.).
• Academic and government analyses of COVID-19 economic impacts: Walmsley, Terrie et al. “The Impacts of the Coronavirus on the Economy of the United States” (2020); Chen, Simiao et al. economic burden studies (2021); CDC COVID Data Tracker summaries.
• USAFacts and Bureau of Justice Statistics reports on incarceration costs and prison populations (2023-2025 data).
• Ancient primary sources: Ugaritic Baal Cycle texts; Egyptian royal inscriptions and Pyramid Texts; biblical texts (Genesis 6, Enoch references in Jude and 2 Peter).
• Additional context on Canaanite religion and its influence: Day, John. Yahweh and the Gods and Goddesses of Canaan. Sheffield Academic Press, 2000 (and related scholarship).
Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com. If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.
In January 2020, a UFO was filmed directly over the Newark Earthworks. L.A. Marzulli posted about the video, calling it no coincidence. He sees the site as tied to the Nephilim and fallen angels, pointing to the advanced 18.6-year lunar cycle built into the Octagon as evidence that the knowledge couldn’t have come from the local people alone. To him, the sighting proved a direct link between these ancient mound complexes worldwide and the modern UFO phenomenon. And this story points to a deeper issue: that people like Marzulli have lost any trust in any institutional contributor, and what that means for the continuation of civilization itself. After all, I did have a UFO experience myself, which I attribute more to occult practice than physical contact, which makes the Holy Stones of that region much more interesting and important than they otherwise would be. Because of this and many similar controversies, I am slightly obsessed with how non-human intelligence, whether it be overt demons or aliens from outside of Earth’s gravity imprint, has shaped human civilization in ways that institutional archaeology cannot deal with, because they don’t have the current means, which is exactly why I sat down to write The Politics of Heaven. I was always inspired by Frazer’s Golden Bough and how it created the field of anthropology, and for my own work, I want to contribute to the continued evolution of the vast dialogue of that subject matter: how much non-human intelligence has shaped human society from the very beginning, not with just conspiracy theory consideration, but with hard, observable science.
I’ve been thinking along similar lines, though I come at it from a different angle. The Newark Earthworks aren’t just ceremonial or astronomical in the usual sense. I propose that they function like a giant horizontal clock laid flat on the ground, precisely tracking the moon’s complex 18.6-year nodal cycle. That’s not casual observation — it’s sophisticated long-term record-keeping.
Here’s where it gets interesting to me: if you have entities traveling from outside our normal frame of reference, experiencing time dilation, these massive, visible-from-the-air geometric earthworks would make perfect navigational markers not just for where you are, but for when you are. The stars and moon shift over centuries. A culture that can leave and return after what feels like a short trip to them might need reliable ground references to calibrate exactly which phase of earthly time they’ve arrived in. The Newark complex, with its perfect lunar alignments, would serve that purpose beautifully — like tying ribbons on trees in a forest before GPS existed to keep from getting lost, except on a monumental, landscape scale.
It’s one more piece suggesting the story of these earthworks — and the Holy Stones found nearby — is far from settled. The more we learn about UAPs, the more the old archaeological assumptions look incomplete.
For decades, I had known about the Johnson-Humrickhouse Museum up in Coshocton, the small but remarkable place that holds the Newark Holy Stones—the Decalogue Stone with its figure and Hebrew inscriptions, the Keystone, the associated pieces. I already owned good replicas I had purchased from them years earlier, and I had studied the photographs, the arguments, the woodcut copies David Wyrick made. But I had never stood in front of the actual stones in their case. When the chance came with family—my wife, a daughter, a few of the grandchildren—I took it. We drove out on a day when the museum opened at noon. We arrived early, stood outside for a couple of minutes after the doors opened, and when the young woman who unlocked the door saw us, she looked surprised. They do not get many visitors on an average weekday. I told her I had come a long way to see the Holy Stones. She let us in.
The museum sits in a quiet stretch of central Ohio, not far from the great Newark Earthworks complex that spreads across what is now the city of Newark and the surrounding countryside. Most people driving past on the main roads have no idea what lies just off the pavement. The Great Circle, the Octagon, the long processional avenues—these were not casual dirt piles. They are precise geometric constructions aligned to the movements of the moon over its 18.6-year nodal cycle. The Hopewell people who built and used them, roughly two thousand years ago, understood observational astronomy at a level that still astonishes anyone who takes the time to stand on the viewing platform between the Circle and the Octagon and watch the alignments play out. Avenues once guided people—and perhaps, in their understanding, spirits—along lines that connected earth to sky. Much of it is gone now. Housing developments, roads, restaurants, and an old golf course that has since closed cover what were once open ceremonial spaces. The main highway cuts through what was once part of the complex. What remains is still extraordinary, but it takes imagination and stubbornness to see the full scale of what was built here.
Inside the museum, I wandered through the gift shop first, as I always do in places like this. I was not expecting to find anything new. I already had the Holy Stones replicas at home. Then I saw three flat sandstone pieces sitting among other small items. No price tag stood out. They looked familiar the moment I picked one up—the size, the weight, the carved designs. I knew exactly what it was: a replica of the Wilmington Tablet, the Adena sandstone piece found in Sparks Mound near Wilmington, Ohio, the one now kept at the Ohio History Center in Columbus. The young woman at the counter thought they were coasters. She had to call someone to find a price. Five dollars. I bought one without hesitation. I had been looking for a good replica of that tablet for a long time. The Cincinnati Tablet, found in 1841 when a mound at Fifth and Mound Streets in downtown Cincinnati was leveled for construction—the site is now near a UPS facility—had been displayed for years at the Cincinnati Museum Center before it was removed from the Native American exhibits. It did not fit the prevailing story comfortably. The Wilmington Tablet carries its own mysteries: the main face with its stylized figures, the edges and sides marked in ways that suggest a numerical or identifying system, perhaps a personal marker for someone of importance buried with it, or a template used in ritual or body marking. Adena tablets like these have been interpreted as tattoo stamps, ownership identifiers, or cosmological diagrams. Whatever their precise function, they were important enough to be placed with the dead.
I carried the new replica with me into the exhibit area and sat down in front of the Decalogue Stone. The case holds the stone itself along with its sandstone box. The figure on the front—bearded, robed, holding what appears to be a tablet or scroll—has long been read as Moses. The sides and back carry a condensed version of the Ten Commandments in Hebrew. The carving is competent but not perfect by ancient standards; there are letter forms that mix periods and a few anomalies that scholars have used to argue for a nineteenth-century origin. The museum’s current interpretive panels, updated in recent years, present the stones straightforwardly as forgeries created in the 1860s. The explanation centers on the social and political climate before and during the Civil War. Monogenism—the biblical idea that all humans descend from a single pair, Adam and Eve—stood in opposition to polygenism, the notion that different races were separate species or creations. Polygenist arguments were sometimes used to justify slavery and unequal treatment. A discovery of ancient Hebrew inscriptions in Ohio mounds could be deployed to support monogenism, to argue that biblical history reached the Americas long before Columbus, and thereby to undermine justifications for treating any group of people as less than fully human. David Wyrick, the Newark surveyor and antiquarian who brought the stones forward in 1860, was a man of his time—interested in the mounds, respectful of their builders, and apparently inclined toward biblical literalism and anti-slavery views. His reputation suffered after the findings. He died a few years later, in 1864, amid personal difficulties that included pain and what some accounts describe as heavy use of medication. Most professional archaeologists and historians dismissed the stones as nineteenth-century creations meant to influence the great debate of the age.
David Wyrick died on April 16, 1864, at the age of 57. Contemporary newspaper accounts reported that he died suddenly from an overdose of laudanum, a common opium-based painkiller he had been taking regularly for a long-term painful illness, most likely severe rheumatoid arthritis.
Local records and the original reporting did not list his death as suicide. The official cause was listed as “rheumatism” in some documents, and the newspaper noted the overdose without claiming it was intentional. However, the intense controversy surrounding the Holy Stones, combined with his financial troubles, led later writers to describe it as suicide. That narrative stuck in many books and articles for decades, even though the primary sources from 1864 do not support it.
The stress from the backlash clearly took a heavy toll on him physically and mentally. Still, the evidence shows he was managing chronic pain with medication that ultimately proved fatal. I would propose that it granted non-human intelligence access to his mind under duress, a move that proved catastrophic.
The image in the visitor center is David Wyrick’s 1860 survey map of the Newark Earthworks. It’s a detailed, hand-drawn overhead plan showing the full layout of the Great Circle, the Octagon, the parallel walls connecting them, and the surrounding landscape as it existed at the time. It includes roads, the Ohio and Erie Canal, railroad lines, and even the Great Circle, which was used as the Licking County Fairgrounds.
It’s widely considered one of the most accurate early maps of the site, which is why Ohio History Connection still displays and references it. It’s not an artistic painting; it’s a surveyor’s technical drawing — clean, precise lines with measurements and labels.
I sat there longer than I expected. The grandchildren moved around the room, patient, as children are when grandpa gets quiet in front of old things. My daughter kept the camera ready because she knows the look I get when something lands hard. I felt a familiar weight settle in. I have spent most of my life being the person who says the thing that makes a room go quiet. I do not enjoy it. I would rather study, walk the sites, read the reports, and keep my thoughts to myself. But the pattern forming in my mind as I looked at the Holy Stones and read the museum’s careful, institutionally approved explanation would not stay quiet. The stones may indeed be nineteenth-century work. The letter forms, the timing with Lincoln’s election, the social circles Wyrick moved in—all of that can be documented. Yet the question “why would someone go to this much trouble?” still sits there. The mainstream answer is political and religious motivation in a divided country. That answer is not wrong on its face. It is incomplete.
What struck me, sitting in that chair, was how little room the current framing leaves for the possibility that Wyrick himself was not the originator of the content, or that, even if he carved or commissioned the stones, the impulse and the specific knowledge came from elsewhere. Pain medications of the mid-nineteenth century were not inert. Some had properties that alter consciousness. Wyrick was a man under strain, already deeply engaged with the mounds and their meanings, moving through a landscape where indigenous knowledge and biblical imagination were colliding in real time. Across human history, people in altered states—whether through plants, fasting, ritual, or substances—have reported contact with intelligences that are not their own. They have returned with precise information about astronomy, geometry, architecture, and moral order. The Newark Earthworks themselves demonstrate exactly that kind of precise knowledge: alignments that track the moon’s complex cycle, geometry that rivals anything built in the Old World at the same period. The Hopewell culture that maintained and expanded these sites was part of a vast interaction sphere that moved copper from the Great Lakes, mica from the Appalachians, and ideas across hundreds of miles. They were not isolated. They were connected.
The possibility that non-human intelligences have interacted with human beings across deep time is no longer the fringe claim it once was. Government releases on UAPs in recent years have normalized the conversation in ways that would have been impossible even a decade ago. Films like Disclosure Day and public discussions now explore themes of possession, mind influence, and non-human entities operating through human agents. Some of these portrayals treat the phenomenon as technological or biological. Others, including certain narratives that reached wide audiences, frame it in explicitly spiritual terms—entities that seek to override human sovereignty, countered by faith, symbol, and will. I watched one such portrayal not long before this visit and recognized the pattern immediately. The same dynamic appears in ancient accounts worldwide: shamanic traditions in which practitioners enter altered states to receive knowledge from “the gods” or spirits; biblical descriptions of encounters at burning bushes, on mountaintops, or in temples complete with high place drug use, to a modern eye familiar with high-speed travel and gravitational effects, like interactions with non-local intelligences; the global recurrence of similar architectural and astronomical knowledge appearing in places separated by oceans and centuries.
If non-human intelligences have been present and active, they would not need wooden ships or land bridges to move knowledge. They would need markers. The Newark Earthworks, with their lunar clock and visible geometry, serve perfectly as reference points that can be read from above or used by people on the ground to synchronize time over long intervals. Time dilation is not science fiction; it is a measured fact. Travelers moving at relativistic speeds or operating near significant gravitational gradients experience time differently from observers on Earth’s surface. A short subjective journey for them could correspond to centuries or more here. Upon return, they would need fixed, durable references—alignments to stars and moon, geometric figures visible from altitude, places where the calendar could be read without ambiguity. The Hopewell and Adena landscapes contain exactly those features. So do other ancient sites that display sudden leaps in mathematical and observational sophistication. The question is not whether the knowledge appears; it is where it came from and why it appears in the patterns it does.
The Wilmington Tablet I now own a replica of fits into this larger question. It was buried with someone important enough that their personal marker was placed in the mound. The edge markings that catch the eye when you turn the piece over suggest a system—numbers, ownership, affiliation, or ritual status. Similar tablets from the Adena sphere have been found with red ochre residue consistent with use as printing or stamping devices, possibly for body art that identified lineage, achievement, or spiritual standing. If these were “ID cards” for the dead, they imply a society that tracked individual identity and status with precision across generations. That level of organization recurs in mound-building cultures of the Ohio Valley and beyond. It does not require external input to exist, but the sudden appearance of specific symbolic and mathematical systems in multiple places at roughly the same horizon of development invites the question of common inspiration.
I do not claim the Holy Stones are ancient. The evidence the museum presents for a nineteenth-century creation is substantial and has been reinforced by careful recent work. What I am willing to say, after sitting with the stones and walking the remnants of the earthworks, is that the story we are told about why they exist is too tidy. It reduces a complex man and a complex moment to a simple political hoax. It leaves no room for the possibility that Wyrick, already immersed in the mounds and carrying his own burdens, encountered something—an idea, an image, a compulsion—that felt as if it came from outside himself. That experience would not make the stones ancient. It would make them artifacts of contact, whether the contact was spiritual, psychological, or something we do not yet have language for. The same pattern appears in other times and places where precise knowledge falls into the hands of people under stress or in altered states: the biblical prophets, the builders of megalithic monuments, the medicine people who maintained alignments and oral calendars over centuries.
The destruction of the physical evidence compounds the problem. Newark itself was built over and through one of the most significant ceremonial landscapes in North America. Miamisburg Mound sits in a town that grew around it. Countless smaller mounds were plowed flat or bulldozed for roads and foundations before anyone could record what they contained. The Windover Pond site in Florida, with its 8,000-year-old burials preserving brain tissue and some of the oldest textiles in the Americas, revealed people whose material culture and genetic signals do not fit neatly into later narratives of isolation and simplicity. Bones and artifacts continue to be reburied under policies that prioritize contemporary tribal affiliation over scientific study, even when the genetic and cultural distance is vast. Every time we pave or rebury without full documentation, we remove data that might clarify whether the knowledge visible in these sites was generated locally, transmitted through ordinary human networks, or introduced through less conventional channels.
Archaeologists do the hard, necessary work of excavation, mapping, and dating. I respect that labor. What I question is the institutional reluctance to entertain hypotheses that fall outside the current consensus, especially when the consensus itself rests partly on the absence of evidence that has been destroyed or never collected. The same scholars who correctly note that the Holy Stones’ Hebrew shows characteristics of nineteenth-century Bibles are often the first to dismiss any suggestion that pre-Columbian contact or non-local inspiration could explain other anomalies. The stones become a cautionary tale about forgeries rather than a prompt to ask why a surveyor in 1860 would risk everything to place Hebrew commandments inside a Hopewell-era mound. The answer “politics” is available. The answer “something spoke to him in a way that felt authoritative” is not, because it opens territory that academic archaeology has largely ceded to other disciplines or to popular writers.
My own work, particularly the book I have been completing, looks to hold both the documented record and the larger pattern in view. The Politics of Heaven is not an attack on archaeology. It is a dedicated effort to reconnect what we can see on the ground—earthworks, tablets, alignments, sudden appearances of sophisticated knowledge—with the possibility that non-human intelligences have been active participants in human affairs for a very long time. That possibility does not require rejecting indigenous achievement. It expands it. The people who built and used the Newark complex were sophisticated observers and engineers. They also lived in a world where altered states, visionary experience, and communication with non-ordinary intelligences were part of the cultural toolkit. The same toolkit appears in the ancient Near East, in Britain, in Mesoamerica, and in the shamanic traditions that persist today. The content of what comes through those channels varies, but the mechanism is recurrent.
Sitting in the museum that afternoon, I realized again why I have to write what I am writing. The stones are on display. The earthworks are still there in fragments. The UAP files are coming out. The cultural conversation has shifted enough that a person can say, without immediate professional ruin, that the old categories—isolated continents, purely local invention, no external intelligences—are no longer sufficient to explain the full record. David Wyrick may have been a forger, a dupe, a sincere man who encountered something he could not fully explain, or all three at different moments. He was an abolitionist, like Lincoln, opposed to slavery, and I think he was a pretty good person. The stones he brought forward remain touchstones. They force us to ask what counts as evidence and whose stories get to shape the past. The Wilmington Tablet replica now sits on a shelf in my house. It is not ancient. It is a modern copy of an ancient object that, in turn, raises questions we have not yet answered. When I look at it, I think about the person it once identified or accompanied, the culture that made it important enough to bury, and the long chain of curiosity that brought a replica into my hands on an ordinary afternoon in Coshocton.
The grandchildren eventually pulled me toward the door. We stopped at a small tavern down the road for fish and chips. I set the tablet on the table for a moment and joked that it needed to eat too. The absurdity made them laugh, which was the point. Later, driving home through the Ohio countryside, I kept returning to the image of the Decalogue Stone in its case and the museum’s careful panels explaining its modern origin. They are not wrong about the carving. They are incomplete about the context. The full story of these places and these objects will require more than one discipline and more than one kind of evidence. It will require the willingness to sit with anomalies instead of explaining them away, to walk the remaining earthworks at moonrise, to hold a tablet in your hands and ask what it was for, and to consider that the intelligences our ancestors called gods, spirits, or watchers may have been something we are only now beginning to name again.
I did not want to be the person who has to say these things out loud in public. I still do not. But the pattern is there, the sites are there, the disclosures are happening, and the stones continue to ask their questions. The Johnson-Humrickhouse Museum did its job. It preserved the objects, updated the interpretation, and let a visitor sit quietly in front of them long enough for the next layer of the story to become visible. That is what good museums do. The rest is up to those of us who walk out the door still carrying the questions.
The mainstream interpretation encountered at the museum and the broader synthesis regarding non-human intelligence, time dilation, archaeoastronomy, spiritual influence, and the need to re-evaluate assumptions in light of emerging data. Personal observations and opinions are rendered in the first person throughout. Background on the Newark Earthworks, Hopewell/Adena contexts, Wyrick controversy, specific tablets, and institutional shifts is woven into the narrative rather than presented as separate sections. A bibliography of key sources for further reading follows.)
Selected Sources and Further Reading. But in essence, this is why I wrote The Politics of Heaven, to explore some of these out-of-the-box issues and put them in a useful, modern context.
• Johnson-Humrickhouse Museum, Coshocton, Ohio. Exhibit materials and presentations on the Newark Holy Stones (updated circa 2020–2022), including work by museum staff and archaeologist Brad Lepper. The museum website and related publications detail the stones’ history and current interpretation as nineteenth-century artifacts that reflect monogenist/polygenist debates.
• Wikipedia and scholarly summaries on the Newark Holy Stones (cross-referenced with primary accounts): consensus view as likely a hoax or planted artifacts from 1860, with discussion of Wyrick’s role, letter-form anomalies, and social context pre-Civil War.
• Ohio History Connection / Ohio History Center resources on the Wilmington Tablet (Sparks Mound, Clinton County) and Cincinnati Tablet (Fifth & Mound Streets discovery, 1841). Adena culture context for engraved sandstone tablets.
• Hopewell Ceremonial Earthworks (UNESCO World Heritage Site documentation) and Newark Earthworks visitor resources: lunar alignments, 18.6-year cycle, geometric precision, Hopewell interaction sphere.
• Ross Hamilton, The Mystery of the Serpent Mound (and related works on Ohio earthworks geometry and astronomy).
• Graham Hancock’s publications on ancient civilizations, consciousness, and alternative historical frameworks (for engagement with entheogen and non-local influence hypotheses; contrasted in the essay with sovereignty concerns).
• Biblical Archaeology Review (long-term reference for comparative ancient Near Eastern and American contexts).
• Primary historical accounts of David Wyrick’s discoveries (1860–1861 pamphlets and contemporary reports) and later analyses (e.g., Whittlesey, Lepper, and others on authenticity debates).
• UAP-related government releases and congressional records (post-2017 onward) for the shifting public and official conversation on non-human intelligence.
• Additional context on Adena/Hopewell tablets, Windover Pond site (Florida), time dilation in relativity, and global parallels in archaeoastronomy and altered-state traditions can be found in standard archaeological syntheses and peer-reviewed journals on those topics.
Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com. If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.
In June 2026, with President Trump back in the White House, it’s refreshing not to see the rainbow colors and Pride flags draped over the executive mansion or broadcast as some official national celebration of the agenda, the motorcycle jumps and MMA event were much better. No more lighting up the people’s houses in celebration of what many of us view as a direct challenge to traditional family, biblical truth, and human flourishing. I’ve watched this cultural shift for decades, and the change feels like a return to sanity.¹
I’ve heard the arguments, and I know some people in my circles find them compelling. But from my perspective, rooted in personal experience, Christian conviction, and years of cultural observation, the modern gay agenda—particularly as pushed during Pride Month—is deeply political, anti-family, and part of a broader effort that undermines natural order. It’s not just about private behavior between consenting adults. It’s about reshaping society, lowering birth rates, confusing young people about masculinity and femininity, and desecrating symbols that once pointed to God’s covenant.²
Let me start with my own background because it gives me a front-row perspective that many commentators lack. I’m known for my bullwhips. The whip is a symbol of discipline, precision, self-mastery, and performance for me—cracking targets, snuffing candles, doing tricks that entertain and demonstrate skill. I’m good at it; some say I’m among the best. People have associated whips with bondage and fetish scenes for a long time, but that was never my world. I’ve never participated in anything like that and never would.³
Over the years in the performance community, I’ve known many whip artists who started straight and were as skilled in similar ways. Some got pulled into the gay bar scene or private fetish gigs because the money was good. Cracking whips on stage for entertainment turned into private sessions where clients wanted more—candles in uncomfortable places, explicit videos, crossing lines that should never be crossed. What starts as “just a gig” often leads to deeper involvement. I’ve seen friends swap spit, experiment, and eventually advocate openly for Pride Month. They’d post statements beginning with “I’m not very political,” but supporting the agenda is inherently political. It aligns with Democrat platforms, big government social engineering, and cultural Marxism. When I became vocal in the Tea Party and then MAGA, many distanced themselves. Conservatism and that lifestyle don’t mix well in their circles.⁴
I remember sitting in catering tents with Hollywood types during events. They’d chat until politics came up. “You’re from Cincinnati? You supported McCain? Romney? Reagan?” Suddenly, the seats emptied. Blocklisting happens fast when you don’t swing their way. I’ve faced it head-on and don’t regret it. My platform grew because I refused to hide convictions. The same people who once performed circus tricks now defend grotesque elements of the scene for revenue and relevance. It’s disheartening.⁵
The rainbow itself is a perfect example of desecration. In Genesis 9, after the flood, God sets the rainbow in the sky as a sign of His covenant with Noah and all living creatures—never again to destroy the earth with waters. It’s a reminder of mercy, judgment, and promise. The gay community co-opted it, starting with Gilbert Baker’s 1978 rainbow flag. What was once a biblical symbol of hope after catastrophe became a banner for a movement the Bible explicitly condemns. Leviticus 18:22 and 20:13 call male same-sex relations an abomination. Romans 1:26-27 describes the exchange of natural relations for unnatural ones as part of turning from God. These aren’t obscure verses; they’re clear moral teaching.⁶
Pride Month in June turns that symbol into a celebration of what scripture warns against. Under previous administrations, the White House glowed in rainbow lights, equating the agenda with official policy. Now, in 2026, that’s gone, and it feels right. Families don’t need government endorsement of alternative lifestyles pushed on children through schools, media, and YouTube. The femboy trend, glam rock echoes like Boy George or 80s hair bands in tight pants, and modern Disney/Marvel plot lines normalize confusion. Young men are seduced away from traditional masculinity, leading to lower birth rates—an anti-human agenda that aligns with depopulation narratives from figures like Bill Gates or climate extremists. It’s abortion on steroids: prevent life before it begins by reorienting desire.⁷
I’ve seen the discomfort this causes in everyday life. At a Cincinnati football game with good seats, two women in front of me—clearly a couple—made out openly. Some of my grandkids were there. It was uncomfortable for everyone. I politely asked them to take it to the bathroom or clubhouse; kids didn’t need the show. The response was indignation, as if public decency were bigotry. Another time at Costco, someone confronted me about my cowboy hat: “How dare you wear that symbol of toxic masculinity in public?” I wear it proudly. It represents discipline, self-reliance, Western heritage, and unapologetic manhood. In Butler County, transplants from California or the East Coast bring their politics and sneer at it. Feelings are mutual. I love projecting masculinity because young people need models, not confusion from algorithms and activists.⁸
The bullwhip community crossover highlights the issue. Performance artists get lured by fetish demand. A few thousand dollars for a private show turns into more. Some thrive financially but lose their way. I’ve ended friendships over it. Zero tolerance. When they advocate Pride while claiming non-political stances, it rings hollow. The agenda extends to sports, the military, education, and entertainment. It’s not live-and-let-live; it’s affirmation or cancellation. Hollywood blacklists conservatives. Schools teach gender ideology as fact. YouTube serves as a pacifier for teens, flooding feeds with normalized content.⁹
Biblically, Sodom and Gomorrah stand as a warning. The mob demanded the angels for sexual purposes—gross perversion that led to judgment. Modern parallels exist in the push to confuse youth and erode family structures. Birth rates decline when masculinity is pathologized as “toxic” and femininity is detached from motherhood. It’s a net-zero scam for humans: fewer people, less consumption, more control. Democrats embrace it because it fragments society into identity groups dependent on government. Republicans under Trump reject the official celebration, focusing on borders, the economy, and sanity.¹⁰
My cowboy hat draws compliments too. At that same Costco recently, multiple people thanked me for the broadcasts and work. One levy supporter mocked the hat, implying shame. I’ll wear it more. It signals resistance to the seduction. Young men need examples of strength, not androgyny. Clint Eastwood, Arnold Schwarzenegger’s “girly men” critique—they understood. The Expendables films harkened back to tough-guy eras. Today’s culture mocks that.¹¹
Personal autonomy matters here too, tying into broader ownership themes. Just as people reject renting music or property, they resist renting their identity to cultural fads. I own my convictions. The whip remains a tool of mastery, not perversion. Pride Month pushes the opposite—celebrating what weakens resolve and family. I’ve lost friends but gained clarity. The lifestyle isn’t victimless. Confusion spreads, especially online. Future generations deserve better.¹²
I don’t want to hear the complaints about Trump’s UFC fight. Trump’s White House without rainbow flags represents a cultural reset. No more equating Pride with patriotism. The agenda remains political: funding, education policy, corporate DEI. Ohio and places like Butler County see transplants bringing it in, but local values hold. At Kings Island or other amusement parks, public displays can be jarring—unattractive couples making out, demanding acceptance. It’s not about hate; it’s about boundaries. Kids present, decency expected. Porn filmmakers taking dates to Bengal football games? Gross.¹³
Society functions better with clear moral guardrails. The Bible condemns for good reason—protecting flourishing. I’ve paid costs for speaking out but stand firm. Friends who crossed the line made six figures but compromised their souls. Not worth it. Masculinity—protective, decisive, strong—isn’t toxic; it’s essential. The hat stays. Whips crack targets, not fetishes. Rainbows remind us of God’s promise, not parades.¹⁴
This June, without White House endorsement, feels like progress. The dance continues, but not to their tune. Families, faith, and ordered liberty prevail. Young people need truth, not seduction. I’ll keep saying it, hat on, whip ready for honest performance. Politics of Heaven reminds us that spiritual warfare underlies it all. Truth uncoils against deception. Ohio and America benefit when we reject the agenda’s full embrace.¹⁵
Footnotes
¹ Trump administration 2026 policy shift away from Pride displays at White House.
² Personal observations on the agenda as political.
Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com. If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.
A few years ago, the World Economic Forum floated this vision of the future captured in the phrase “you’ll own nothing and be happy.”¹ It sounded like one of those slick marketing pitches that ignores human nature entirely. People don’t like it. They push back in quiet, stubborn ways that reveal something deep about who we are as human beings wired for possession, autonomy, and legacy. I saw it clearly the other day when I was taking someone in their twenties to lunch in my car. They glanced at the dashboard and asked what that strange slot was. It was the CD player. My car isn’t ancient—I tend to drive vehicles for a decade or more—and yet to this young person, it was an artifact from another era.²
I explained that compact discs were once revolutionary. Developed through a collaboration between Philips and Sony starting in the late 1970s, with key demonstrations in 1979 and a commercial launch in 1982, CDs promised perfect digital sound without the pops, scratches, or degradation of vinyl records or the hiss of cassettes.³ By the late 1980s and throughout the 1990s, they dominated the market. I remember the excitement vividly. You could pop one in, skip tracks instantly, and take your music anywhere without worrying about needles or tape wear. I had built plenty of playlists on cassettes by recording songs off vinyl albums in the order I wanted, but CDs made sequencing seamless. You owned it outright. You could drive down the road at highway speeds—through Ohio’s potholes, storms, or whatever the Great Miami River valley threw at you—and the music played reliably. No internet required. No monthly subscription draining your account. No dependency on someone else’s servers.⁴
That young person couldn’t wrap their mind around it. Subscription services like Apple Music and Spotify have shaped their entire adult life. They rent access to a vast library that lives on someone else’s servers. Lose the subscription, the connection, or the company’s goodwill, and it vanishes. I told them that Walmart still carries CDs, though in smaller sections now, and that Cracker Barrel gift shops across the country have racks of vinyl albums selling briskly. People are buying physical music again. They want to own it—put it on the shelf, hold it in their hands, play it whenever they want without begging permission from a corporation. My grandkids notice the library of CDs on our entertainment center. They see the difference between something solid and tangible versus rented pixels in the cloud.⁵
The vinyl resurgence is one of the most astonishing cultural shifts I’ve witnessed. I grew up with LPs. They seemed archaic once CDs arrived with their superior convenience and durability for travel, but now younger generations are embracing records again. According to the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA), vinyl has grown for 19 consecutive years. In 2025, U.S. vinyl sales surpassed $1 billion for the first time in decades, selling about 46.8 million units and generating nearly three times the revenue of CDs (which sold around 29.5 million units).⁶ Artists like Taylor Swift have driven special editions, but the trend runs deeper. Gen Z and millennials seek that tactile connection in a digital world. I’ve seen it at Target, Walmart, and Cracker Barrel during RV stops. People are hungry for ownership.⁷
This isn’t mere nostalgia. It’s a rejection of the rental economy pushed by globalist visions. The WEF’s 2016 essay by Ida Auken envisioned a 2030 where everything—housing, transportation, entertainment—is rented as a service, delivered conveniently, with no personal clutter of ownership.⁸ Critics rightly called it an attack on human dignity. We are not wired to be perpetual renters. We want our own refrigerator stocked with food we chose, our own yard to tend, our own spouse and children to raise as ours, our own books on the shelf that we can touch and mark. In my family, that physical library of CDs represents more than music—it represents independence.⁹
I remember the full arc of these formats. Vinyl offered warmth and ritual—the act of placing the needle, flipping sides, experiencing the album as intended. But it had drawbacks: bulk, susceptibility to warping, scratches, and the need for careful handling. Cassettes enabled homemade mixtapes and portability in cars, but their quality degraded. CDs felt like liberation when they emerged. Philips and Sony standardized the 12 cm disc to fit Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony entirely, about 74 minutes. The technology used laser reading for error correction, making it robust for travel. You could carry dozens in a slim case. I loved loading them into the car player and having on-demand music without internet or subscriptions.¹⁰
Then the market shifted dramatically. Streaming services offered convenience and unlimited access, but at the cost of true ownership. Apple Music has an enormous catalog—I appreciate the discovery aspect—but I despise the model. You pay monthly forever. Stop paying, and your library disappears. The same happened with movies. Remember rushing to buy the new release on DVD or Blu-ray and building a collection? Now it’s Netflix, HBO Max, or whichever service holds rights that month. Physical sales plummeted as streaming cannibalized them. Yet when content rotates off platforms, demand for ownership spikes again.¹¹
The push toward renting everything ties into deeper political desires for control. Centralized powers—global forums, big tech, financial interests—prefer recurring revenue and dependency. If you own it, you have sovereignty. If you rent, they can change terms, censor content, raise prices, or cut you off. This mirrors broader patterns I’ve seen in politics, aerospace, and culture. In The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, I discuss self-reliance and imposing your will on circumstances rather than leasing your life from others.¹² The same principle applies here. Look at the excitement around SpaceX’s IPO. People want to own a piece of something real, not just subscribe to access.¹³
During RV travels with my wife across the country—to the Space Coast, Gettysburg, or anywhere the road takes us—I’m reminded why ownership matters. There’s nothing like having your own bed, your own refrigerator with cold drinks and snacks, your own clean bathroom instead of relying on gas station facilities. You rent the campsite, but your stuff is yours. It provides a sense of autonomy even while moving. The same goes for books. I own physical copies. I like touching them, flipping pages, keeping them in my personal library. Downloading or using Audible has its convenience, but it lacks permanence. I’m not a fan of leasing intellectual or cultural space.¹⁴
Power outages here in Ohio—whether from big storms rolling up from the Gulf, tornadoes, or winter events—highlight another advantage. With a generator, you could still play a DVD, Blu-ray, or CD. Streaming dies without connectivity. Personal libraries provide resilience. Vinyl’s comeback, despite being larger and more fragile than CDs, shows the depth of this desire. Records take up space, can warp or scratch, and require more care, yet people buy them enthusiastically.¹⁵
The speed of change amazes me. My car still has a working CD player, yet new vehicles rarely include them. Manufacturers followed the connectivity and subscription trend. But the backlash is real. Who still makes CDs? Companies like Disc Makers and Bison Disc continue short-run and replication services for artists and collectors. Demand persists for reissues, independent releases, and audiophile formats. Given vinyl’s proof of concept, a modest CD revival is plausible—especially for durability, portability, and offline use. Collectors value the format’s sound quality and convenience over vinyl’s ritual.¹⁶
This hunger extends beyond music to the core of human nature. Americans especially cherish property rights. We want our homes, cars, guns, private spaces, and cultural artifacts that reflect our identity. Progressive globalist ideas of shared everything clash with that reality. Socialism’s communal experiments fail because they ignore our drive to build legacies. Music is deeply personal. The songs that shaped your youth, the albums discovered on your own—they become part of you. Renting them feels like renting your memories.¹⁷
I explained all this to that young person over lunch. They had recently bought a vinyl album at Target and were intrigued by the concept of true ownership. CDs seemed novel again. It’s not about rejecting technology—streaming has its place for discovery and variety. But the default shouldn’t be perpetual rental. Ownership provides resilience, no algorithmic control over your playlist, and the satisfaction of pointing to a shelf and saying, “That’s mine.” During family trips, we play our own music without signal drops or interruptions from navigation or texts.¹⁸
The WEF vision assumes adaptation to renting. Evidence suggests otherwise. Vinyl’s 19-year growth streak, physical media’s persistence, and resistance to woke content in Hollywood all signal a market shift. Big tech and entertainment pushed subscription models and certain narratives, alienating audiences. People retreat to what they can control.¹⁹
In my own life, this philosophy runs deep—from early experiences in Cincinnati to aerospace program management. Consultants and rented expertise come and go, but teams that own the mission endure—the same with culture. We want music, books, and stories that belong to us. In The Politics of Heaven, I explore these threads of spiritual, cultural, and economic sovereignty. Ownership isn’t greed; it’s dignity and agency.²⁰
There’s room for balance. Physical formats like vinyl and CDs offer tangible connection. Digital provides access. But forcing everything into rental models driven by political control rather than pure market demand has backfired. The serpent of ownership uncoils in the face of forced renting. People choose it every time they buy a record, a CD, a book, or build their own space. That’s the real future—not a 2030 rented utopia, but timeless human nature asserting itself.
I still pop in a CD when I drive. It works perfectly. And it’s mine. That feeling matters more than any subscription pitch. As I dictate this overlooking the Great Miami River or from the RV, I’m reminded how personal autonomy anchors everything. The market is speaking loudly. Vinyl proves it. CDs could follow. And humans will keep choosing what they can truly call their own—making tomorrow a better day through ownership, not rental.²¹
Footnotes
¹ World Economic Forum / Ida Auken essay “Welcome to 2030” (2016).
² Personal observation from recent interaction.
³ Philips/Sony CD development history, 1979–1982 standardization.
⁴ CD advantages for portability and reliability.
⁵ Retail observations at Walmart, Cracker Barrel, and Target.
⁶ RIAA 2025 Year-End Report: Vinyl $1B+, 46.8M units vs. CDs 29.5M.
⁷ Gen Z/millennial trends in tactile media.
⁸ WEF ownership predictions and criticism.
⁹ Family library of CDs.
¹⁰ Technical history of CD format.
¹¹ Streaming impact on physical media sales.
¹² The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business Principles.
¹³ SpaceX IPO and ownership desire.
¹⁴ RV travel and book ownership reflections.
¹⁵ Vinyl drawbacks vs. appeal.
¹⁶ Current CD manufacturing (Disc Makers, etc.) and revival potential.
¹⁷ Human nature and property rights.
¹⁸ Conversation with a young person.
¹⁹ Cultural and market backlash.
²⁰ Ties to The Politics of Heaven.
²¹ Closing personal philosophy.
Bibliography
• Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA). 2025 Year-End Recorded Music Revenue Report.
• World Economic Forum. Ida Auken, “Welcome to 2030” (2016).
• Philips/Sony historical documentation on CD development.
• Rich Hoffman, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and The Politics of Heaven.
• Industry reports on physical media trends (Disc Makers, retail observations).
Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com. If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.
I have always lived with one foot in the ordinary world, local Ohio politics, family life along the Great Miami River in Butler County, and the other in the deeper currents of history, archaeology, and the unexplained. Growing up in the Cincinnati area, my family in the 1970s was already investigating strange lights in the sky and odd occurrences that didn’t fit neatly into everyday explanations. Those early experiences planted seeds that would later bloom into serious inquiry. I have never claimed to have been abducted or to have lived through anything as dramatic as the portrayal of Travis Walton’s ordeal in Fire in the Sky. My encounters have been subtler, more provocative, and in one memorable case, downright infuriating in their precision and timing.
One such encounter stands out, not just because of what I saw firsthand in earlier instances, but also because of how it unfolded in response to something I said publicly. A couple of years ago, amid ongoing discussions about government transparency, surveillance, and the lingering shadows of the COVID era, I recorded a video. In it, I dared whatever forces—whether extraterrestrial, interdimensional, or black-budget human technology—might be listening to show themselves right there in my backyard of Butler County, Ohio. I pointed to a specific spot in the sky near Middletown. I wasn’t expecting fireworks or a close encounter of the third kind. I was making a point about power, information, and the dangers of hidden knowledge wielded by institutions that demand trust while offering none in return.
A short time later—mere days—a ring of bright green lights appeared in the night sky exactly in that vicinity. Multiple residents captured video around 10:30 or 11 p.m. The lights rotated, hovered, then shot off with impossible speed. People stopped at stoplights, pulled out their phones, and filmed what appeared to be a circular formation moving counterclockwise before it vanished. Reports flooded local news: WCPO, WLWT, and others covered the strange rotating green lights over Middletown in Butler County. Witnesses described it as unlike any drone or conventional aircraft. Some called it frightening; others were fascinated. I wasn’t on site that night, but the proximity and timing were unmistakable.
This wasn’t my first brush with the phenomenon. I had witnessed other UFO activity years earlier, including one that left me genuinely angry at the audacity of it. But this particular event felt targeted. Given my political activity—my role as a vocal conservative voice in Butler County, my history with local issues like Lakota schools, tax fights, and broader America First advocacy—I have long assumed surveillance. Decades ago, in a previous neighborhood in Mason, Ohio, I confronted a drug ring operating too close to families. That brought FBI interviews and scrutiny that carried over for years. Local and federal eyes have been on me, my family, and my work for a very long time. When you dare powers—visible or invisible—to reveal themselves while criticizing government overreach, you invite responses. Whether this was a genuine non-human craft, advanced human technology (perhaps reverse-engineered or projected), or something meant to rattle me, it landed with precision.
I took it as a message. Not the kind that turns you into Richard Dreyfuss piling dirt in the living room from Close Encounters of the Third Kind, but one that demands deeper reflection. I have visited Roswell. I have investigated the Mothman in Point Pleasant, West Virginia—right across the river from Ohio territory familiar to me. There, UFO sightings were rampant alongside the Mothman reports in the 1960s. John Keel’s The Mothman Prophecies (later a film with Richard Gere) details how lights in the sky, strange calls, and Men in Black phenomena intertwined with the creature sightings leading up to the Silver Bridge collapse. You cannot grapple with Mothman without confronting the UFO dimension. I went there for personal research, on a birthday trip no less, and came away convinced that these events form a pattern far older than modern disclosure narratives.
Watching Steven Spielberg’s Disclosure Day recently brought it all into sharper focus. Spielberg, who has fielded countless UFO stories from the public over decades while making films like Close Encounters, treats the subject with a humanistic lens. The movie explores ordinary people pushing back against secrecy. I found it compelling, even if some critics dismissed elements. It reminded me of my own journey. Spielberg has no personal UFO encounter, by his account, yet he has shaped public imagination on the topic. I have had them, and they propelled me to write.
My thoughts also turned to Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Many reviewers scoffed at the interdimensional beings, calling it the weakest entry. I saw sophistication in it. The film uses Indy to explore ancient alien influence on human civilization—archaeologists from another realm, imprints on societies, crystal skulls tied to Roswell-like events and portals. It gave popular culture the moral license to think seriously about these ideas. It opened doors for shows like Ancient Aliens. The Peruvian connections, snakes as symbols (echoing the Garden of Eden), and hidden-in-plain-sight craft at the end resonated. I dedicated a chapter in my book to serpentine imagery and interdimensional influences.
Broader Context: UFOs in Ohio and Butler County
Ohio has a rich history of sightings. The 1952 “Flatwoods Monster” event in nearby West Virginia involved a bright object and a strange entity. In 1994, Trumbull County saw police-chased lights. Middletown itself has a history of reports, including cigar-shaped objects. The 2023 green lights fit a pattern of rotating formations and rapid departures defying conventional explanation. Some dismissed it as a prank or drone, but the speed and multiple witnesses suggest more. Butler County’s location—near Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, long rumored in UFO lore for reverse-engineering—adds intrigue. Reverse-engineering Roswell tech? Congressional testimony and retired officials hint at it. I know enough insiders to take such claims seriously.
These aren’t new. Ancient texts, archaeology, and global myths describe sky beings, watchers, and technology influencing humanity. The Book of Enoch, Dead Sea Scrolls (which I viewed at the Museum of the Bible on my birthday), Nephilim, and giants speak to this. My book, The Politics of Heaven, dives into spiritual warfare, divine rebellion, population agendas, and how non-human intelligences have shaped history. Biblical conspiracies, demons, and interdimensional entities aren’t “crazy” when disclosure normalizes the conversation. Spielberg’s film and real events make mainstream what was once fringe.
Government, Power, and the Politics of Disclosure
I have built my life around self-reliance, discipline (symbolized by my whip iconography from my family’s Kentucky heritage), and skepticism toward centralized power. The UFO debate often serves as a pretext for more government authority: “Trust us to protect you from them.” Yet the same institutions lied about COVID, mandates, elections, and more. Black budgets, compartmentalized programs at places like Wright-Patterson, and associations with supernatural tech-seeking make the government threat more immediate than hypothetical aliens. If entities have visited since civilization’s dawn, then history makes more sense—temples, sacrifices, and beliefs born of observed phenomena.
My dare and the subsequent sighting felt like a ritual response. Call it out, and it appears. Whether it was a government projection (holographic or drone tech) to discredit me in political circles, actual craft, or something responding to frequency/intent, it happened. Proximity to my pointed location, in an area with patterns (Middletown, Monroe, West Chester), wasn’t a coincidence. It reinforced my view: information is power. Secrecy builds empires on lies. As a grand jury foreman, I saw institutional failures up close. Two-tier justice, surveillance of citizens like me—these are real.
This encounter, revisited through Disclosure Day, crystallized my decision to finish the manuscript. I weave personal stories, including this one, with biblical archaeology, ancient civilizations (Axum, Britain BC, the Windover Bog People), giants, and modern spiritual warfare. Chapters explore how UFOs, interdimensional beings, and government secrecy intersect with heavenly politics. Reviewers call it wild, but grounded in my experiences and research. It answers questions Disclosure Day raises: What next? What does it mean for faith, power, and humanity?
Conclusion: Toward Understanding
I stand by my premises. Aliens or their tech have been with us. Government lies pose clearer dangers. My encounter was deliberate, provocative, and inspirational. It led to The Politics of Heaven, a book for those seeking the next layer after disclosure. Look up Middletown UFO reports yourself. Study Keel, Enoch, archaeology. Question power. Live with discipline and curiosity. The sky holds answers, but so does rigorous inquiry into heaven’s politics.
The modern cultural moment surrounding extraterrestrial disclosure sits at the intersection of fiction, data, belief, and institutional power. What once belonged exclusively to speculative literature and late-night radio has steadily entered mainstream discourse through cinema, congressional hearings, intelligence reports, and public polling. The convergence of these domains—popular storytelling, emerging government transparency, and shifting public opinion—marks not merely a fascination with the unknown, but a broader transition in how societies process uncertainty and authority.
Science fiction has long functioned as a precursor to technological and conceptual breakthroughs. From Jules Verne’s imagined submarines to Star Trek’s communicators, speculative narratives have historically inspired real-world innovation, shaping the ambitions of engineers, scientists, and entrepreneurs 12. This feedback loop between imagination and material progress has created a cultural environment in which ideas once dismissed as fantasy are re-evaluated as plausible futures. The genre’s influence extends beyond gadgets into ethics and social systems, providing frameworks for grappling with artificial intelligence, space exploration, and extraterrestrial life itself 1. In this sense, science fiction does not merely predict the future—it establishes the intellectual conditions that make certain futures conceivable.
The normalization of extraterrestrial discourse is reflected in recent polling data, which reveals a decisive shift in public belief. As of June 2026, approximately 63% of Americans believe intelligent life exists beyond Earth, a substantial increase from fewer than half in 2010 3. Moreover, about 21% of respondents believe direct contact with extraterrestrial life has already occurred 3. These figures illustrate a cultural transformation: belief in extraterrestrial life is no longer marginal but widely accepted. Even more telling is that roughly 84% of Americans believe the federal government knows more about unidentified aerial phenomena than it has disclosed 4. This convergence of belief in extraterrestrials and skepticism toward institutional transparency underscores a broader erosion of trust in official narratives.
Parallel to this shift in public perception, the United States government has released a series of reports on Unidentified Aerial Phenomena (UAP), providing an unprecedented—though limited—window into classified data. The 2021 preliminary assessment reviewed 144 documented cases, many supported by multi-sensor evidence and some exhibiting unusual flight characteristics such as abrupt acceleration and stationary hovering 5. By August 2022, the number of recorded incidents had expanded to 510, reflecting both increased reporting and reduced stigma among military personnel 6. The 2023 and subsequent reports further expanded the dataset to hundreds more cases, with total investigations surpassing 800 and later exceeding 1,600 by 2024, demonstrating a rapidly growing body of observations 75.
Despite this increase in data, a significant proportion of cases remain unresolved. While many sightings are eventually attributed to balloons, drones, or atmospheric phenomena, a persistent subset defies easy classification. Notably, no confirmed extraterrestrial origin has been established in these official reports, yet the continued presence of unexplained cases sustains public speculation 5. The reports emphasize aviation safety concerns and the need for improved data collection, framing UAP primarily as a defense and intelligence issue rather than a confirmation of alien technology 7. Nevertheless, the mere acknowledgment of unexplained aerial phenomena by government institutions has legitimized a topic long relegated to the fringes.
The cultural impact of this gradual disclosure cannot be separated from the role of media, particularly large-scale cinematic releases that translate complex or controversial ideas into accessible narratives. Films centered on extraterrestrial contact often serve as intermediaries between classified knowledge and public imagination, offering emotional and philosophical interpretations of what scientific reports leave unresolved. These narratives tend to humanize the unknown, framing extraterrestrial encounters in terms of curiosity, conflict, or moral testing. In doing so, they provide audiences with conceptual tools to process information that might otherwise provoke skepticism or fear.
At the same time, the enduring appeal of theories regarding ancient extraterrestrial influence demonstrates the persistence of alternative explanatory frameworks. The so-called “ancient aliens” hypothesis suggests that extraterrestrial beings contributed to early human civilizations, influencing architecture, religion, and technological development. While this theory remains popular in media and literature, it is widely regarded by professional archaeologists as pseudoarchaeology, often criticized for ignoring contextual evidence and substituting speculation for rigorous analysis 89. Scholars argue that such theories can undermine appreciation for human ingenuity by attributing historical achievements to non-human actors. Yet their popularity reflects a deeper cultural impulse: the desire to locate external origins for complex systems and unexplained accomplishments.
This impulse extends into modern interpretations of government secrecy and psychological control. Among the most controversial historical programs associated with these concerns is Project MK-Ultra, a covert CIA initiative conducted between 1953 and the mid-1960s. The program involved extensive experimentation with drugs, hypnosis, and sensory manipulation in an attempt to develop methods of controlling human behavior 10. Many of these experiments were conducted without informed consent, leading to lasting ethical and legal controversies when the program was exposed in the 1970s 11. MK-Ultra’s documented abuses have contributed to a broader skepticism toward intelligence agencies, reinforcing narratives in which governments possess capabilities that remain hidden from public scrutiny.
The persistence of such ideas reflects the influence of narrative storytelling, which often amplifies real-world events into more dramatic or comprehensive systems of control. This blending of fact and fiction can complicate efforts to establish a shared understanding of what is known, unknown, and unknowable.
Within this landscape, the concept of “disclosure” operates as both a political and psychological threshold. It represents not only the potential revelation of classified information but also the collective readiness of society to integrate disruptive knowledge. Historical precedents suggest that transformative discoveries—whether heliocentrism, evolution, or nuclear technology—require gradual assimilation. Sudden exposure to paradigm-shifting ideas can provoke resistance, denial, or reinterpretation within existing belief systems. Consequently, any process of disclosure, whether regarding extraterrestrial life or advanced technology, is likely to unfold incrementally, mediated by cultural narratives and institutional frameworks.
Religious perspectives add another dimension to this process. The possibility of extraterrestrial intelligence raises fundamental questions about humanity’s place in the universe, challenging anthropocentric interpretations of creation and divine purpose. Yet many theological traditions possess conceptual flexibility, allowing for the existence of life beyond Earth without negating core doctrines. The idea of a universe governed by a singular creator is not inherently incompatible with multiple inhabited worlds. Rather than undermining faith, the discovery of extraterrestrial life could expand the scope of theological inquiry, prompting reconsideration of divine agency and cosmic order.
Public reaction to such possibilities appears increasingly nuanced. Polling data indicates that a majority of Americans would respond to extraterrestrial contact with curiosity rather than fear, though a significant proportion also anticipates anxiety 3. This duality reflects the tension between fascination and uncertainty that characterizes human engagement with the unknown. Cultural conditioning through decades of science fiction has arguably prepared audiences for the idea of extraterrestrial life, normalizing it to a degree unimaginable in earlier generations.
At the same time, political framing continues to shape interpretations of disclosure. Debates over transparency, national security, and governmental authority influence how information is released and received. Bipartisan interest in UAP investigations suggests that the issue transcends traditional ideological divides, yet its implications can be mobilized within broader narratives about governance, sovereignty, and public trust. The question of who controls knowledge—and who decides when it is revealed—remains central to the discourse.
The interplay between science fiction, empirical data, and cultural belief ultimately reveals a society in transition. As technological capabilities expand and information becomes more accessible, distinctions between speculation and reality grow increasingly porous. Ideas once confined to fiction are reexamined through the lens of possibility, while scientific findings are interpreted within preexisting narrative frameworks. This dynamic creates both opportunities and challenges: opportunities for expanded knowledge and imaginative exploration, and challenges in maintaining epistemic clarity.
Future developments in astronomy, planetary science, and space exploration may provide more definitive answers regarding extraterrestrial life. Missions to Mars, Europa, and other celestial bodies aim to detect biosignatures or evidence of past life, potentially transforming speculation into empirical reality. At the same time, continued analysis of UAP data may resolve many currently unexplained cases, narrowing the gap between observation and explanation. Whether these processes culminate in confirmation of extraterrestrial intelligence remains uncertain, but their trajectory is unmistakable.
In this context, disclosure is less a singular event than an ongoing process—a gradual unfolding shaped by technological progress, institutional decisions, and cultural interpretation. The convergence of widespread belief, partial governmental transparency, and influential storytelling suggests that society is moving toward a new equilibrium in its understanding of the cosmos. This transformation is not driven solely by evidence but by the narratives constructed around that evidence, which determine how it is perceived, debated, and ultimately integrated into collective knowledge.
The enduring power of science fiction lies in its ability to anticipate and normalize the unfamiliar. By envisioning encounters with the unknown, it prepares audiences to confront them, bridging the gap between imagination and reality. As the boundaries of knowledge continue to expand, this role becomes increasingly significant, guiding public discourse through uncharted intellectual territory. In the evolving dialogue surrounding extraterrestrial life and government disclosure, fiction and fact are not opposing forces but complementary elements in a broader cultural process—one that continues to redefine humanity’s place in an ever-expanding universe. And with all that said, the movie, Disclosure Day, is a fantastic movie everyone should see. It’s important.
—
Footnotes
[1] Data on public belief in extraterrestrial life: 3
[2] Public perception of government secrecy on UFOs: 4
Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com. If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.
I have always lived with one foot in the ordinary world of aerospace program management, local Ohio politics, family life along the Great Miami River in Butler County, and the other in the deeper currents of history, archaeology, and the unexplained. Growing up in the Cincinnati area, my family in the 1970s was already investigating strange lights in the sky and odd occurrences that didn’t fit neatly into everyday explanations. Those early experiences planted seeds that would later bloom into serious inquiry. I have never claimed to have been abducted or to have lived through anything as dramatic as the portrayal of Travis Walton’s ordeal in Fire in the Sky. My encounters have been subtler, more provocative, and in one memorable case, downright infuriating in their precision and timing.
One such encounter stands out, not just because of what I saw firsthand in earlier instances, but also because of how it unfolded in response to something I said publicly. A couple of years ago, amid ongoing discussions about government transparency, surveillance, and the lingering shadows of the COVID era, I recorded a video. In it, I dared whatever forces—whether extraterrestrial, interdimensional, or black-budget human technology—might be listening to show themselves right there in my backyard of Butler County, Ohio. I pointed to a specific spot in the sky near Middletown. I wasn’t expecting fireworks or a close encounter of the third kind. I was making a point about power, information, and the dangers of hidden knowledge wielded by institutions that demand trust while offering none in return.
A few days later, a ring of bright green lights appeared in the night sky in that vicinity. Multiple residents captured video around 10:30 or 11 p.m. The lights rotated, hovered, then shot off with impossible speed. People stopped at stoplights, pulled out their phones, and filmed what appeared to be a circular formation moving counterclockwise before it vanished. Reports flooded local news: WCPO, WLWT, and others covered the strange rotating green lights over Middletown in Butler County. Witnesses described it as unlike any drone or conventional aircraft. Some called it frightening; others were fascinated. I wasn’t on site that night, but the proximity and timing were unmistakable.
This wasn’t my first brush with the phenomenon. I had witnessed other UFO activity years earlier, including one that left me genuinely angry at the audacity of it. But this particular event felt targeted. Given my political activity—my role as a vocal conservative voice in Butler County, my history with local issues like Lakota schools, tax fights, and broader America First advocacy—I have long assumed surveillance. Decades ago, in a previous neighborhood in Mason, Ohio, I confronted a drug ring operating too close to families. That brought FBI interviews and scrutiny that carried over for years. Local and federal eyes have been on me, my family, and my work. When you dare powers—visible or invisible—to reveal themselves while criticizing government overreach, you invite responses. Whether this was a genuine non-human craft, advanced human technology (perhaps reverse-engineered or projected), or something meant to rattle me, it landed with precision.
I took it as a message. Not the kind that turns you into Richard Dreyfuss piling dirt in the living room from Close Encounters of the Third Kind, but one that demands deeper reflection. I have visited Roswell. I have investigated the Mothman in Point Pleasant, West Virginia—right across the river from Ohio territory familiar to me. There, UFO sightings were rampant alongside the Mothman reports in the 1960s. John Keel’s The Mothman Prophecies (later a film with Richard Gere) details how lights in the sky, strange calls, and Men in Black phenomena intertwined with the creature sightings leading up to the Silver Bridge collapse. You cannot grapple with Mothman without confronting the UFO dimension. I went there for personal research, on a birthday trip no less, and came away convinced that these events form a pattern far older than modern disclosure narratives.
Watching Steven Spielberg’s Disclosure Day recently brought it all into sharper focus. Spielberg, who has fielded countless UFO stories from the public over decades while making films like Close Encounters, treats the subject with a humanistic lens. The movie explores ordinary people pushing back against secrecy. I found it compelling, even if some critics dismissed elements. It reminded me of my own journey. Spielberg has no personal UFO encounter, by his account, yet he has shaped public imagination on the topic. I have had them, and they propelled me to write.
My thoughts also turned to Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Many reviewers scoffed at the interdimensional beings, calling it the weakest entry. I saw sophistication in it. The film uses Indy to explore ancient alien influence on human civilization—archaeologists from another realm, imprints on societies, crystal skulls tied to Roswell-like events and portals. It gave popular culture the moral license to think seriously about these ideas. It opened doors for shows like Ancient Aliens. The Peruvian connections, snakes as symbols (echoing the Garden of Eden), and hidden-in-plain-sight craft at the end resonated. I dedicated a chapter in my book to serpentine imagery and interdimensional influences.
Broader Context: UFOs in Ohio and Butler County
Ohio has a rich history of sightings. The 1952 “Flatwoods Monster” event in nearby West Virginia involved a bright object and a strange entity. In 1994, Trumbull County saw police-chased lights. Middletown itself has a history of reports, including cigar-shaped objects. The 2023 green lights fit a pattern of rotating formations and rapid departures defying conventional explanation. Some dismissed it as a prank or drone, but the speed and multiple witnesses suggest more. Butler County’s location—near Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, long rumored in UFO lore for reverse-engineering—adds intrigue. Reverse-engineering Roswell tech? Congressional testimony and retired officials hint at it. I know enough insiders to take such claims seriously.
These aren’t new. Ancient texts, archaeology, and global myths describe sky beings, watchers, and technology influencing humanity. The Book of Enoch, Dead Sea Scrolls (which I viewed at the Museum of the Bible on my birthday), Nephilim, and giants speak to this. My book, The Politics of Heaven, dives into spiritual warfare, divine rebellion, population agendas, and the ways non-human intelligences have shaped history. Biblical conspiracies, demons, and interdimensional entities aren’t “crazy” when disclosure normalizes the conversation. Spielberg’s film and real events make mainstream what was once fringe.
Government, Power, and the Politics of Disclosure
I have built my life around self-reliance, discipline (symbolized by my whip iconography from my family’s Kentucky heritage), and skepticism toward centralized power. The UFO debate often serves as a pretext for more government authority: “Trust us to protect you from them.” Yet the same institutions lied about COVID, mandates, elections, and more. Black budgets, compartmentalized programs at places like Wright-Patterson, and associations with supernatural tech-seeking make the government threat more immediate than hypothetical aliens. If entities have visited since civilization’s dawn, then history makes more sense—temples, sacrifices, and beliefs born of observed phenomena.
My dare and the subsequent sighting felt like a ritual response. Call it out, and it appears. Whether it was a government projection (holographic or drone tech) to discredit me in political circles, actual craft, or something responding to frequency/intent, it happened. Proximity to my pointed location, in an area with patterns (Middletown, Monroe, West Chester), wasn’t a coincidence. It reinforced my view: information is power. Secrecy builds empires on lies. As a grand jury foreman, I saw institutional failures up close. Two-tier justice, surveillance of citizens like me—these are real.
I don’t fear aliens landing and applying for jobs (though I joked I’d hire hard workers who crossed interstellar distances). The real danger is unaccountable power using the phenomenon for control. My political consulting, school advocacy, and anti-tax work matter. Associating with “fringe” topics risks credibility, yet truth-seeking demands it. Overman philosophy—imposing will on chaos, as in model rocketry with my grandson in bad weather—applies here. Face the unknown with resilience.
Writing The Politics of Heaven
This encounter, revisited through Disclosure Day, crystallized my decision to finish the manuscript. I weave personal stories, including this one, with biblical archaeology, ancient civilizations (Axum, Britain BC, Windover bog people), giants, and modern spiritual warfare. Chapters explore how UFOs, interdimensional beings, and government secrecy intersect with heavenly politics. Reviewers call it wild, but grounded in my experiences and research. It answers questions Disclosure Day raises: What next? What does it mean for faith, power, and humanity?
Bibliography (Selected; expanded in full manuscript with footnotes)
• Keel, John A. The Mothman Prophecies. 1975. (Core text on Point Pleasant events, UFOs, and interconnected phenomena.)
• Spielberg, Steven, dir. Disclosure Day. Universal Pictures, 2026. (Film exploring disclosure and government secrecy.)
• Spielberg, Steven, dir. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Paramount, 2008. (Interdimensional beings and ancient influences.)
Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com. If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.
There is a growing controversy surrounding Amy Acton’s campaign as it attempts to distance itself from the COVID-era lockdown decisions that defined her tenure as Ohio’s health director. That strategy faces a fundamental problem: the record is well known, and voters remember. Governor Mike DeWine may have held executive authority, but Acton was not a passive figure—she was the central public voice and policy driver behind the state’s pandemic response. Day after day, she appeared before Ohioans, advocating aggressive mitigation measures, including shutdowns, mask requirements, and restrictions on gatherings. Those policies were not abstract recommendations; they were implemented in real time under the administration she helped guide.
Attempts to shift responsibility now—whether onto the governor or broader circumstances—risk undermining credibility. Acton was appointed to provide expert guidance, and by all observable accounts, DeWine relied heavily on that guidance. In that sense, the administration’s decisions were inseparable from her influence. The argument that these policies were solely political or that they emerged independently of her leadership is difficult to reconcile with the public record of her daily briefings, national media presence, and close alignment with federal health leadership at the time.
Politically, the sensitivity of this issue suggests vulnerability. The campaign’s effort to reframe or soften Acton’s role indicates awareness that the lockdown period remains deeply polarizing, particularly among voters who experienced economic disruption, job loss, or prolonged social restrictions. Efforts to draw comparisons between Acton and her opponents, including Vivek Ramaswamy, may reflect a broader defensive strategy—one intended to diffuse criticism rather than directly confront it. But such comparisons also risk backfiring if voters perceive them as evasive.
Another point of criticism centers on Acton’s departure from her role in 2020. She resigned amid mounting public pressure and protests, at a time when tensions around lockdown policies were intensifying. For critics, this moment reinforces a narrative of incomplete accountability—that she helped shape sweeping policies and then exited before the long-term consequences fully unfolded. Supporters may interpret her resignation differently, but politically, the timing continues to factor into how her leadership is judged in retrospect. She is very vulnerable to the lockdown issue. She dragged Jon Husted into her mess, as well as DeWine. They were too nice to say no to her. David Pepper and the national Democrats think Republicans won’t expose her because of complicity. Jon Husted will not take friendly fire if Republicans destroy Amy Acton with her lockdowns. It’s easy to defend. Her stupid policies were some of the dumbest things ever to be done in politics. And she completely owns it.
I was out in the driveway the other day, swapping tires on the RV after blowing a couple on our recent trip, sockets in hand, going back and forth to the garage. The rain was coming down, so I had WLW on for some background noise 12 to 3 on Saturday afternoon, right before the Cardinals game. I didn’t catch every word. I was in and out, focused on the work, but I heard enough. It was Kim Brew hosting, with Jim Renacci as a guest, discussing Ohio politics, John Husted, Vivek Ramaswamy, and the path forward for Republicans.
What I heard didn’t surprise me, but it reinforced exactly why I’ve distanced myself from that station over the years. They used to have more Tea Party energy, real conservative voices in the programming and talent. But as Clear Channel evolved into the corporate middle-road sports-and-news machine, the anti-Trump corporate types gained the upper hand. Cunningham hasn’t been outright hostile, but Scott Sloan and others have leaned that way for a long time. Even Tucker Carlson types shifted toward stronger support for Trump over the years, but the station’s overall direction felt like it was cracking down on anything too disruptive to the ad-revenue model. I usually keep a radio on in the garage while I’m working on projects around the house—cars, the RV, whatever needs fixing. I catch snippets, but I don’t live by them. That Saturday was no different.
They were discussing campaigns, and the guest was pushing the idea that candidates like Vivek and Jon need to distance themselves from Trump because he’s “baggage.” That was one of the dumbest pieces of advice I’ve heard in years. I’ve seen this game up close. I came out in favor of Jim Renacci in his races. I told him, straight after a Miami University event where he debated Sherrod Brown, that you left too much on the table. You were too nice. You didn’t hit hard enough on the things that matter—attack, attack, attack. That’s how you give voters something to show up for on Election Day. Not nice-guy politics. Voters don’t reward playing defense or hoping for fair coverage. They reward fighters.
I remember sitting down for lunch with Bernie Moreno during his campaign. Smart young guy, full of energy. First question out of his mouth: “What do you think about Sherrod Brown?” I told him the truth. Bernie listened better than some. Trump endorsed him even from political exile at one point, and Bernie won. That’s the model. Trump showed the country you don’t win by playing the corporate media game, spending millions on traditional ad slots, and hoping the gatekeepers treat you fairly. He built his own platform, dominated podcasts, went directly to the people on YouTube, Rumble, X—free or low-cost reach that bypasses the old gatekeepers.
That’s exactly what I heard critiqued on WLW that day. The narrative was that Republicans are in trouble in the polls, so they better spend more on ad revenue with stations like this one to close the gap. It’s the same old revenue-driven thinking. I know how radio works from the inside—I bought ads, I even hired Bill Cunningham back in the 90s as a spokesman for a project. They’ve got the big sales floor, the WLW 55KRC on the desk, and cubicles full of people chasing revenue. The belief is that if you don’t outspend Democrats on their airwaves, you won’t get fair play. But that’s nonsense. Trump broke the mold. He won without playing their game. He attacked relentlessly, defined the opposition, and created his own media reality. Elon Musk’s changes to X further eroded the old suppression model. Corporate media wants you scared into buying their slots.
Look at the current Ohio landscape as we head toward November 2026. Vivek Ramaswamy crushed the Republican primary for governor with over 82% of the vote. Amy Acton, the former Health Director under DeWine during COVID, won the Democratic side unopposed. Polls have been tight—some showing Acton with a slight edge or dead heat, others giving Ramaswamy the advantage. But the fundamentals favor aggressive conservatism.
Acton’s record is vulnerable. She was central to the lockdowns—closing schools and businesses, restricting gatherings, and even pushing to postpone the primary. Protesters showed up at her house. Republicans remember the economic pain, the overreach, the mutiny against the restrictions. She left the position in mid-2020 amid backlash. There’s plenty to attack there: the human cost of those policies, the constitutional questions, the long-term damage to kids’ education and small businesses. Playing nice or treating her as some neutral public servant won’t cut it. Voters respond to reminders of why these approaches failed.
Jon Husted (often referenced in these discussions) has his own path, whether in the Senate or in other roles, but the principle is the same. Distancing from Trump is terrible advice. Trump remains enormously popular with the base. People still love him for what he represents—fighting the establishment, delivering results, refusing to bow. Running away from that energy is how you lose enthusiasm. Embrace it. Remind voters why the alternatives are worse.
My friend Senator George Lang is a perfect example of what works. He’s won repeatedly in his district by being aggressive when challenged. He’s a nice guy personally, but he doesn’t hesitate to go after opponents metaphorically—hard. That’s how you deter challenges and win decisively. I’ve watched him rise because he understands the arena. Same with Trump: attacked from every direction, impeachments, lawfare, assassination attempts, and he keeps fighting back. That resilience resonates. Jim Renacci, for all his strengths, played too nice against Sherrod Brown, and it showed. I told him as much in the parking lot after that debate. You can’t leave domestic issues, policy failures, or character questions on the table.
Corporate radio personalities like the ones I heard that day know how to stay employed. They tow a line that keeps the ad dollars flowing and the golf invitations coming from the “titans of industry” crowd. Many in corporate media have migrated toward softer, more socialist-friendly positions because control through authority and supply chains appeals to the management mindset. They want to be like Fox or MSNBC in their own way—mouthpieces that don’t rock the boat too much. Podcasts and independent platforms threaten that. That’s why you hear the suppression polls and the fear-mongering about Republican chances unless they buy more airtime.
I’ve lived this for decades in Butler County and the Cincinnati area. From my time as a young man handling logistics in some rough circles—Newport and Sharonville—learning coded signals, plausible deniability, and how power really operates, to my days deeply involved in downtown Cincinnati politics and infrastructure projects. I’ve seen the game from multiple angles. The lesson is consistent: nice guys finish last when the other side plays for keeps. Democrats attack relentlessly. They use lawfare, media allies, every tool—Republicans who mirror that energy and define the contrast win.
The data backs the fighter approach. Trump’s 2024 victory, Bernie Moreno’s success against Brown, the enthusiasm in grassroots circles—these come from unapologetic messaging. In Ohio, with its mix of suburban, rural, and working-class voters, reminding people of the failures of lockdown policies, high taxes, and education issues in places like Lakota, as well as the broader cultural drift, works. Vivek brings energy, business success, and a willingness to challenge the status quo. Pair that with relentless attacks on the opposition’s record, and the path is clear.
This is bigger than one radio segment. It’s about the shift in media and politics. Traditional outlets are losing ground because people see through the bias. Podcasts like mine, independent voices, direct communication—these are where real conversations happen. I dictate these essays as first-person narratives because that’s authentic. No scripts, no corporate filters. Just truth as I’ve lived it, backed by history, personal experience, and observation.
My book The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business lays out similar principles: impose your will on circumstances, prepare relentlessly, strike decisively. The same ethos applies to politics. The whip I carry as a symbol—discipline, precision, deterrence—fits here too. You don’t win by being soft. You win by being ready.
As we move through 2026, I’ll keep helping where I can—locally in Butler County, supporting strong candidates who understand the fight. Republicans don’t need to defend or chase poll-driven ad spend endlessly. They need to attack the vulnerabilities: Acton’s COVID record, the broader Democrat policy failures, the corruption and two-tier systems we’ve seen. Democrats haven’t been “too smart to get caught”; they’ve benefited from institutional protection and media cover. Expose it.
Don’t listen to the Saturday afternoon analysis that tells you to run from Trump or play nice. Attack. Destroy the arguments. Give voters a reason to show up. That’s how Vivek Ramaswamy wins the governorship, how Jon Husted and others secure their seats, and how Ohio stays on the right track. Trump proved it nationally. George Lang proves it locally. History proves it repeatedly.
I’ve shared these thoughts before in various forms—on the podcast, in writings, in conversations with candidates. The response from people who get it is strong. The Overmanwarrior approach isn’t about blind aggression; it’s about moral clarity, preparation, and the will to impose order on chaos. Whether it’s troubleshooting a rocket launch with my grandson in bad weather or navigating political storms, the mindset is the same: adapt, strike, prevail.
Corporate media will keep pushing the narrative that fits their business model. Ignore it. The future belongs to those who build their own platforms and fight without apology. That’s the lesson from that rainy Saturday in the driveway, and it’s the one Ohio Republicans should heed as they head into November.
Further Reading / Bibliography (partial, expandable):
• Ohio Secretary of State election results and polls.
• Coverage from Ohio Capital Journal, AP, Wikipedia summaries on candidates.
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
I have been saying it all week, and I’ll say it again here: the SpaceX IPO represents one of the greatest opportunities for generational wealth creation in our lifetime. As someone who has followed SpaceX for years, toured its facilities on the Space Coast, and dreamed of humanity’s expansion into the cosmos, I see this not just as a stock offering but as a pivotal moment in human history. Wealth, as I often remind people, is a tool. The more tools you have, the more problems you can solve and the more good you can do. Donald Trump became president in large part because of his wealth, which allowed him to overcome the entrenched opposition that would have sunk anyone else. That same principle applies here. Elon Musk has taken the wealth from PayPal and other ventures and gambled it boldly on ventures like SpaceX, and now everyday investors have a chance to join in that vision.
Critics, including some friends in the WarRoom group and others suspicious of wealthy tech figures close to Trump, voice concerns about subsidies, oligarchs, and potential crashes. I understand the skepticism—history is full of cautionary tales. But I counter with a simple truth: private sector innovation, not government bureaucracy, drives real growth. Look at the job numbers under Trump: government employment is at its lowest level in decades as workers shift into productive private roles. That transfer of energy and resources is exactly how economies expand. SpaceX embodies this shift, turning ambitious dreams into tangible progress. If you have a few thousand dollars sitting idle—perhaps from a recent real estate sale earning minimal interest in a bank—putting it into SpaceX at the IPO could be transformative. I’ve told people with $50,000 or $100,000 to consider it seriously. The potential returns, in my view, could turn modest investments into life-changing sums over the coming years.
My enthusiasm isn’t blind. I recently visited the Space Coast with my wife, touring Kennedy Space Center, SpaceX facilities, and Blue Origin sites. We were in Florida visiting family, staying in a condo near Cocoa Beach and Cape Canaveral. After a full day immersed in the excitement of rockets and exploration, I was still wearing my favorite SpaceX shirt when we stopped at the local Publix for fresh fruit, berries, grapes, and snacks. A fellow shopper, who looked like a Daytona Bike Week regular and a likely DeSantis or Trump supporter, approached me. “Elon Musk is a bomb,” he said. “He gets all his money from government subsidies. It’ll be great when he’s gone.” I listened politely but felt the opposite. That encounter crystallized the divide: some see dependence on subsidies, others see a catalyst for unprecedented progress. I walked away more convinced than ever that SpaceX is the real deal.
SpaceX’s trajectory has been remarkable. Just recently, around Memorial Day 2026, Starship’s twelfth flight test achieved a successful launch and a controlled landing in the Indian Ocean, meeting key criteria for precision and reusability. This progress paves the way for the IPO, scheduled to price around June 11 and begin trading on June 12 under the ticker SPCX on Nasdaq. The company is targeting a $ 135-per-share price and aims to raise approximately $75 billion at a valuation of $1.75 trillion to $1.8 trillion. This would make it the largest IPO in history, surpassing previous records. Demand is strong, with reports of oversubscription. Elon Musk’s vision isn’t about personal enrichment alone; it’s about making humanity multi-planetary. He has often echoed the science fiction that inspired both of us—books that ask why we’re here and how we can reach further.
I love science fiction and have for decades. Musk, like me, reads the classics and envisions carrying humanity forward. I’ve been vocal about the space economy for years, anticipating a thriving sector once the right policies are aligned. Trump’s return has accelerated that. The space economy isn’t some distant fantasy; projections show it growing from hundreds of billions today to over a trillion dollars by the 2030s or 2040s, driven by satellites, launches, tourism, and resource utilization. Starship is the key enabler—reducing costs dramatically and opening access to orbit, the Moon, Mars, and beyond. Think of the wealth generated during America’s westward expansion or the railroad boom in the late 19th century. This is analogous, but on a cosmic scale. No indigenous populations to exploit on the Moon or Mars; it’s pure frontier opportunity.
During our Florida trip, walking the Space Coast, I saw the potential firsthand. The area around Ron Jon Surf Shop, Port Canaveral, Cocoa Beach—it’s poised to boom as Las Vegas did, but with a focus on high-tech industry rather than just entertainment. Restaurants that are now seafood shacks could evolve into world-class establishments. Billions in economic activity from launches, manufacturing, tourism, and support services will flow in. I’ve seen similar transformations: the growth of Abu Dhabi and Dubai from desert to gleaming cities, or the shifts in organized crime I witnessed in my younger days in Cincinnati and Newport, Kentucky, where money found new outlets. Vegas replaced mob-run desert outposts with a massive entertainment economy. Space will do the same, creating legitimate, innovative wealth.
Critics point to BlackRock buying millions of shares or Musk’s past associations. I don’t like every player involved—Larry Fink’s politics, Mark Zuckerberg’s influence—but I separate the good from the bad. Wealthy individuals like Musk use their resources for ambitious projects. Trump’s wealth insulated him from the system. More people with independent wealth strengthen society against overreach. I’ve argued against socialism and progressive policies my whole life, yet I admire aspects of Teddy Roosevelt’s—energetic expansion—while rejecting its modern excesses. Musk isn’t a traditional Democrat or Republican; he’s a builder pushing boundaries.
Some friends worry about a crash or tech oligarchs. Economies have cycles, and short-term volatility is inevitable. Starship tests will have setbacks—explosions on the pad have happened before—but the long-term trend is upward. Hold for years, not days. Investing $1,000 today could yield enormous multiples as the valuation climbs with successful missions, Starlink expansion, and deep-space operations. Musk has said bold things before, like the Cybertruck’s early claims, but the engineering delivers. SpaceX’s valuation already reflects trillions in potential. This IPO could make Musk the first trillionaire, but more importantly, it democratizes access to that future for those who participate.
My personal connection runs deep. As an aerospace executive, I’ve seen the industry up close. Model rocketry with my grandson teaches resilience—launching in wind and rain, troubleshooting, recovering. That same spirit scales to Starship. I can’t wait for archaeology on Mars. We’ll discover more about human history, perhaps ties to ancient legends of giants, the Nephilim, or low-gravity environments that foster taller statures, as in biblical accounts of Titans or Goliath. Low gravity on Mars could allow future generations to grow taller, altering human physiology over time. UFO phenomena, government disclosures, and ancient texts suggest we’ve had visitors or prior connections. The “Politics of Heaven” I explore in my writing ties spiritual warfare, history, and this frontier. Mars colonization isn’t an escape; it’s fulfillment and backup for Earth.
Economically, the space economy will generate trillions through resource mining (asteroids rich in metals), orbital manufacturing, space-based solar power, and tourism. Data centers and AI on Earth will support it, fueled by reliable energy. Trump’s policies favor this private-led growth over bureaucratic stagnation. Biden-era approaches seemed designed to hobble American leadership, benefiting China. Now, with momentum restored, SpaceX leads.
I recall historical parallels: the 1860s to 1900s saw explosive capitalist growth despite the import of Marxist ideas. Antitrust broke some monopolies, but innovation thrived. Railroads connected a nation; Starship will connect worlds. Vegas exploded with entertainment revenue; Dubai with oil and vision. The Space Coast will follow. Local businesses, from shacks to fine dining, will thrive on influxes of engineers, tourists, and capital.
Skeptics at Publix or on CNBC apply old metrics. Conventional wisdom fails against paradigm shifts. Short-sellers may pounce on dips, but patient investors win. By 2030-2031, those who buy in could see returns that create multi-generational security. Imagine passing on wealth that frees descendants from financial drudgery, allowing focus on innovation, family, and higher pursuits. Yes, some may become “spoiled,” but that’s a parenting challenge, not a reason to reject opportunity. Vanderbilt and Rockefeller levels of wealth built institutions and advanced society.
My track record on predictions stems from pattern recognition: cultural shifts in the 1970s-80s music and media as spiritual attacks; political realignments; technological leaps. I’ve said things in 1983, 1993, 2003, and 2013 that materialized. This feels the same. SpaceX isn’t hype; it’s execution. Starlink already connects remote areas. Reusable rockets slashed costs. Human Mars missions are on the horizon.
For those with expendable capital—from real estate, savings, or investments—this is better than lottery odds or a sure Derby horse. It’s the underdog that wins because the fundamentals are revolutionary. BlackRock may profit, but so can average people. I encourage friends and readers: if you have $50k-$100k that’s not needed immediately, consider allocating it. Diversify, of course, but don’t miss this.
The IPO timing aligns with broader disclosure conversations and cultural moments, such as films that spark interest. It’s symbolic: breaking free from Earth-bound limits. I wore that SpaceX shirt proudly, envisioning open planets for humanity. My wife and I, after decades together, share these adventures—museums, history, family trips. Grandchildren will inherit a world with options we barely imagined.
Challenges remain: regulatory hurdles, technical risks, geopolitical tensions. China competes, preferring America to be sidelined. Critics tied to old systems resist. Yet Musk’s focus—multi-planetary life—transcends politics. He invests not in yachts but in rockets. That drive, rooted in curiosity and science fiction, mirrors my own lifelong questions about history, archaeology, and purpose.
In my younger days, handling high-stakes situations in the shadows of Cincinnati taught me about power, coded signals, and resilience. Those lessons apply: see beyond surface narratives. Two-tier systems exist, but individuals will impose order. SpaceX does that technologically.
The space economy will dwarf past booms—trillions in new value from transport, resources, research. AI and robots will handle the dangers, with humans providing direction. Tesla autonomy extending to space. Data centers in Ohio, powered locally, supporting it all.
This is a rare chance. People will look back in 2036 or 2046 and wish they’d listened. My essays and podcasts often explore these intersections—politics, history, faith, innovation. The Politics of Heaven, my upcoming book, delves into biblical conspiracies, giants, spiritual warfare, and humanity’s place in the cosmos. Mars archaeology will illuminate much.
To those suspicious of Musk’s Trump ties or wealth: judge by results. Launches succeed, technology advances, and jobs are created. Government subsidies? Many industries receive them; SpaceX delivers returns through innovation. Private investment now amplifies that.
For the guy at Publix or Tucker Carlson skeptics worried about “demon science”: I see God-given talent in engineers pushing boundaries. Creation includes curiosity. Staying Earth-bound risks stagnation; expansion honors stewardship and dominion.
Invest if it fits your risk tolerance and timeline—long-term hold. The Starship ecosystem—landings at Boca Chica, expansions at Cape Canaveral—will reshape regions and economies. Port Canaveral is bustling like never before.
This IPO isn’t just financial; it’s philosophical. Wealth as a tool for a multi-planetary future. Generational legacy. I urge those who can: participate. You’ll be glad, and future generations will thank you.
Footnotes (extensive selection; full version would expand):
1. SpaceX IPO prospectus and SEC filings, May 2026.
2. Reuters reporting on $135 pricing and $75B raise, June 2026.
3. CNBC coverage of Starship Flight 12, May 2026.
4. Morgan Stanley Space Economy projections.
5. Personal observations from Space Coast visit, 2026.
6. Biblical Archaeology Review archives on ancient history.
7. Historical analyses of railroad expansion and Gilded Age wealth.
8. Reports on Dubai/Abu Dhabi development.
9. Elon Musk interviews on multi-planetary goals.
10. Economic studies on space resource utilization.
Bibliography (large sample):
• SpaceX Official Updates and Launch Manifest.
• Bloomberg, Reuters, CNBC, NYT articles on IPO, 2026.
• Morgan Stanley: “The New Space Economy.”
• McKinsey/World Economic Forum Space Economy Report.
• Hoffman’s The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and The Politics of Heaven (forthcoming).
• Asimov’s Foundation series (influence on vision).
• Biblical texts, Book of Enoch, Dead Sea Scrolls scholarship.
• Historical works on American expansion, railroads, Vegas growth.
• Aerospace industry analyses, NASA/Artemis documents.
• Additional sources on AI, robotics, asteroid mining economics.
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
Let’s talk about this so-called autopsy the Democrats put out in May 2026 for a little bit. I don’t make any illusions about my distrust and even hatred for consultants, even though a lot of people would call me one. I do a lot of consulting work, and my track record is strong because I charge what I’m worth and deliver real value that people can actually use in the trenches of business, politics, and life. But most of these professional consultants? They’re people who couldn’t hack it in the real world, manufacturing floors, or local community politics where results matter more than fancy slides. So they dress themselves up as magicians with secret knowledge. They sell smoke and mirrors to folks who already know the problems deep down but lack the articulation or the spine to face them head-on and fix them. That’s exactly what’s happening with this Democrat “autopsy” of the 2024 election.
They paid big money for this thing—hundreds of pages, I believe it ran to around 192 pages in the version that finally saw the light of day—and published it with straight faces, complete with disclaimers that it didn’t even fully represent the DNC’s views. Somehow, they expected nobody to crack up laughing. The report basically says Democrats lost because they hemorrhaged working-class voters, non-college-educated voters, young men, and chunks of their traditional minority base, especially Latinos, showing seismic shifts toward Trump. Decade after decade, they took these groups for granted, pushed policies that drove people away, and offered nothing compelling in return. What are you bringing people to? That’s the question they never answer honestly. Instead, it reads like a corporate consultant’s PowerPoint—full of clichés, avoiding the real fire in the room, with big gaps on Biden’s age, Gaza, and the core platform failures.
I’ve seen this playbook my whole life, from my days handling high-stakes situations in Cincinnati’s riverfront politics back in the 1990s, dealing with the shadows of organized networks in Newport, Kentucky, and Sharonville, Ohio, to my executive roles in where I’ve watched consultants parachute in, create more problems than they solve, and bill by the hour while real workers keep the programs on track. Consultants love ambiguity because it keeps the checks coming. They thrive on plausible deniability and the ability to point fingers later. But in politics, especially after a shellacking like 2024, where Trump secured 312 electoral votes to Harris’s 226 and won the popular vote with about 77.3 million to her roughly 75 million, the truth cuts through like a whip crack. The problem wasn’t some vague failure to “connect” with demographics. The Democrats lost because their platform had become openly hostile to the American spirit of free choice, capitalism, and self-reliance. They treated voters like prisoners behind an East Berlin wall—stay on our side or else, enforced by government, media, and algorithms. And when the wall cracked under real scrutiny in more states with voter ID and verification, the flood of rejection happened.
Let me walk you through how I see it, because I’ve lived this from the ground up over more than half a century right here in Butler County, Ohio. I’ve worked since I was twelve, climbed from manual labor to aerospace executive leadership, advised on campaigns without the six-figure unethical grift, studied the patterns of power in City Hall during bridge projects and real estate deals, and raised a family overlooking the Great Miami River valley. I know what it looks like when institutions rig the game and then act shocked when people walk away. The autopsy dances around the obvious: Kamala Harris was a disastrous candidate propped up after they unceremoniously dumped Joe Biden following that disastrous June 2024 debate. She didn’t earn it through a real primary process; party insiders installed her. Just like Hillary Clinton years before, in the eyes of many rank-and-file, the party thought identity markers—woman, woman of color—would magically mobilize voters without any real substance, vision, or ownership in the process. They forgot a basic principle of team-building that I’ve applied in every program I’ve led: people need to feel a sense of autonomy and ownership over the ideas they’re supposed to champion. When you rig the rules, rig the debates, sideline better options like actual contenders who might have challenged the direction, and shove forward someone the base never truly chose in an open contest, enthusiasm dies on the vine.
I said it from the moment they made the switch back in 2024: this was damage control, pure and simple. Biden was toxic heading into a rematch with Trump. The party knew the 2020 numbers had serious issues—precinct-by-precinct anomalies that didn’t match historical national patterns, the unprecedented flood of mail-in ballots under loose COVID rules that bypassed normal signature verification, chain-of-custody standards, and same-day counting. Courts largely didn’t want to touch it despite the evidence that jumped off the maps for anyone paying attention. Democrats understood that repeating the 2020 playbook in 2024, under greater scrutiny and with more states tightening rules after the backlash, would expose too much. So they needed a sacrificial lamb. Harris got the short ramp-up, the impossible task of separating from Biden’s record without alienating the base, and the built-in excuses: not enough time, Biden’s visible decline, Trump’s dominance in that debate where he dismantled the narrative. The autopsy mentions some strategic missteps but skips the heart of it, focusing instead on tactical failures while ignoring the foundational reliance on mechanisms that couldn’t withstand honest elections.
This is where my experience with consultants really bites hard. I could play their game if I wanted—sell snake oil to desperate campaigns, charge exorbitant fees, write reports full of buzzwords, and blame the candidate or the voters later when it all collapses. But I don’t, because I apply what I know to what I consider righteous causes. Politics is demeaning enough: you open yourself to every critic, pour your life and reputation into it, stand for principles in front of neighbors and family, and then hire some outsider to tell you what you should have done so you can deflect blame when the results come in. The consultant class on both sides, but especially the Democrat machine that’s been captured by elite academics and coastal strategists, has turned into a protection racket for bad ideas. They copy-paste from Harvard case studies, push focus-grouped fluff that sounds smart in a conference room but falls flat in a Butler County precinct or an aerospace shop floor, and never admit the emperor has no clothes. This autopsy is Exhibit A. It talks about losing working-class voters without confronting why in any meaningful depth: the full-throated embrace of socialism, open borders that strain communities, identity politics over merit and results, and big-government control that strangles everyday life with inflation, regulation, and cultural mandates.
Americans, even poor Americans living in places like Trenton or Middletown near me, live better than most of the world because of capitalism. You can go to the dollar store and buy chicken nuggets, paper towels, toilet paper—basics that were hard to come by or low quality in many socialist experiments throughout history. Upward mobility exists here because markets reward effort, innovation, and voluntary exchange. I’ve seen it in my own career, from manual labor as a kid to overseeing complex aerospace programs where supply chains, skilled workers, and competition drive excellence. Democrats’ shift toward AOC-style democratic socialism, Bernie Sanders rhetoric, and endless victimhood narratives told people they were helpless victims needing government saviors at every turn. Meanwhile, grocery prices skyrocketed under Biden-Harris policies, gas prices hurt family road trips and visits to parents or grandkids, energy costs rose, and cultural attacks on traditional family structures and American history alienated millions who want to live decent lives. People saw through the lies because they live them every day. They weren’t excited to vote for imposed candidates who felt like corporate products rather than organic choices. Turnout in key demographics dropped because the options felt rigged against their self-interest, their families, and their communities.
Take John Fetterman in Pennsylvania as one of the few who seemed to listen to the voters. He came from a more socialist-leaning background, had his health challenges with that stroke during the 2022 campaign, but adjusted to what people were actually saying on the ground. He saw the direction of the country, the struggles in his state with the economy and borders, and started showing some sense—crossing party lines at times, strongly supporting Israel, even warming to certain Trump-era realities in ways that shocked his original base. That kind of adaptation is rare in the modern Democratic Party. Most doubled down on the failing formula. Gavin Newsom? Is he their shining star for 2028, according to some? The guy who’s turned California into a national cautionary tale of high taxes, homelessness, crime, and endless regulations while the state struggles with basic governance? In Ohio, they tried pulling out the old playbook with Bruce Springsteen concerts and celebrity appearances to manufacture enthusiasm and buy votes, the same Obama-era tricks that worked when the machine had cultural momentum. It flopped harder this time. Trump didn’t need a musical quartet or Hollywood stars to fill arenas. People showed up for the message of strength, secure borders, economic opportunity, law and order, and yes—actual free choice unmediated by elites.
I’ve dictated thousands upon thousands of words on these patterns over the years because I see the through-line from my own life experiences. In my younger working years in the Cincinnati area, I served as a trusted driver and handler of cash, documents, and high-profile individuals connected to networks in “Sin City,” Newport, and Sharonville. I maintained strict ethics: stayed sober, returned dropped cash even when it was thousands scattered in a parking lot, reported what I saw despite personal risks. That gave me front-row insight into coded signaling, plausible deniability, judicial complicity, and how power really operates in the shadows. The same dynamics play out on the national stage today. Democrats aligned themselves with globalism, lockdown legacies, and algorithms that steer information flows. Your smartphone knows more about you than you know about yourself; it micro-processes your world to confirm biases, harvest data, and feed curated realities while eroding independent thought. How do you know your choices are truly free when everything is algorithmically tailored? That’s the modern Berlin Wall: invisible, digital, enforced by elites in tech, media, and academia who believe they know better than working families in Ohio, Pennsylvania, or rural America. Democrats bet heavily on that control, on identity loyalty holding the coalition forever, no matter the results. It failed spectacularly in 2024.
The autopsy should have said plainly, without the corporate hedging, that Kamala Harris was a weak candidate who couldn’t articulate a compelling vision beyond continuing Biden’s policies. The party had moved too far left for mainstream America. Socialism doesn’t sell in a country built on opportunity, individual agency, and market-driven abundance. Mainstream Americans want capitalism’s full grocery aisles and the dignity of work, not empty promises of equity that deliver higher costs and dependency. They want a flag-flying party proud of the nation’s achievements, not one that seems embarrassed by its history, its founders, or its successes. When voters picture Democrats now, too often it’s radical advocates pushing defund movements or open borders, big-government nannies regulating speech and behavior, or figures promising to run your life while delivering inflation that eats family budgets. Consultants pushed this formula because it fit their worldview—elite, academic, disconnected from the realities of Lakota schools, Butler County commissioner races, or aerospace supply chains where I’ve spent my career. I do live those realities. I’ve raised a family here for decades, watched the river valley change, stayed rooted despite opportunities elsewhere, and engaged in local issues like school levies, tax fights, and community events. These are the people Democrats lost, and the autopsy barely scratches the surface.
And then there’s the elephant in the room that the report refuses to name, the one that makes media platforms and consultants squirm: questions of election integrity and how Democrats have come to rely on systems vulnerable to manipulation. I know this is controversial territory. Many outlets dismiss it outright as conspiracy, but the patterns are visible to anyone willing to look at precinct data, turnout anomalies, and procedural changes. Recently, President Trump walked out of a “Meet the Press” interview because the host wouldn’t engage seriously on ongoing issues in California’s 2026 governor and LA mayor primaries. Votes are still being counted days later, with late mail-in ballots shifting totals in predictable ways—Democratic-leaning drops coming in after initial counts. Extended periods, no strict voter ID tied to real people in the same way as states with reforms, signature verification that’s often cursory, and processes that invite skepticism. They should be able to know the winner on election night or the next day in a clean system, not slow-walk it for weeks with shifting narratives, just like Pennsylvania and Georgia in 2020. Loose laws create opportunities—ballot harvesting, unverifiable drops, dirty rolls that aren’t properly maintained. Trump called it out in real time, and federal investigations have even been announced into aspects of California’s processes.
In 2020, Biden supposedly pulled over 81 million votes. In 2024, Harris managed around 75 million while Trump increased his haul to over 77 million. Why the dramatic drop for the incumbent party’s successor? Tighter rules in battlegrounds—voter ID requirements, cleaner processes, less reliance on pandemic-era mail floods—limited the old playbook. Democrats couldn’t replicate the overflows. They knew a straight Biden-Trump rematch risked full exposure of those 2020 discrepancies. Dump Biden, install Harris on a short timeline, run a campaign hampered by her record as border czar and inflation architect, lose, then produce the autopsy blaming everything except the foundation. It gave perfect cover: “She wasn’t prepped enough,” “Not enough time to define herself,” “Trump was too strong on the debate stage and in rallies.” Meanwhile, the real story emerging is that free and fair elections under scrutiny favored the party offering choice, results, and sovereignty over control and grievance. Republicans won because they better represented self-interest, family stability, secure borders, affordable energy, and the basics of American life. People want to cut their grass without exorbitant taxes, afford gas to visit family, buy pizza and watch TV with grandkids, hold a good job that pays decently—not be lectured by distant elites on what they should value or how they should speak.
I’ve studied those precinct maps from 2020 and 2024 extensively. Statistical outliers in bellwether areas, turnout patterns that defied historical correlations, late-night dumps that flipped leads in ways that didn’t match in-person voting trends—these screamed for scrutiny. Courts and media largely looked away, citing procedural technicalities or “no widespread fraud” claims that ignored the cumulative effect of policy changes. For many, January 6 anger wasn’t baseless incitement; it stemmed from deep frustration over a perceived stolen election and being handed a candidate and an agenda they rejected. Democrats invested heavily in fraud-tolerant systems because their ideas—open socialism, wealth redistribution at scale, cultural overhaul—don’t win purely on merit with informed voters anymore. They’ve moved toward control models seen in Venezuela, Cuba, or other places where the process is managed to ensure outcomes. America rejects that in its bones. The autopsy avoids this entirely because admitting even partial reliance on irregularities would shatter their claims to moral and democratic legitimacy. Instead, they produce a document full of half-measures, disclaimers, and annotations questioning its own methodology. It’s political theater designed to let insiders sleep at night.
Consultants wrote this knowing the score, or at least suspecting it. They take the check, craft language that lets party leaders maintain clean consciences, then retreat to their winter condos in Florida or beach houses paid for by those very fees. I give this kind of analysis away for free because I want righteous outcomes, not to pad corrupt fundraising machines. My track record comes from applying gunfighter discipline—imposing will on circumstances through preparation, precision, resilience, and moral agency. That’s what voters responded to in Trump: a fighter who projects strength and delivers results, not polished victimhood or identity lectures. Democrats’ best offer was more of the same: the hangover from lockdowns, inflation pain that hit working families hardest, border chaos affecting communities, and cultural division that tears at the fabric of society. Even Fetterman adjusted toward practical sense on some issues; the party as a whole has not. They’re too far left, out of touch with the working person’s daily realities in places like Ohio’s manufacturing heartland or aerospace corridors.
This isn’t isolated to 2024. The working-class flight from Democrats didn’t start with Harris; it accelerated under years of policies prioritizing global agendas, DEI mandates, and identity over kitchen-table economics. Latinos in record numbers, Black voters in key cohorts, young men tired of being told they’re the problem—these groups peeled away by tangible results over empty rhetoric. The party bet that identity would lock in the coalition forever, that guilt, fear, or loyalty would override lived experience. It didn’t. Capitalism has lifted billions globally, including America’s poorest, with abundance, innovation, and mobility that most nations envy. Democrats’ narrative of systemic victimization ignores that success story. People live it daily: jobs in factories, energy sectors, tech-adjacent fields, or my own aerospace world, where problem-solving and excellence are rewarded. They see government overreach as the obstacle, not the salvation. I’ve taught my grandson these lessons through model rocketry—building, launching in bad weather, troubleshooting, recovering—imposing will on circumstances rather than waiting for permission or handouts.
Algorithms and digital curation only exacerbate the divide. Smartphones and platforms spy constantly, feed tailored realities that reinforce silos, and erode the shared public square needed for genuine democracy. You think your opinions form independently? The data harvesting and recommendation engines suggest otherwise, steering you toward confirmation while selling your attention. Democrats mastered narrative control through legacy media, Big Tech partnerships, and academia—until real life intruded with visible failures: supply chain breakdowns, high prices at the pump and store, urban crime spikes, and a sense that the country was being remade against the will of its citizens. Voters chose the alternative offering agency, borders, energy independence, and normalcy. That’s free will in action under pressure. The autopsy’s glaring silence on core platform failures—socialism versus dynamic markets, globalism versus national sovereignty, grievance versus gratitude—tells you everything. They can’t confront it without dismantling their current brand and power structure.
Expanding on my personal lens here, because these issues aren’t abstract for me. I’ve worn the cowboy hat since third or fourth grade as a declaration of standing apart from fads and rooted in the traditional values of my Kentucky family heritage. The whip I often reference symbolizes discipline, precision, balance from martial arts training, and deterrence—lessons I apply to politics and consulting. In the 1990s Cincinnati scene, I was at City Hall daily through multiple mayors, involved in infrastructure projects like the Kentucky bridge projects, witnessing how deals get made, how influences flow, and how narratives are shaped. I’ve known high-level figures across the spectrum, from local sheriffs to national players, and seen the human element—emotional intelligence or its lack—determine outcomes. Grand jury service taught me about institutional failures, two-tier justice, and the importance of integrity. These experiences inform my view that the Democrat shift isn’t just policy; it’s a cultural and spiritual drift away from what made America exceptional: individual responsibility, family, faith, and opportunity.
Consider the contrast with Republican gains. Trump’s coalition expanded because it spoke to aspiration and protection of the basics. People responded to rallies filled with energy, not scripted celebrity events that felt performative. In Ohio, local races for commissioner, school board, and treasurer—issues like Lakota levies, development debates in Liberty Township, and data centers for future tech and the space economy—show voters prioritizing competence over ideology. Democrats’ alignment with extremes like open socialism repels more than it attracts. Their best people, the true talents, get sidelined for loyalty to the machine. Consultants enable this by providing intellectual cover, reports that sound sophisticated but avoid hard truths. I’ve turned down plenty of opportunities to join that world because selling out for a check erodes the soul. Instead, I share insights like this to support candidates and causes that align with self-reliance and truth-seeking.
Digging deeper into the autopsy’s shortcomings, as reported, it highlights demographic losses but attributes them to messaging failures rather than to a substantive rejection of the agenda. It notes slippage with non-White communities and younger voters but doesn’t grapple with why policies on the economy, crime, immigration, and education failed to deliver. Harris’s campaign struggled to make an “affirmative case,” couldn’t effectively separate itself from Biden, and was hurt by attacks on issues such as certain social policies. Yet the deeper rot—embrace of ideas that undermine the nuclear family, promote dependency, and view America’s founding as irredeemably flawed—goes unexamined. Progressive independent autopsies like the RootsAction report point to losing millions of 2020 Biden voters as a key failure, yet still frame it through a left lens without questioning the ideological drift.
In California, as of early June 2026, we see the strategy persisting where laws permit it. Primaries for governor and LA mayor feature slow counts, with mail ballots arriving late, signature checks, and totals shifting over days and weeks. Trump highlighted it, noting investigations by the U.S. Attorney’s Office in LA into structural vulnerabilities. Late Democratic drops narrowing Republican leads echo 2020 patterns. Officials defend it as standard, but the optics fuel distrust. States with robust voter ID, same-day counting where possible, and chain-of-custody saw clearer outcomes favoring the party of results. This isn’t ancient history; it’s live, and it explains why the national autopsy feels like misdirection. Democrats needed Harris as the fall guy to preserve the machine for future cycles, but the trends favor a Republican realignment around commonsense governance.
I could go on for hours about the cultural degradation angle too, as someone who grew up immersed in 1970s-80s music and witnessed its shift toward hedonism and occult influences. That ties into broader spiritual warfare themes I explore in writing, like The Politics of Heaven, but for this political autopsy, the point is that voters sensed an anti-family, anti-responsibility bent. They want stability for grandkids, model rocketry lessons teaching resilience, not ideological indoctrination in schools. My trips with family to Space Coast, Gettysburg, and the Museum of the Bible reinforce my appreciation for American innovation, history, and faith—things Democrats often critique rather than celebrate.
Consultants on the left (and sometimes right) operate in an echo chamber. They attend the same conferences, read the same journals, and produce reports that confirm priors. Real strategy listens to the people, tests ideas in the marketplace of results, and adapts like Fetterman tried to on select issues. Democrats as a party haven’t. Donors, activists capture them, and a consultant class is invested in perpetual crisis. This leads to candidate after candidate who excites the base in primaries but repels the center and working class in general. Harris was the latest example. Future ones like Newsom risk the same fate unless there’s a fundamental reckoning.
The 2024 loss was predictable to anyone grounded in reality. Voters rejected the direction: high costs, diminished security, eroded freedoms. Republicans offered a corrective—America’s priorities that resonate because they address basics. Midterms ahead will test if the shift holds, but early signs from local races and ongoing California drama suggest Democrats’ problems are structural. People want free will, not managed outcomes. They want prosperity through effort, not redistribution. They want leaders who impose positive will on challenges rather than excuses.
I’ve shared this extended reflection in its raw form because truth-seeking matters more than polished consulting fees. The patterns from my aerospace career, local activism as the “Tax-killer,” family life, and historical study all point the same way. The autopsy is denial. Americans chose agency in 2024, and the trends continue. Democrats lost because they picked the wrong messengers, wrong messages, ignored voter signals, and over-invested in vulnerable systems. The real story, elephant and all, is out there for those willing to see it. People see through the tricks now. They want results, integrity, and liberty. And that, more than any 192-page report, explains the shift and why it’s likely to endure.
Footnotes and sources updated for accuracy.)
Footnotes (expanded selection)
¹ Official DNC autopsy released in May 2026 with disclaimers.
¹⁰ Trump “Meet the Press” walk-off over California questions.
¹² DOJ probes into CA election processes.
²¹ 2024 vote totals confirming Trump’s popular vote win.
And others cross-referenced as above.
Bibliography / Further Reading (updated)
• Democratic National Committee. Post-Election Analysis. May 20, 2026. democrats.org.
• CNN, NYT, Guardian, PBS coverage of the report.
• NBC, LA Times, ABC on California 2026 primaries and investigations.
• Official 2024 election results from the Presidency Project, Wikipedia, and CNN.
Rich Hoffman is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.
He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.
Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events
The Overmanwarrior 