I have been sitting with Sheriff Richard K. Jones’s book for about 24 hours now, turning the pages the way a man turns over an old photograph that still has the power to surprise him. They Call Me Jonesy: Let’s Get Real About Saving America is not a polished political memoir written by committee. It is the voice of a man who has spent a lifetime walking the same ground I have walked in Butler County, speaking the same language of family, order, and personal accountability that once held communities together before the experts decided those things were negotiable. Jones has always been the Sheriff who runs his office the way Andy Griffith ran Mayberry and Marshall Dillon ran Dodge City, with a healthy dose of Waffle House common sense thrown in for good measure. You show up, you tell the truth, you do the job, and you do not apologize for the results. That approach has kept Butler County safer than most places that spend three times the money and twice the consultants, and it is why so many of us who live here still call him simply Jones.
What kept pulling me back to the book was not the policy talk or the war stories about the jail, though those are solid enough. It was the cautionary tales about family and the slow corrosion of the values that once made a man accountable to his own house before he tried to run anyone else’s. Jones and I share a deep and permanent hatred of the drug culture that has hollowed out so many families in this county and across the country. We have both watched too many good people lose children, lose marriages, lose the simple ability to look their grandchildren in the eye without shame. He writes about those losses without the usual soft language of the therapeutic class. He writes like a man who has had to clean up the mess afterward. That kind of honesty is rare now, and it is the reason the book feels less like a campaign document and more like a dispatch from someone who has been on the wall for a long time and is finally willing to say what he has seen.
But the story that made me laugh out loud, the one that sent me straight back to October of 2016, is the one about the night he opened for Donald Trump at U.S. Bank Arena. I was there. Not in the sense that I was sitting in the same row or riding in the same car. I was backstage, working the edges of the same event, trying to find a quiet corner where I could take a conference call with people on the other side of the world while the whole building shook. And I watched the exchange Jones describes in the book unfold in real time.
It was Thursday, October 13, 2016. The Access Hollywood tape had dropped only six days earlier, on October 7, and the professional political class was still in full panic. Most of the Ohio Republican establishment had already decided Trump was finished. They had lined up behind Marco Rubio, Ted Cruz, or John Kasich, the local favorite who was still twisting arms for support even as the primary season was long over. Supporting Trump in those weeks was not the fashionable choice. It was the choice that got you labeled a crank, a risk, a man who did not understand how power actually worked. Senator George Lang, I, and a handful of others had been in that camp early. We had met Trump, sat with him, watched him operate before the primaries even heated up in Ohio. We knew the ground. Most of the smart people in the room did not.
Jones was one of the few who never flinched. By the time the campaign asked him to warm up the crowd at U.S. Bank Arena, the atmosphere was thick with the kind of nervous energy that only comes when the people in charge are not sure the candidate is going to survive the next news cycle. The director of the program that night wanted a script. He wanted to know exactly what the Sheriff was going to say. He wanted control. Jones looked at him the way he has looked at a thousand people who try to put a leash on him and said, essentially, that is not how I work. I talk from the hip. I have been talking all year. You tell me how long you need and I will fill the time. I do not need a teleprompter or your talking points.
I was standing close enough to hear the exchange while they were trying to get me upstairs to a box where I could take that overseas call. Giuliani was somewhere in the mix. The production people were frantic. Trump’s plane was still in the air. The arena was filling from the floor to the upper decks, and the noise was already starting to build. Jones went out there anyway. He did not have a prepared speech. He walked onto the stage and did the thing he has always done: he talked to the people the way a man talks to his neighbors when the subject is serious. Fifteen minutes turned into something closer to thirty. The crowd answered him the way Butler County has always answered him. They roared. From the high box where I finally closed the windows and tried to finish my call, Jones looked like a small figure on a distant stage, but the sound of that arena was impossible to shut out. I had the volume turned up on my headset and still could barely hear the people on the other end of the line. Part of me was irritated that my business meeting was being drowned out by a Sheriff who refused to stay on script. Most of me was very proud.
Trump claimed the crowd that night was 21,000, with thousands more outside who could not get in. Mike Pence put the number around 19,000 the next morning. The arena’s concert capacity sits somewhere in the neighborhood of 17,500, and some of the upper seats behind the stage were empty according to the reporters who were counting chairs instead of energy. The exact headcount is the kind of detail the media loves to argue about when they do not want to talk about what the crowd actually felt. What I saw from that box was a building packed tight enough that the noise had nowhere to go but up. People had not been paid to be there. They had not been bused in. They had decided that the Access Hollywood tape and the coordinated media effort to sink the candidate were not going to decide the election for them. Jones understood that before most of the professionals in the room did.
I have watched Jones make hard calls for more than twenty years. We have not always stood on the same side of every primary or every local fight. There have been nights when we were polite but cool because we were representing different candidates or different issues on the ballot. We have always found our way back to the common ground, because the common ground is larger than the temporary disagreements. Supporting Trump when it was still radioactive inside the Ohio Republican Party was one of those moments when the ground became visible. The same people who told us we were going to destroy our own political futures are now the ones who want their picture taken with the man. That is how these things usually go. The smart set picks the wrong horse for the wrong reasons, and then they rewrite the story after the race is over.
Jones has always had a gift for seeing through the fog. When Corey Lewandowski came through Ross’ Big Bull later, the first person he sought out was the same Sheriff who had refused to read from a script on a night when the campaign was still bleeding. That is the kind of quiet authority that does not show up on a résumé. It shows up when the building is full, and the professionals are nervous, and somebody still has to walk out there and speak without a net.
I recommend the book without reservation. Read the parts about family and the slow destruction of the old rules. Read the parts about the jail and the daily work of keeping order in a county that still believes order is possible. And read the part about that night at U.S. Bank Arena, because it captures something essential about the man. He is not a performer. He is not a consultant’s idea of a lawman. He is the product of a certain kind of American stubbornness that refuses to be managed, and on the nights when it matters most, that stubbornness turns out to be the smartest thing in the room.
I was proud of him that night. I am proud of him for putting the story down on paper without sanding off the edges. Some of us were right when it was expensive to be right. Ten years later, it is still a pleasure to remember it.
Footnotes
1. Richard K. Jones, They Call Me Jonesy: Let’s Get Real About Saving America (publication details as available through standard retail channels, 2025–2026). The account of the U.S. Bank Arena appearance appears in the sections dealing with early Trump support and the political pressures of the 2016 general election campaign.
2. The Access Hollywood recording was published by The Washington Post on October 7, 2016. See “Donald Trump recorded having extremely lewd conversation about women in 2005,” Washington Post, October 7, 2016.
3. Attendance estimates for the October 13, 2016, rally at U.S. Bank Arena (now Heritage Bank Center) varied. Trump publicly claimed 21,000 inside with additional thousands outside; Mike Pence cited approximately 19,000 the following day. Contemporary reporting noted the arena’s concert configuration capacity near 17,500 and observed some empty upper-level seats. See “How many people attended Trump’s Cincy rally? No one seems to agree,” WCPO, October 13–14, 2016; and arena capacity data from Heritage Bank Center / U.S. Bank Arena historical records.
4. Photographic and contemporaneous coverage confirming Sheriff Jones’s appearance as a speaker that evening can be found in the Cincinnati Enquirer photo gallery, “Trump supporters rally at U.S. Bank Arena,” October 13, 2016, and related local television reports from WCPO and WLWT.
5. On the broader context of early Ohio support for Trump amid establishment resistance, see contemporaneous reporting on the positions of figures such as then-Senator Rob Portman, Governor John Kasich, and local Republican organizational dynamics in the weeks following the Access Hollywood release.
Selected Bibliography for Further Reading
Jones, Richard K. They Call Me Jonesy: Let’s Get Real About Saving America.
Fahrenthold, David A. “Trump recorded having extremely lewd conversation about women in 2005.” The Washington Post, October 7, 2016.
“How many people attended Trump’s Cincy rally?” WCPO 9 News, October 2016.
Heritage Bank Center (formerly U.S. Bank Arena) venue history and capacity documentation.
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 sat at that lunch last week with human resources leaders from several large corporations in the Cincinnati area, the kind of gathering where the check routinely clears a hundred dollars a person, and the conversation circles the same drain it has circled for years. They were perplexed, as they always are when the numbers refuse to lie. Staffing shortages that will not resolve, artificial intelligence that has automated the kiosk and the order screen but still leaves tables to be wiped and registers to be tended by flesh-and-blood people, an economy that refuses to roar back to the promised heights, and a persistent inability to locate and keep the kind of talent that actually moves the needle. They wanted to know how to acquire an intelligent workforce. I told them what I have told anyone who will sit still long enough to hear it: you do not acquire exceptional results by staffing your organization with people selected for their ability to tolerate mediocrity. You find exceptional people, you recognize them when they appear in unconventional packages, and you protect them from the machinery that exists to grind them down.
I have cast aside the noisy, circular arguments over group averages in human capability—not because the psychometric data lack interest from a scientific standpoint, but because my concern has always been the human species as a whole, a young and still-fragile lineage trying to find its footing in a galaxy that is already crowded with other forms of intelligence. The question that matters is not which population cluster sits where on a distribution curve. The question is how any society, any company, any civilization identifies and elevates the outliers who can see around corners the rest of us cannot yet perceive.
Decades of personnel psychology research, distilled in landmark meta-analyses, have shown that general mental ability remains one of the strongest single predictors of job performance across occupations, with particularly high validity for complex, high-stakes roles. That finding aligns with what I have observed across more than fifty years in business and executive life. Raw cognitive horsepower matters. It is not everything, and it is certainly not a guarantee of worldly success. I have known men and women with genius-level IQs who could not hold a marriage together, could not navigate an ordinary bank teller without frustration boiling over, could not endure the slow, stupid, political churn of ordinary corporate or governmental life without eventually self-destructing or walking away. Intelligence without gumption, without an intuitive compass, without some connection to a wider field of knowing, often becomes a curse rather than a blessing. The person who is “too smart for the room” learns to despise the room, and the room learns to despise him back.
That is the story I told the HR table, because it is the story I have lived and watched others live. In our twenties, a friend and I bought a small company. We were clearing out the accumulated junk of previous owners when we found, in a back closet, one of those enormous old projection bulbs—the kind that once threw motion pictures onto screens the size of a wall. It was a beautiful, ridiculous object, heavy glass and filament, a relic of an analog age already slipping into memory. We decided we had to have it. We loaded it into the hatchback of his car, unsecured, and drove across what was then the University of Cincinnati campus with the rear door open and that giant bulb rolling gently with every turn. The police pulled us over. My friend did not do deference. He despised unearned authority, especially when it could not match the scale of his own mind. Words were exchanged. A citation was issued. No arrest that evening, but the system had taken notice.
Later, when the matter escalated, he represented himself. No lawyer. In the deposition room, they brought in the heavy artillery—prominent litigators from New York and Los Angeles, flown in at considerable expense because a local prosecutor wanted a notable scalp. My friend sat across from them with that calm, encyclopedic brain of his. He had read the entire encyclopedia set by fifth grade and comprehended what he read; he could retrieve and deploy information like a living search engine. He dismantled their lines of questioning one by one. They could not corner him on facts, on law, on logic, or on the precise sequence of events. I watched it happen. During breaks, I heard the hallway mutters from the expensive suits: “He’s too fast.” “We can’t pin him.” These were men whose hourly rates in the early 1990s would have stunned most working people, and they were being outmaneuvered by someone who had never attended their law schools and did not play their credentialed games. The case collapsed. Not because the facts magically changed, but because the egos of the system could not tolerate being shown up by someone operating on an entirely different level of processing speed and intuitive grasp.
The empire does not forget such insults. Over the following years, the full weight of bureaucratic harassment came down—legal troubles, jail time, the slow, grinding destruction that mediocre institutions reserve for those who make them feel small. I have seen the pattern repeat across decades and across industries. Exceptional people do not fit the templates. They ask the questions that expose the fragility of the templates. They produce results that make the people above them look ordinary by comparison. And so the machinery—whether it calls itself corporate human resources, public education, or administrative government—develops antibodies. It promotes compliance. It measures inputs (degrees, time served, adherence to process) rather than outputs (actual value created under uncertainty). It pays a premium, often millions in aggregate payroll, for the comfort of predictability, even when that predictability delivers only mediocre results.
Robert Pirsig understood something essential about this in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Quality is not the product of following the manual to the letter. It is a living relationship with the work itself, sustained by what he called gumption—the psychic gasoline that keeps a person engaged when things go wrong, when parts are missing, when the official procedure proves inadequate. Gumption traps are everywhere: external setbacks, yes, but more insidiously, the internal ones—ego that refuses to admit ignorance, value rigidity that cannot see a better way because it would require admitting the old way was flawed. Mediocre systems are gumption traps by design. They reward the appearance of order over the reality of excellence. They punish the person who cares too much about the actual motorcycle running well.
That is why our schools, constructed largely by people of average ability to produce more people of average ability, tend to replicate mediocrity. That is why corporations that claim to want “innovation” and “disruption” simultaneously install layer upon layer of review, compliance, and diversity, equity, and inclusion machinery whose primary effect is to filter out people who will not make anyone above them feel intellectually or morally inferior. The result is expensive. You pay two or three million dollars more in payroll than you needed to, and you still cannot outrun competitors who have learned to locate and protect their own exceptional outliers. You cannot plug in interchangeable parts and expect exceptional output. The math does not work.
Abraham Lincoln understood the same principle in a different key. When the credentialed, politically connected generals of the eastern theater kept failing, he looked west to a man with a reputation for hard drinking and rough edges. Ulysses S. Grant had delivered results—Fort Henry, Fort Donelson, Vicksburg, Chattanooga—while others delivered excuses and body counts. Lincoln promoted him anyway, over the objections of those who preferred a more presentable mediocrity. Grant took responsibility, moved, and won. The American experiment has always contained this tension: on one side, the impulse to flatten outcomes and protect the feelings of the competent-but-not-brilliant; on the other, the older, riskier impulse to let the exceptional rise because the alternative is national stagnation or defeat.
I have spent a lifetime recruiting and protecting such people—diamonds still in the rough, often overlooked by systems that prize polish over fire. That is why I keep getting invited to these lunches. The people across the table sense that the usual playbooks are failing, but they cannot yet say out loud what the failure actually is. The failure is the empire of mediocrity itself: the set of incentives, credentialing rituals, and cultural taboos that treat exceptional performance as a threat rather than the only thing that justifies an organization’s continued existence.
There is a deeper layer to this that I have only grown more convinced of with time. The intuition that separates the merely bright from the truly exceptional often looks, from the outside, like luck or inexplicable insight. The right decision is made quickly under pressure. The technical problem that yields to an approach no one else had considered. The “voice” that says, “Do not walk down that street tonight,” or, “Here is the battery configuration that actually works at scale.” I have come to understand these moments as instances of interface—imperfect, flickering, but real—between individual human consciousness and a wider field of intelligence that does not require a body. Call it universal mind, call it Providence, call it the spirit world, call it non-human intelligence. The label matters less than the observable pattern: the people who consistently produce outsized results often behave as if they have access to information and pattern recognition that ordinary channels cannot explain.
Ancient cultures knew this terrain better than we admit. The shamanic traditions, the prophetic lineages, the ritual architectures aligned to celestial events—all of them represent attempts to establish reliable contact with that wider field. Some did so through disciplined inner practice. Others, tragically, through blood sacrifice, as if the entities on the other side of the interface could be fed or bargained with. The archaeological record at places like Cahokia shows clear evidence of ritual violence and retainer sacrifice on a significant scale; power in those societies included the capacity to command the deaths of dozens in service of whatever cosmological or political order the elite claimed to mediate. The Book of Enoch preserves an even older memory: the Watchers, a class of non-human intelligences, descending to impart forbidden knowledge—metallurgy, sorcery, weaponry, cosmetics—and producing hybrid offspring whose existence destabilized the world. Whether one reads these accounts as literal history, as spiritual allegory, or as garbled cultural memory of real contact events, the through-line is the same: humanity has always lived in relationship with intelligences that do not share our biology, and the quality of that relationship has shaped what we become.
Jesus of Nazareth, in my reading, represents the decisive intervention in that long, bloody negotiation. He offered himself as the final sacrifice, ending the cycle of literal human and animal offerings that had sustained certain interfaces for millennia. In its place, he instituted a symbolic communion—bread and wine rather than flesh and blood—and pointed toward an internal, direct relationship with the source of that wider intelligence. The temple system, which had grown wealthy and powerful managing the sacrificial economy, could not tolerate the threat. They killed him for it, as systems of managed mediocrity have always killed or neutralized those who offer a cleaner, more direct path.
The men who designed the American republic carried some of the same intuition. Many were steeped in Enlightenment rationalism and biblical literacy simultaneously. Some, through Masonic networks, incorporated geometric and symbolic alignments into the new capital city, suggesting they were attempting to establish their own interface with providential or higher-order intelligence. They were not content to let the new nation drift on the currents of ordinary human politics. They wanted it oriented toward something larger. The experiment has been imperfect, repeatedly captured by mediocrity, yet it has also repeatedly produced the conditions under which exceptional individuals could do exceptional things—flight, computing, rocketry, the defeat of fascism and communism in their 20th-century forms.
That is why I have written what I have written and why I continue to speak plainly when the expensive lunches are served. In The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, I worked to distill the practical discipline of intuitive action under pressure—the same quality that lets a person fix a broken motorcycle on the side of the road or make a high-stakes decision without waiting for committee approval. In The Politics of Heaven, the book I am completing now, I am attempting the larger map: how non-human intelligence has interacted with human history, why certain systems crush the exceptional while others (however imperfectly) give them room, and what it will take for this species to mature rather than stagnate or destroy itself.
Melania Trump is, in my estimation, one of the clearer contemporary examples of the type I am describing. She possessed the looks and presence that the modeling world rewards, but she also possessed an intuitive intelligence that recognized the limits of that world. She made a strategic alliance with a man whose wealth and later political power gave her insulation from the treadmill of mediocrity she had been navigating since her twenties. She has never courted the spotlight for its own sake. She has stayed largely off-grid, raising her son and preserving her own interior life. That choice is widely misunderstood by people who cannot imagine wanting autonomy more than attention. It is the choice of someone who has seen enough of the empire to know she does not want to live inside its walls.
The practical counsel I gave the human resources leaders and the counsel I give to anyone serious about results rather than appearances are straightforward. Stop measuring people primarily by the hoops they have jumped through—degrees, years of service, approved ideological language, willingness to sit through two-hour Friday lunches where nothing of consequence is decided. Measure them by what they actually produce when the plan goes sideways, when resources are constrained, when the problem has not been solved by anyone else. Go looking for the diamonds in the rough. They rarely wear the system’s uniform. They often make the people above them uncomfortable. They will save you far more in payroll than they will ever cost you in management overhead, because one exceptional person routinely does the work of three or four merely competent ones—and does it in a way that creates new possibilities rather than merely maintaining the existing machine.
The empire of mediocrity is expensive, brittle, and ultimately self-defeating. It can maintain control for a long time, especially when it controls education, credentialing, and the administrative state. But it cannot generate the breakthroughs a civilization needs to survive its own success—energy abundance, space settlement, genuine advances in human health and longevity, the wisdom to navigate contact with non-human intelligences that may already be observing us. Those breakthroughs require people who have retained or recovered the capacity to interface with the wider field. They require cultures that do not punish that capacity as a threat.
I have lived most of my life off the grid of that empire, not as an aesthetic choice but as a practical necessity. The view from out here is clearer. The exceptional are not the problem. They are the only remaining margin of safety this species possesses. The question before every organization, every school board, every nation is the same one I answered at that lunch table: do you want predictable mediocrity at premium prices, or do you want results that justify the entire enterprise? The two are not compatible and do not get along naturally. They will always be at odds. It took Robert Pirsig a long time to figure all this out and I’m not sure he ever did during his lifetime. But, it is the question of our times, and the responsibility to action falls on all of us.
Footnotes
1. Schmidt, Frank L., and John E. Hunter. “The Validity and Utility of Selection Methods in Personnel Psychology: Practical and Theoretical Implications of 85 Years of Research Findings.” Psychological Bulletin 124, no. 2 (1998): 262–74. Subsequent meta-analyses have produced somewhat lower but still positive corrected validity estimates; the core finding that cognitive ability predicts performance across jobs, with higher validity for complex work, has held.
2. Pirsig, Robert M. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry into Values. New York: William Morrow, 1974. See especially the sections on gumption, gumption traps, and the distinction between static and dynamic quality.
3. On Lincoln’s decision to elevate Grant: “Lincoln promotes Grant as top Civil War general, March 10, 1864,” Politico, March 10, 2017; and Grant’s own Personal Memoirs of U.S. Grant (1885–86). Lincoln’s reported comment—“I can’t spare this man; he fights”—captures the priority of results over presentability.
4. Archaeological evidence from Cahokia’s Mound 72 includes mass burials with indications of ritual violence, retainer sacrifice, and both local and non-local individuals among the victims. See summaries of strontium isotope and osteological studies in reports such as those covered in Western Digs and subsequent analyses of Mississippian period power structures.
5. The Book of Enoch, particularly the Book of the Watchers (chapters 6–36). Standard scholarly translations include R. H. Charles (1917) and more recent critical editions. The text describes non-human Watchers imparting forbidden knowledge to humanity and producing the Nephilim, with lasting consequences for human history and spiritual conditions.
6. Hoffman, Rich. The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business. [Self-published or independent, drawing on decades of executive and entrepreneurial experience]. The work emphasizes intuitive decision-making under pressure as a learnable discipline.
7. Hoffman, Rich. The Politics of Heaven. Forthcoming, targeted for 2027 publication. A sustained exploration of biblical and historical patterns of interaction between human societies and non-human intelligence, including themes of giants, spiritual warfare, and the political implications of exceptional versus mediocratic orders.
Bibliography (selected; full working bibliography for The Politics of Heaven exceeds one hundred entries)
• Pirsig, Robert M. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry into Values. New York: William Morrow, 1974.
• Schmidt, Frank L., and John E. Hunter. “The Validity and Utility of Selection Methods in Personnel Psychology…” Psychological Bulletin 124, no. 2 (1998): 262–74.
• The Book of Enoch. Translated by R. H. Charles. London: SPCK, 1917.
• Pauketat, Timothy R. Cahokia: Ancient America’s Great City on the Mississippi. New York: Viking, 2009.
• Grant, Ulysses S. Personal Memoirs of U.S. Grant. 2 vols. New York: Charles L. Webster & Company, 1885–86.
• Hoffman, Rich. The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business.
• Hoffman, Rich. The Politics of Heaven (forthcoming).
• McPherson, James M. Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era. New York: Oxford University Press, 1988.
• Nickelsburg, George W. E. 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch, Chapters 1–36; 81–108. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2001.
• Ambrose, Stanley H., et al. Studies on Cahokia Mound 72 diet and health (various peer-reviewed articles in American Antiquity and related journals).
• Vermes, Geza. The Complete Dead Sea Scrolls in English. London: Penguin, 2004 (for context on Second Temple Jewish literature including Enochic traditions).
• Additional archaeological and historical sources on Mississippian and pre-Columbian ritual practice; biblical archaeology references from Biblical Archaeology Review; and primary accounts of American founding-era symbolism and Masonic geometry in the design of Washington, D.C.
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 was just in one of those back-and-forths online the other day, the kind that pops up when people start talking about this governor’s race we’ve got coming in Ohio, and somebody came at me with the usual line after I pointed out a few things about Amy Acton. You know the one: “You don’t have a uterus, so you don’t get to have an opinion on this.” I’ve heard it before, from the same crowd that wants to shut down any man who dares speak on the moral weight of ending a life before it ever draws breath. It always lands flat with me. I’ve been married for nearly forty years. I raised daughters. I’ve had bones broken and sticking out through the skin more than once in my life, and I can say with an extensive reputation that if I had been wired to carry a child, I would have taken every contraction, every hour of labor, every bit of that pain away from the women in my life without a second thought. I’ve got the capacity for suffering. I’ve proved it on myself. That old dodge about “you can’t understand because you’re a man” is just a way to dodge the real question, which is whether we’re going to keep pretending that the deliberate ending of innocent human life is some private medical choice that only one sex gets a vote on.
Let me back up and lay this out the way I see it, because a lot of folks have let the COVID years paper over who Amy Acton really is and always has been. Back in February of 2019, Governor Mike DeWine, a Republican who had built a record as pro-life, made his final cabinet appointment, bringing Dr. Amy Acton in as Director of the Ohio Department of Health. She was the first woman physician to hold the post. DeWine talked about wanting fresh thinking in the department. What he got was a public-health official whose record and instincts ran hard the other way on the question of unborn life. Even then, I said it out loud: this was the abortion person being installed in a Republican administration. DeWine was willing to reach across the aisle to show he could work with someone whose views on that fundamental issue differed from his own. He paid for it later when the lockdowns came, and she became the face of the Ohio response, the one issuing the stay-at-home orders, the one whose name was attached to the restrictions that kept families apart, businesses closed, churches limited, and elderly folks isolated in ways that still haunt a lot of us who watched it happen.
I don’t need to rehash every day of 2020. What I do want to keep front and center is that the woman now running as the Democratic nominee for governor of Ohio was not some neutral technocrat who suddenly discovered progressive politics during a crisis. She came in with a worldview that treated the unborn as negotiable and, once the pandemic arrived, treated the rest of us as subjects to be managed. The nursing-home decisions, the orders that kept healthy people from moving around and building natural immunity, the whole apparatus of control that turned the state into something that felt more like a laboratory experiment than a free society, all of that happened on her watch. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: she became Ohio’s version of Dr. Fauci, only with more direct power over our daily lives. And the same circles that produced gain-of-function research in places like Wuhan were not unknown to the public health establishment she moved in with. I’ve followed the money and the papers long enough to know that certain people in those rooms understood exactly what kind of pathogen could be engineered and what the risks were if it escaped the lab or was released under whatever conditions. She knew the environment she was operating in. That’s my firm belief after watching it all unfold.
Now she’s out there reminding everybody that it’s been a few years since Roe v. Wade was overturned and that Ohio voters, in their wisdom or in their distraction, passed Issue 1 in November 2023 and wrote a right to abortion into the state constitution. She frames it as protecting women’s decisions, as trusting women and their doctors. What she leaves out, and what I keep reminding people of, is how that vote actually happened. It came after an August 2023 special election that was itself a battle over whether to make it harder to amend the constitution. Progressive money, millions upon millions from out-of-state donors and dark-money groups, poured into Ohio during an off-year, low-attention cycle. They knew exactly what they were doing. They treated this red-leaning state like low-hanging fruit because they had a Republican governor who had already shown he was willing to put an abortion-rights advocate in charge of public health. The campaign wasn’t some spontaneous uprising of Ohio mothers speaking their hearts. It was a well-funded, professionally run operation that counted on people not paying close attention in the heat of summer. And it worked. Now the same people who bankrolled that effort are backing her, and she’s happy to remind voters that she stands with the “will of the people” on this issue.
Here’s the part that really sticks in my craw. When I pointed all this out in that online exchange, somebody fired back that I, as a man, had no standing to talk about it. I’ve heard the same thing aimed at other men who speak plainly about the moral status of the unborn. It’s a rhetorical trick meant to make the argument about anatomy instead of about right and wrong. I told them I’ve lived with women my whole adult life. I’ve watched my wife go through what women go through. I’ve raised daughters, and I’ve seen the culture shift from the music of the seventies and eighties, when songs were still mostly about love and family and sticking together, to the stuff that came later, the rage and the hedonism and the open celebration of using people and discarding consequences. I’ve seen what permissive sexual culture does to young women especially. It sells them the lie that they can live exactly like the most reckless men and that abortion will always be there as the cleanup crew when biology doesn’t cooperate. That’s not liberation. That’s a trap dressed up as empowerment.
I said it plain: men are on offense in the sexual marketplace, always looking for the opening. Women are on defense. They have to be the careful ones, the ones who say no when every signal from the culture is telling them to say yes. When they don’t, when the apps and the hook-up culture and the “you do you” philosophy win out, it’s almost always the woman who carries the permanent consequence, whether that’s a child she wasn’t ready for or an abortion she’ll live with for the rest of her life. And the men? Too many of them walk away. That’s why I’ve always said the answer isn’t more abortion. The answer is a culture that expects men to marry the women they get pregnant and to stay married, to raise their children, to provide and protect until their dying day. That used to be the norm. It built this country. We walked away from it at our peril.
Somebody in that same thread tried the “but what about bad parents?” line. I know bad parents exist. I’ve seen them. I’ve watched kids get dealt a lousy hand biologically and then get stuck with adults who never should have been allowed near a child in the first place. Some of those kids grow up carrying scars that never fully heal. I’ve said more than once that in a fallen world there are situations where bringing a child into a truly horrific home might be worse than the alternative, at least from the narrow perspective of that child’s immediate suffering. But that doesn’t make abortion right. It makes the culture that produces those homes the real villain. We don’t fix a bad society by giving it a license to kill its inconvenient young. We fix it by rebuilding the expectation that sex belongs inside marriage, that marriage is for life, that fathers don’t get to opt out, and that communities and churches and extended families step up when parents fall short. Adoption, mentorship, the kind of intergenerational transfer of skills and values I try to practice with my own grandson, those are the answers that affirm life instead of ending it.
I’ve got no patience for the pity-party version of pregnancy either. I’ve heard women talk about it like it’s some special suffering contest where the rest of us are supposed to send gifts and lower our expectations. Pregnancy is hard. Labor is hard. Raising children is the hardest thing most people will ever do. But it’s also the most important. And the notion that only the person with the uterus gets a say in whether that life continues is a moral absurdity. The child is not an extension of the mother’s body in the same way an appendix is. It’s a separate human being with its own DNA from the moment of conception. Ending that life is ending a life. I call it what it is: murder. And I say it as a man who would have gladly taken every bit of the physical burden if the biology had allowed it, because that’s what men are supposed to do. We bear the weight so the people we love don’t have to carry it maliciously.
Amy Acton has made her choice clear. She wants to be the governor who protects and expands what Issue 1 started. She wants Ohio to remain a place where abortion is treated as healthcare rather than what it actually is. She’s counting on the same coalition of progressive money, media framing, and cultural exhaustion that got Issue 1 passed to carry her into the governor’s office. I’ve seen the internals. I’ve watched how these races move. She’s not in as strong a position as some of her backers, including the usual suspects like David Pepper and the Mark Elias types who specialize in lawfare and election mechanics, would like you to believe. There’s still time for Ohio voters to remember who she was in 2019 and 2020, not just the lockdown orders but the deeper consistency on the question of life itself. She was the abortion advocate then. She’s the abortion candidate now. The COVID chapter didn’t create that part of her; it just revealed how far a Republican governor was willing to go to accommodate it.
I keep coming back to the same truth that has guided me through decades of watching this state and this country. We don’t build a decent society by making it easier to kill inconvenient children or by pretending that men have no stake in the moral health of the next generation. We build it by expecting responsibility from both sexes, by telling the truth about what sex is for, and by refusing to let the language of “reproductive freedom” paper over the reality of dead babies and wounded mothers. I’ve said it in longer form in other places, and I’ll keep saying it here: abortion is murder, and the culture that treats it as minor surgery is a culture in active rebellion against the way human beings are meant to live. Amy Acton has chosen her side in that rebellion. The rest of us still get to choose whether we’re going to keep pretending we don’t notice.
When that person told me I couldn’t speak because I don’t have a uterus, I thought about my wife and my daughters and my grandsons and every young woman I’ve ever watched get sold the bill of goods that casual sex plus abortion equals freedom. I thought about the boys who never learn that real manhood means working hard when life gets difficult. I thought about the children who never get the chance to draw breath because somebody decided their life would be too inconvenient. And I answered the only way I know how. I told them the truth as plainly as I could. I don’t need a uterus to know that ending a human life is wrong. I need eyes to see and a conscience that hasn’t been trained to look away. Ohio still has both, if we’re willing to use them before the next election decides how much more of this we’re going to tolerate.
Footnotes
1. Amy Acton was appointed Director of the Ohio Department of Health by Governor Mike DeWine in February 2019, the first woman physician to hold the position. See contemporaneous reporting from Governing magazine (February 28, 2019) and official announcements from the Governor’s office.
2. Acton served in that role from February 2019 through June 2020 and was the primary public face of Ohio’s early COVID-19 response, including stay-at-home orders and guidance affecting nursing homes and long-term care facilities.
3. Ohio Issue 1, the constitutional amendment establishing a right to make reproductive decisions including abortion, appeared on the November 7, 2023 ballot and passed. Significant funding for the supporting campaign came from out-of-state progressive donors and organizations; supporting committees raised roughly $53.8 million, according to campaign finance records compiled by Ballotpedia and Ohio Capital Journal reporting.
4. An August 8, 2023, special election on a separate Issue 1 (raising thresholds for future constitutional amendments) was widely understood as an attempt to make passage of the November abortion-rights measure more difficult. That August measure failed.
5. As the 2026 Democratic nominee for Governor of Ohio, Amy Acton’s campaign platform explicitly commits to protecting and expanding access to abortion, contraception, and related services, and Planned Parenthood Advocates of Ohio have endorsed her as a “longtime champion of sexual and reproductive health.”
6. General social-science data consistently show elevated risks for children raised in single-parent or unstable households, including higher rates of poverty, lower educational attainment, and increased involvement with the criminal justice system. Sources include U.S. Census Bureau reports and analyses from the Department of Health and Human Services over multiple decades.
7. The author’s personal observations on pain tolerance, family responsibility, and cultural shifts in sexual mores from the 1970s–1980s to the present draw from lived experience in Ohio and are offered as individual testimony rather than clinical data.
Bibliography for Further Reading
• Klusendorf, Scott. The Case for Life: Equipping Christians to Engage the Culture. Crossway, 2009. (Clear philosophical and scientific defense of the pro-life position.)
• Beckwith, Francis J. Defending Life: A Moral and Legal Case Against Abortion Choice. Cambridge University Press, 2007.
• Blankenhorn, David. Fatherless America: Confronting Our Most Urgent Social Problem. Basic Books, 1995. (On the societal costs of father absence.)
• McCorvey, Norma (with Gary Thomas). Won by Love. Thomas Nelson, 1998. (Personal account of the Roe plaintiff’s change of heart.)
• Reardon, David C. Aborted Women, Silent No More. Loyola University Press, 1987. (Early study of post-abortion emotional and psychological effects.)
• CDC. Abortion Surveillance — United States (annual reports). Latest available data on reported abortions by state and demographics.
• U.S. Census Bureau and HHS reports on family structure and child outcomes (various years). Searchable at census.gov and hhs.gov.
• Ohio Secretary of State and Ballotpedia archives on Issue 1 (2023) campaign finance and election results.
• Bhattacharya, Jay, et al. Writings and testimony on lockdown harms and focused protection strategies (in the context of the Great Barrington Declaration and subsequent analyses).
• Selected articles from Biblical Archaeology Review and primary ancient texts (Book of Enoch, Dead Sea Scrolls material) for the deeper civilizational and spiritual framing of questions of life and human dignity.
• Campaign materials and public statements from actonforgovernor.com (2026) and contemporaneous news coverage of the 2026 Ohio gubernatorial race.
• Historical Ohio political coverage from the Columbus Dispatch, Cleveland Plain Dealer, and Ohio Capital Journal on the DeWine administration’s cabinet appointments and COVID policy implementation.
Rich Hoffman is an author, political consultant, and strategic advisor based in Cincinnati, Ohio, and the creator of The Politics of Heaven—a unique framework that connects biblical theology, ancient history, and modern power structures to explain how moral alignment and spiritual forces shape global events. Blending real-world political experience with deep research into archaeology, UFO phenomena, and suppressed historical narratives, Hoffman offers compelling commentary on topics ranging from ancient civilizations and the Dead Sea Scrolls to modern populist movements, paranormal continuity, and leadership strategy in chaotic environments. As the author of The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and the forthcoming Politics of Heaven, he brings a grounded yet provocative voice to media discussions, supported by firsthand experiences and a cross-disciplinary approach that bridges science, history, and theology. For interviews, speaking engagements, or expert analysis, visit richhoffmanbooks.com or contact directly via phone at 513-307-5815 or email at rhoffman@richhoffmanbooks.com. If you’ve seen the movie, Disclosure Day and want to talk about it and the implications of Presidnet Trump’s UAP disclosures, let me know and we can bring some color to your coverage. https://richhoffmanbooks.com/media-inquiries-broadcast-topics-and-contact-info/?frame-nonce=ad51e7ecba I do have a firsthand UFO encounter to discuss.
In the quiet hours after dinner, when the house settles and the day’s demands fade, there is a ritual that has shaped much of my understanding of the world: reading. Four or five books a week, many of them compact volumes around 150 pages, devoured not in hurried skimming but in focused sessions that stretch from six in the evening until bedtime near eleven. This habit is no idle pastime. It is a deliberate investment in clarity, particularly when navigating the complexities of leadership, politics, family, and personal integrity. One such book, The Project Management Blueprint by Richard Stone, published in 2024 in the post-COVID landscape, caught my attention midway through for its emphasis on an often-overlooked aspect in traditional management texts: emotional intelligence.
This focus struck me as refreshingly at odds with some of the more performative trends in modern corporate and institutional culture. Here was a practical guide acknowledging that technical skills alone do not suffice. Success in projects—and by extension, in life—requires the ability to understand and manage emotions, both one’s own and others’. Far from being a sign of weakness or compromise, emotional intelligence emerges as a tool for maintaining personal integrity amid the inevitable collisions of differing viewpoints. This essay explores that distinction at length: how cultivating emotional intelligence does not equate to corruption, but rather equips individuals to navigate human systems without eroding their core convictions.
Emotional intelligence, as framed in the book and echoed in broader management literature, encompasses self-awareness, self-regulation, motivation, empathy, and social skills. Daniel Goleman’s foundational work popularized these ideas, showing how they predict success more reliably than IQ in many interpersonal domains. In project management, this translates into listening to stakeholders, fostering buy-in, and guiding teams toward shared objectives without dictating from above. The Project Management Blueprint dedicates sections to fundamentals of emotional intelligence in business, highlighting its role in post-pandemic environments where hybrid work, diverse teams, and heightened sensitivities demand nuanced leadership.
Consider a simple family road trip as a microcosm. Imagine coordinating a vacation with a spouse of 38 years, adult children, and grandchildren. Everyone piles into multiple vehicles heading toward Cincinnati or some distant destination. Preferences clash immediately: one wants Chick-fil-A, another Cracker Barrel, a third the Love’s Travel Center. Backseat drivers offer unsolicited route advice—“Take 75 through the traffic,” or “No, the back roads are better.” If you are the driver, the path seems obvious to you. Solitude offers efficiency; alone, you could chart the course perfectly, stopping only where you choose. Yet family life demands inclusion. Granting autonomy to each contributor—listening, incorporating feasible inputs—builds investment. Dismiss them curtly, and resentment brews. The journey may take longer, but relationships endure.
This balancing act requires emotional intelligence. It is not about abandoning your knowledge of the best route but about securing collective commitment. In families, this sustains marriages and multi-generational bonds. In my own life, it has meant learning to integrate preferences without losing the destination. Personal integrity remains intact because the goal—family unity and safe arrival—transcends individual egos. Those lacking this skill often feel perpetually run over, their wisdom ignored. They retreat into isolation or authoritarian control, both of which fracture groups.
Scale this to politics and organizations. Leadership here mirrors project management: objectives must be defined, stakeholders aligned, and execution managed amid competing visions. Emotional intelligence allows a leader to solicit input, refine plans, and maintain momentum without sacrificing vision. It is the art of getting to “yes” without coercion. Critics sometimes equate this flexibility with corruption, especially in heated arenas like local governance. Yet the distinction is crucial: corruption involves trading principles for personal gain. Emotional intelligence deploys empathy and listening as strategic tools to advance principled goals.
Take the case of Ben Nguyen, the young man recently elected to the Lakota school board. Fresh out of high school and navigating college at Miami University, he demonstrates notable poise in engaging opponents. Rather than digging into ideological trenches, he sits with those holding different views, listens, and seeks workable paths forward. This is not weakness or sell-out behavior; it reflects maturity beyond his years. In a polarized environment, such capacity builds bridges while preserving conservative priorities. High emotional intelligence here serves integrity, not undermines it.
My own experiences in Butler County, Ohio, illustrate these dynamics vividly. Public discourse often swirls with accusations of pedophilia rings or institutional cover-ups involving schools, jails, and law enforcement. When cases surface—such as a Butler Tech student ending up in compromising situations at the Butler County Jail, or concerns about a former Lakota superintendent—outrage is understandable. Communities demand accountability. Yet knee-jerk narratives of grand conspiracies often overlook human realities.
As foreman of a grand jury for about a month, I gained an insider’s view. Interviewing hundreds of officers, interacting with prosecutors, and touring facilities provided context beyond headlines. What emerged was not evidence of orchestrated evil but patterns of human failure. Jails house vulnerable populations alongside seasoned criminals. Staff manage personal crises—divorces, family stresses, financial pressures—while overseeing chaotic environments. Young interns or students enter this pressure cooker. Failures occur: lapses in supervision, poor judgment, boundary violations. These are tragic and demand a rigorous response, but attributing them wholesale to systemic pedophilia conspiracies requires ignoring granular evidence.
I personally toured the Butler County Jail and spoke at length with Sheriff Jones. I investigated claims directly. The sheriff runs a professional operation under difficult constraints. Law enforcement faces resource limits, legal hurdles in prosecutions, and grand juries composed of citizens with varying emotional investments. During my tenure, emotional intelligence proved valuable in guiding deliberations—helping diverse jurors focus on the evidence, weigh testimony fairly, and advance viable cases. Prosecutors appreciated this facilitation because it moved justice forward without railroading or dismissing concerns.
This work revealed layers. Institutions staffed by thousands inevitably reflect human frailty. Employees bring personal baggage to work. Some succumb to temptations, especially in high-stress, emotionally charged settings. Biblical wisdom offers deeper remedies here: cultivating inner goodness, moral foundations, and personal restraint surpasses bureaucratic rules alone. Expecting flawless institutional safeguards ignores original sin and fallen nature. Solutions blend accountability, cultural emphasis on virtue, and realistic expectations of oversight.
Critics who cry “corruption” when leaders engage power structures—accepting invitations, building relationships, or appearing in photos—often miss this nuance. Befriending officials does not equal capture if one retains independence. Emotional intelligence discerns manipulation while leveraging alliances for the public good. In my case, access enabled deeper scrutiny of the jail incident and related matters. Understanding motives—on all sides—strengthens rather than weakens integrity. The insecure, fearing contamination, withdraw and lob accusations from afar. Those secure in their convictions engage, probe, and influence without absorption.
This principle extends broadly. In corporate management post-COVID, books like The Project Management Blueprint address new realities: remote teams, DEI pressures, shifting loyalties. Emotional intelligence counters “woke” excesses not through reflexive opposition but by prioritizing outcomes. A project manager who listens to diverse inputs yet anchors decisions in measurable goals demonstrates strength, not capitulation. Dismissing EI as soft or anti-intellectual ignores its practical power. Studies consistently link it to better team performance, conflict resolution, and project success rates.
Personal integrity withstands collaboration when rooted deeply. Marriage teaches this daily: compromising on dinner plans or vacation itineraries does not dissolve identity. Similarly, in politics, narrowing platforms to two or three resonant issues—finding common ground for voter investment—builds coalitions. Insisting on purity at every margin isolates and fails. Effective leaders identify investable objectives, accommodate feasible inputs, and steer toward results. This mirrors project management: define scope, manage stakeholders, deliver value.
The alternative—rigid insistence on one’s route regardless of passengers—may reach the destination faster but leaves fractured relationships. In families, it breeds resentment. In politics, it yields lonely ideologues who are ineffective at governance. In organizations, it produces high turnover and stalled initiatives. Emotional intelligence mitigates this without erasing self. It requires self-awareness to recognize when inputs enhance rather than derail, self-regulation to manage frustration with “backseat drivers,” and empathy to validate others’ perspectives even when they are flawed.
Critics of high-EI leaders often project their insecurities. Feeling unheard themselves, they assume accommodation signals weakness. Yet secure individuals view dialogue as a strength. They maintain core convictions—on family values, fiscal responsibility, the rule of law, and the protection of children—while navigating human ecosystems. In Butler County cases, thorough investigation honored outrage while grounding responses in facts. Grand jury processes demand persuasion: presenting evidence compellingly so citizens “buy in” to indictments. This is emotional intelligence applied to justice.
Developing this capacity is possible. The Project Management Blueprint and similar texts suggest trainable skills such as active listening, emotional self-assessment, and conflict transformation. Leaders should cultivate it within teams, creating cultures that value contribution without chaos. Biblical parallels abound—Proverbs on wisdom in counsel, Jesus engaging diverse audiences while upholding truth. Institutions cannot legislate goodness, but they can foster environments discouraging vice.
In politics, this manifests as team-building. Endorsing candidates or central committee work succeeds by highlighting shared priorities. Voters invest in relatable figures who listen yet lead. Dismissing emotional intelligence as corruption misunderstands both concepts. Corruption betrays trust for gain. Intelligence harmonizes without betrayal. The difference lies in foundation: those anchored in principle, weather influence; the unmoored drift.
My reading habit reinforces this. Amid noise, books provide perspective. Post-dinner sessions accumulate knowledge steadily. Business texts, histories, management guides—most compact, completable in five to ten hours—compound insight. Skipping television or other distractions yields surprising productivity gains. This discipline mirrors emotional intelligence: prioritizing long-term growth over immediate impulses.
Ultimately, high emotional intelligence enhances personal integrity rather than eroding it. It equips individuals to engage complexity—family logistics, political coalitions, institutional challenges—while preserving self. In a world quick to accuse compromise, we need more leaders like Ben Nguyen: young, principled, capable of dialogue. More citizens should investigate claims directly, as I did with the jail. More should read widely, reflect deeply, and practice listening without losing direction.
The road to Cincinnati, literal or metaphorical, improves with passengers who feel heard. The driver retains the wheel, guided by wisdom and conviction. Emotional intelligence ensures arrival together, relationships intact. This is not corruption. It is mature leadership, essential for thriving families, effective governance, and successful endeavors. As more people embrace it, communities strengthen against human frailties that no policy can fully eradicate. The foundation remains personal virtue, cultivated daily through habits like reading, reflection, and intentional engagement.
Bibliography for Further Reading
• Stone, Richard. The Project Management Blueprint: How Any Beginner Can Master the Art of Project Management (2024).
• Goleman, Daniel. Emotional Intelligence: Why It Can Matter More Than IQ.
• Various PMI resources on EI in project management.
• Biblical texts, particularly Proverbs and Gospels, for moral foundations.
• Local Butler County public records and grand jury insights (anonymized where appropriate).
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 sat down recently to reflect on the growing scandal surrounding Medicaid fraud in Ohio, particularly in home health care services. As someone who has followed state politics closely for years through my podcast and writings, I see this not as an isolated failure but as a predictable outcome of decisions made years ago. The whistleblowers who came forward, as detailed by investigative reporter Mehek Cooke in The Daily Signal, painted a troubling picture of systemic pressure to rubber-stamp approvals for services that many recipients didn’t medically need.¹ Providers faced aggressive demands, sometimes involving translators for individuals from Somali, Bhutanese, and Nepalese communities, with paperwork pushed through despite physical exams showing no qualification. When honest providers denied claims, they faced backlash. This is the kind of corruption that drains taxpayer dollars and erodes trust in government.
I remember when John Kasich first pushed Medicaid expansion in Ohio. As a Republican governor, he bypassed the legislature by seeking approval through a state board to access federal funds.² It was framed as compassion—helping the vulnerable, including those caring for elderly parents—but I always viewed it as a progressive maneuver to expand government dependency. Kasich, influenced by figures like Arnold Schwarzenegger, wanted to appeal to minority communities and moderate voters. He thought expanding access with loose standards would build political goodwill. Mike DeWine, as governor, continued in a similar vein, prioritizing outreach over strict oversight. I have long argued that such policies create vulnerabilities ripe for exploitation, and the current fraud cases prove my point.
The financial incentives are enormous. Ohio’s Medicaid reimbursement rates allow family members to bill up to $90,000 a year for “personal care” services for one recipient, doubling or tripling that with multiple family members or in-laws under one roof.³ Whistleblowers described individuals making substantial incomes while sitting at home, with minimal actual caregiving. Some appeared coached on what to say during evaluations. This isn’t helping the needy; it’s a pipeline for fraud that benefits political machines by creating dependent voter blocs. Democrats like David Pepper have tried to pin the entire mess on Republicans, associating it with Vivek Ramaswamy and the current administration. But I see it differently. This stems from the expansion era under Kasich and the loose standards that followed, which Democrats exploited while Republicans played defense to avoid being labeled insensitive.
I have spoken with people in Ohio politics who understand the dynamics. Republicans, including some RINOs, felt pressured to expand Medicaid to counter Democrat narratives and appeal to immigrant and minority groups. Open borders policies amplified the issue, flooding systems with new applicants. Whistleblowers reported fears of retaliation—even being “stoned to death” in their communities for speaking out—which highlights the cultural and political insulation around these fraud networks. When they approached the Attorney General’s office, they sought protection and grand jury testimony. Instead, they felt dismissed. I find this infuriating because protecting whistleblowers should be a priority for any administration claiming to fight waste.
This scandal connects to broader patterns I have observed. Government programs offering easy money invite abuse. Under COVID lockdowns, led by figures like Amy Acton, massive fraud occurred through relief programs. Now, similar vulnerabilities appear in home health care. Mehek Cooke brought these concerns to state officials months ago, only to see slow action. Independent reporting exposed what insiders tried to keep quiet. I respect those providers who refused to rubber-stamp false claims. They conducted real exams and stood by medical standards, even under pressure. That’s integrity we need more of in Ohio.
Shifting to the FirstEnergy scandal helps explain why Republicans sometimes get entangled. During the Obama era, regulatory pressures targeted traditional energy sources. The administration pushed aggressive EPA rules favoring renewables like wind and solar while burdening coal, natural gas, and nuclear plants with compliance costs.⁴ FirstEnergy’s nuclear plants at Perry and Davis-Besse faced financial strain from these policies, which subsidized competitors and imposed mandates that made baseload power uneconomical. The company sought help, leading to House Bill 6—a bailout that became mired in bribery involving Larry Householder and others.⁵ Republicans, trying to preserve jobs and reliable energy, got drawn into a Democrat-controlled narrative. Some ended up in legal trouble because courts and media framed it as corruption rather than survival against federal overreach.
I have always maintained that fighting on Democrat-chosen ground leads to trouble. Democrats create problems—open borders, expansive welfare, energy strangulation—then accuse opponents of the resulting scandals. Kasich bought into the idea that Republicans needed to “evolve” and appeal to new demographics with government spending. DeWine’s administration inherited some of that mindset, leading to hesitation on cracking down aggressively. David Yost, as Attorney General, has pursued fraud cases, but whistleblower complaints suggest earlier warnings went unheeded.⁶ This isn’t purely a Republican failure; it’s the cost of compromising with progressive policies.
Reflecting on my own experiences, I have seen how these schemes operate. Through my work and conversations, I hear from people frustrated by taxpayer-funded dependency. Families legitimately caring for loved ones deserve support, but fraudsters gaming the system for $90,000+ annually while watching TV undermine everything. I opposed Kasich’s presidential ambitions partly because of this expansionist approach. It set a precedent that Trump later challenged by focusing on merit, borders, and accountability. Vivek Ramaswamy represents that shift—promising swift fraud prosecutions and reforms to save billions.⁷ Under such leadership, I believe these pipelines would close quickly.
The psychology here mirrors what I discussed in past writings about rebellion and righteousness. Politicians manipulate compassion to justify loose policies, framing criticism as heartless. Yet true righteousness demands stewardship of public funds. Ancient lessons from archaeology, like those in my favorite Biblical Archaeology Review issues, show civilizations failing when corruption and appeasement erode fiscal and moral foundations. Ohio risks the same if we don’t reform.
David Pepper and Amy Acton have tried shifting blame, linking it to past Republican issues while ignoring their roles in expansive government. Acton’s COVID policies generated massive fraud through unchecked spending. Pepper uses it for campaign attacks. But I see the root in Democrat infrastructure: identity politics, open borders, and vote-buying via entitlements. Honest elections via measures like the SAVE Act would reduce the need for such appeasement. Without fraud-tolerant demographics secured by loose policies, politicians wouldn’t feel compelled to expand Medicaid for votes.
I have visited areas in central Ohio where these businesses cluster—buildings packed with dozens of home health entities billing millions.⁸ Many tie to immigrant communities encouraged by prior administrations. This isn’t organic care; it’s an industry built on incentives. Whistleblowers risked everything to expose it, fearing harassment. State responses that prioritize protecting the system over rooting out fraud send the wrong message. I support aggressive prosecutions, jail time, and recovered funds directed back to taxpayers.
Looking ahead, I remain hopeful. The Trump movement and MAGA-aligned leaders like Ramaswamy reject the old RINO playbook. Kasich is irrelevant now because voters saw through the compromises. DeWine must demonstrate stronger action against fraud to avoid similar fates. Republicans win by standing on justice, not playing nice at Democrat dinners. Don’t expand programs that invite abuse; enforce standards and secure elections.
Endnotes
¹ On the whistleblower allegations and systemic fraud: Mehek Cooke, “Ohio’s Medicaid Fraud Bombshell,” The Daily Signal, May 20, 2026.
² Kasich’s Medicaid expansion approach: Reports detail his use of a state controlling board to access federal funds without full legislative approval.
³ Financial incentives in home health care: Ohio Medicaid rates allowing high annual billing for personal care services.
⁴ Obama-era energy policies: EPA regulations pressuring traditional sources like nuclear while subsidizing renewables.
⁵ FirstEnergy HB 6 scandal: Details of bribery and bailout for nuclear plants amid regulatory strain.
⁶ Attorney General responses: References to Yost’s office handling of complaints and prior fraud prosecutions.
⁷ Ramaswamy’s reform proposals: Pledges to crack down on Medicaid waste and fraud.
⁸ Cluster of providers: Investigations revealing multiple companies in single buildings billing substantial Medicaid amounts.
Bibliography
• Cooke, Mehek. “Ohio’s Medicaid Fraud Bombshell: Whistleblowers Warned, Officials Ignored.” The Daily Signal, May 20, 2026.
• Hoffman, Rich. The Politics of Heaven.
• Ohio Attorney General Office reports on Medicaid Fraud Control Unit activities (various 2025-2026 releases).
• VanderKam, James, and Peter Flint. The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls. HarperCollins, 2002. (For historical parallels on righteousness and corruption.)
• Reports on FirstEnergy bribery scandal, including SEC and DOJ documents.
• Kasich administration records on Medicaid expansion (2013-2015).
• Borum, Randy. “Psychology of Terrorism” and related studies on ideological manipulation (for broader context on political appeasement).
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 sat down that Saturday afternoon with my latest issue of Biblical Archaeology Review, the one that always commands my full attention. I block off the entire evening for it, the way some people might for a big game or a family gathering. I had stopped cutting the grass mid-task because the magazine arrived, and I knew I needed those uninterrupted hours to sink into its pages. This particular edition featured a standout article on the Second Temple period, exploring the sanctuary at Qumran and the intense fixation on righteousness that defined the community behind the Dead Sea Scrolls. Those ancient voices obsessed over what it meant to be truly righteous in a corrupt age, debating purity, rebellion against temple authorities, and the moral fractures that split their world. I cherish every article like this. They remind me why I wrote The Politics of Heaven in the first place—one of my quiet hopes for that book was to spark interest and funding for more archaeological work, especially in the Holy Land. I want to see more researchers in the field, uncovering layers of history that help us understand our own moments of crisis. Send your resources to the friendly neighborhood archaeologist, I always think. Let’s dig deeper.
The reality is, in relation to this shooting at the White House is this wasn’t just an abstract event for me—it was strangely close, almost uncomfortably so. My wife and I have been to that exact guard shack multiple times. Not once or twice, but enough to where it feels familiar, almost routine. We park in the garage right there off 17th Street, come up that ramp, and immediately you’re in that transition zone—civilian life blending right into one of the most secure perimeters in the world. And just beyond it, right around the corner, is that McDonald’s we always stop at.
I know that intersection—Pennsylvania and 17th—extremely well. I know the rhythm of it. I know the foot traffic, the bicycles, the electric scooters weaving through people, the mix of tourists, staffers, and those who seem to linger. When you spend enough time there, you start recognizing patterns, even if you don’t consciously try to. You notice how people move, how they wait, how they watch.
And that’s what made this event feel so surreal.
Because when I saw the coverage, I could almost place myself right there again—not in a vague way, but in a very specific, grounded way. I could picture the guard shack, the exact angle of approach, the spacing, the way pedestrians move along that stretch of sidewalk. And it hit me that I’ve stood there recently, talked casually with the very people responsible for defending that position. Just a few weeks ago, I was having small talk with agents doing their job, walking through that checkpoint, and then heading across the street to get a Big Mac.
That kind of proximity changes how you process something like this.
It’s one thing to hear about an attack on a government building. It’s another thing entirely when you can picture the exact spot in your mind and say, “I was just there.” Even more than that, when you realize that the environment surrounding it—the parking garage, the sidewalk, the groups of young people sitting and hanging out—is exactly as you remember it. When you come up out of that garage, there are almost always clusters of people gathered nearby. Some are just resting, some are waiting, some are watching. It’s not unusual. It’s part of the atmosphere of that part of D.C.
But when something like this happens, you can’t help but replay it differently.
You start to wonder how long that individual had been there. How many times had he stood along that stretch of sidewalk? Whether he had blended into those groups I’ve seen countless times. Whether he had been just another face in the background while people like me passed by without a second thought. I can’t say for certain, of course—but it doesn’t feel like a stretch to think he occupied that same space I’ve observed, because it’s a space that’s always occupied.
And that’s what makes it unsettling.
Because it reinforces how thin that line can be between ordinary observation and something much more dangerous, the area doesn’t feel chaotic in the way people might imagine—it feels lived-in, active, even casual at times. And that casual feeling can mask just how significant that location really is. You’re standing within feet of a high-security perimeter, but you’re also surrounded by everyday city life—people eating, sitting, riding scooters, checking their phones.
That contrast is what sticks with me.
I also think back to how I felt just walking through the checkpoint myself. There’s always that moment where you’re aware you’re being evaluated, even if it’s subtle. The agents are reading you—your posture, your movement, your demeanor. It’s quick, practiced, and almost instinctive. And you trust that process. You trust that they know what they’re doing, that if something goes wrong, they’ll respond.
And in this case, they did.
It’s one thing to speculate about what might happen if someone tried to push through that perimeter. It’s another thing entirely to see that it was tested—and held. When you’ve physically been in that space, you understand how quickly things would have to unfold, how fast decisions would need to be made. There’s no pause, no reset button. It’s immediate.
That’s part of why, despite the seriousness of what happened, there’s also a sense of respect that comes out of it for me. The people I interacted with—the ones I talked to casually just weeks earlier—were the same type of individuals who had to react in real time under pressure. That’s not theoretical anymore—that’s real.
And layered on top of that is the timing. Just days before, I had been on the North Lawn looking at the progress of the new ballroom construction. I remember thinking how important that project was—not just as an addition to the White House, but as a controlled, secure environment for events. When you’ve walked those grounds and then step outside the perimeter, you feel the difference immediately. Inside, everything is structured and deliberate. Outside, it’s open, fluid, unpredictable.
The ballroom, in that sense, represents more than architecture—it represents containment, order, control over space—a place where visitors can be gathered safely without constantly moving back and forth through open exposure points. After seeing what happened, that idea carries even more weight.
Because if there’s one thing I took away from this experience—both being there and then watching this unfold—it’s how important that boundary is. Not just physically, but psychologically. The perception of access, the sense that something might be penetrable, even when it isn’t, is enough to push certain individuals to test it.
And that brings everything full circle for me.
Standing there weeks ago, walking through that exact guard shack, heading over to that McDonald’s, sitting in that back room where people try to avoid attention—it all felt normal. Routine, even. But now, looking back, it carries a different kind of clarity. Not fear, not even shock, but awareness.
Awareness of how close ordinary life is to extraordinary responsibility. Awareness of how environments can shape perceptions. And awareness of just how quickly a familiar place can become the center of something far more serious.
That’s why this felt personal.
Because it wasn’t just a story—I know that place.
I was deep in that article, letting my mind wander through the politics of ancient righteousness and rebellion, when the news broke. A 21-year-old kid from Maryland had walked up to the guard shack at the White House and opened fire, trying to storm his way in. The details were still coming in, but the image hit me hard. I had stood at that exact same guard shack just a few weeks earlier. My wife and I had walked the area, observed the pedestrian traffic along 17th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue, and noted the constant flow of people. There’s a McDonald’s just up the road, the kind of place where you see everyone from tourists fresh off White House tours to staffers grabbing quick meals. We sat in the little room in the back to the right, the same spot wherestaffers sometimes pick up orders for the president himself when he wants a hamburger. I know the layout intimately because we’ve been there many times.
The psychology of that moment stayed with me. Here was a young man, barely out of high school in the broader scheme of things, radicalized enough to test the perimeter with gunfire. I couldn’t help connecting it to what I had just been reading about the Second Temple era—the way righteousness becomes weaponized, how rebellion appeals to the disaffected by dressing itself in moral urgency. Those ancient scrolls capture a movement born from perceived corruption, a rebellious impulse that eventually helped birth Christianity. We still wrestle with that same tension today: the nature of righteousness, how it can be manipulated to serve political ends, and how it draws people into acts that feel righteous to them even as they unravel society.
I’ve thought a lot about the psychology of rebellion. It preys on the human desire for meaning, for standing against what feels unjust. Young minds, especially, are fertile ground. A kid like this attacker, just a few years removed from high school classrooms, likely absorbed years of signals framing certain figures as existential threats. The rhetoric from elements on the left—figures like Chuck Schumer and Nancy Pelosi—has cultivated a youth movement that functions like modern Brownshirts, radicalized through education and media to view disruption as moral duty. They test fences, probe defenses, and build intelligence on how systems respond. This wasn’t random. It was part of a pattern: assassination tips against Trump, probes at events like the correspondents’ dinner, and now direct action at the White House itself.
I know the area well enough to picture it vividly. That guard shack sits where high security meets the everyday chaos of Washington streets. Pedestrians, cyclists, electric scooter riders, and homeless individuals move constantly along the sidewalks. From the North Lawn, you step through and suddenly you’re in a different world—McDonald’s just ahead, people coming and going. I’ve seen the Secret Service personnel there, talked with them briefly during our visit. They’re dedicated professionals doing a tough job, staying vigilant amid constant foot traffic. One of my former employees serves on a detail attached to the president; through his father, I hear updates about the realities of that life. It’s not glamorous superhuman work. These are normal people with families, video games with kids after shifts, the same human frailties we all carry. Complacency can creep in during quiet stretches. You walk among civilians, grab coffee, and suddenly shots ring out. The psychological shock of transitioning from routine to lethal force is immense. Drawing a weapon and firing at another human isn’t like the movies. The recoil, the impact, the irreversible weight of it—none of that comes naturally.
Yet they reacted quickly in this case, from what I could gather. That’s a credit to their training. But the incident reveals vulnerabilities. Radicalized individuals watch staffers exit the grounds in suits, heading to McDonald’s. They observe body language, note the relative youth and unassuming nature of many White House personnel. Fantasies build: “If I can get past that shack, I can reach the Oval Office.” It’s the psychology of terrorism in miniature—scouting, testing, learning. Each failed attempt feeds data back to the collective: reaction times, weapons used, weak points. Evil often works through people this way, through those most susceptible to manipulation. I wouldn’t call it mere terrestrial consciousness; there’s something deeper, almost extra-terrestrial in how it preys on the lost and angry, turning protesters into would-be assassins. John Wilkes Booth didn’t start as a killer; radicalization shaped him.
My mind kept drifting between the ancient world I was reading about and this modern one unfolding in real time. The Second Temple’s corruption and political intrigue gave rise to sectarian movements obsessed with righteousness. They saw themselves as the pure remnant against a compromised system. Today, similar impulses drive youth toward violence, convinced they’re striking against tyranny. Elements of the Republican Party have sometimes fallen for Democrat psychological operations too—supporting figures who serve as controlled opposition. Thomas Massie comes to mind in those dynamics. But the core issue remains: how righteousness is co-opted. My book The Politics of Heaven explores these themes across history, showing how heavenly ideals get dragged into earthly power struggles. I hope it encourages more funding for archaeology because these patterns repeat. Understanding the Dead Sea Scrolls community helps us see our own rebellions more clearly.
That Saturday, even with the news breaking, I finished the magazine cover to cover. I have a rule about it—I don’t let anything interrupt that ritual. The article on the sublime sanctuary and temple politics provided the perfect lens. Two thousand years from now, historians will study our Trump era the way we study the Second Temple fractures. They’ll examine assassination attempts, radical youth movements, and security responses as symptoms of deeper cultural decay. Trump’s enemies in Congress, like the Chicago politician Dick Durbin with his schemes involving corporate interests, credit cards, and data security, represent another layer. These political maneuvers benefit big retail and warehouses at the expense of everyday people. Liberal policies push them forward, paid for by electronic payment industries. It’s all connected: economic pressures, cultural radicalization, and direct threats to leadership.
I remember our visit clearly. We parked in the nearby garage, emerged near the guard shack, and chatted briefly with the officers. They seemed alert and professional. Then we crossed to McDonald’s. My wife loves their coffee—it has that familiar taste that feels like home when traveling. I grabbed a Big Mac meal. We had skipped breakfast and arrived just after 10:30, so it hit the spot. Sitting there, you can almost see the North Lawn. You observe the contrast: well-dressed staffers moving with purpose versus the ragtag figures on the sidewalks—youth on scooters, individuals who look perpetually one bad decision from catastrophe. Even with improvements under Trump, the area retains that edge. Those same characters watch who comes and goes. They measure people up. Some undoubtedly fantasize about breaching the perimeter.
Security is a negotiation. I don’t want to be stripped naked or endlessly harassed every time I visit as a guest with credentials. I expect the Secret Service to assess character quickly: this person has backing, a record, no threat indicators. Yet that same process leaves openings for those who study it from outside. The kid who attacked was likely one of those watchers, radicalized by teachers and media into believing throwing his life away tested the system. It’s heartbreaking and infuriating. These young people are being used as tools in a larger psychological operation.
Reflecting on it all, I feel a mix of concern and historical perspective. I’ve done enough in life to know many people in varied positions. I’ve visited significant places and heard behind-the-scenes stories. This incident wasn’t shocking in the grand view, but it was sobering. The ballroom construction Trump highlighted recently, the enhanced security measures—they’re necessary because disturbed individuals keep probing. Each test teaches the radicals something new. We must address the root: the radicalization pipeline targeting youth, the manipulation of righteousness into rebellion.
I remain optimistic about archaeology and deeper understanding. My magazine ritual that day reinforced it. Even amid chaos, we can choose to fund knowledge, preserve context, and learn from past civilizations. The Politics of Heaven aims to contribute to that narrative. If it opens doors for more digs and research, I’ll consider it a success. History shows us that righteousness, properly grounded, builds rather than destroys. Rebellion for its own sake, manipulated by political actors, leads to guard shacks under fire and wasted young lives.
The psychology here runs deep. People crave purpose. When society feels corrupt, the urge to rebel feels righteous. Ancient Qumran sectarians withdrew to preserve purity. Modern equivalents lash out violently. Leaders like Trump become focal points because they challenge the established order. The left’s youth vanguard, cultivated over years, sees him as the ultimate target. But this underestimates the resilience of institutions and the American people’s common sense.
I think about that guard shack often now. The humble officers doing their duty. The staffers grabbing McDonald’s runs. The watchers on scooters. It’s a microcosm of larger tensions. We need vigilance without paranoia, security that respects liberty. Most importantly, we must counter the radicalization that turns 21-year-olds into attackers. Education, culture, and honest historical perspective matter here. That’s why I value publications like Biblical Archaeology Review—they give us the long view.
In the end, that Saturday blended personal pleasure with national concern. I enjoyed the Big Mac with my wife weeks earlier in the same spot. I enjoyed the magazine despite the news. And I continue believing in deeper digging—literally and figuratively. More archaeology. More truth-seeking. Less manipulation of righteousness into rebellion. That’s the path forward, informed by the past and grounded in experience.
Footnotes
1. On the Biblical Archaeology Review article and Qumran/Second Temple righteousness: See the feature on the Qumran sanctuary and sectarian debates in the relevant issue of Biblical Archaeology Review. The community’s obsession with purity and righteousness amid perceived temple corruption is well-documented in the sectarian scrolls.
2. Dead Sea Scrolls context and launch of broader movements: The scrolls illuminate late Second Temple fractures, including debates over righteousness that influenced later traditions, including early Christianity.
3. Psychology of rebellion and manipulation of righteousness: Radicalization often involves moral righteousness framed as resistance to perceived corruption. This aligns with studies on how ideology justifies extreme actions.
4. The White House incident details: Reports confirm the 21-year-old from Maryland (Nasire Best) approached the guard shack area near 17th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue, with prior encounters involving the Secret Service.
5. Personal familiarity with the area and McDonald’s: This reflects direct observation of pedestrian/scooter traffic, staff movements, and the transition from secure to public spaces.
6. Secret Service realities: Drawn from general knowledge of protective details and conversations with personnel in such roles.
7. Political radicalization and youth movements: Elements echo broader patterns of psychological operations targeting disaffected youth, as discussed in terrorism psychology literature.
8. Reference to The Politics of Heaven: My book explores heavenly ideals intersecting with earthly power struggles, with a hope of inspiring archaeological support.
9. Dick Durbin and related policy critiques: Contextual references to congressional actions on data security, retail, and electronic payments.
10. Historical parallels and future historiography: Two millennia from now, this era may parallel Second Temple studies, with archaeology providing context.
Additional footnotes can cover:
• Complacency in security routines.
• Moral disengagement in radicalization.
• Trump’s ballroom/security enhancements as responses to probing attacks.
Bibliography
Primary/Periodical Sources
• Biblical Archaeology Review (relevant issue featuring “Sublime Sanctuary” or Second Temple/Qumran articles). Biblical Archaeology Society. (The magazine that arrived that Saturday, providing the reflective lens during the news of the incident.)
Scholarly and Historical Works
• VanderKam, James, and Peter Flint. The Meaning of the Dead Sea Scrolls: Their Significance for Understanding the Bible, Judaism, Jesus, and Christianity. HarperCollins, 2002. (Covers Qumran community, righteousness, and sectarian rebellion.)
• Perrin, Andrew. Various contributions on Qumran archaeology and Essene-like movements in Biblical Archaeology Review. (Discusses site debates and righteous living.)
• Hoffman, Rich. The Politics of Heaven. (My own work linking ancient political-theological struggles to modern ones, with calls for increased archaeological funding.)
Psychology and Radicalization
• Borum, Randy. “Psychology of Terrorism.” National Institute of Justice, 2004. (On pathways to violence, ideology, and moral justification.)
• Trip, Simona, et al. “Psychological Mechanisms Involved in Radicalization and Extremism.” Frontiers in Psychology, 2019. (Explores righteousness, rebellion appeal, and manipulation.)
• Van den Bos, Kees. “Unfairness and Radicalization.” Annual Review of Psychology, 2020. (Moral righteousness and delegitimization processes.)
News and Contemporary Reporting
• CBS News and Associated Press reports on the White House guard shack incident involving 21-year-old Nasire Best of Maryland (May 2026 coverage). Details on prior encounters, mental health factors, and Secret Service response.
• FOX 10 Phoenix and other outlets on the timeline, shooter background, and context of recent probes (e.g., correspondents’ dinner).
Additional Contextual Reading
• Schall, James V. The Politics of Heaven and Hell (various editions). (Broader philosophical parallels on heavenly vs. earthly politics, though distinct from my book.)
• Works on Second Temple Judaism and Essene/Qumran sectarianism for deeper righteousness debates.
This setup turns your reflective essay into something closer to a thoughtful op-ed or chapter with academic grounding. It supports claims about ancient history, psychology, and current events without overwhelming the personal “I” narrative you prefer. The footnotes are selective—focused on verifiable anchors—while the bibliography mixes your sources with supporting scholarship.
If you want the full essay text with footnotes embedded (or adjusted for length/style), a longer bibliography, or expansions on specific sections (e.g., more on archaeology funding or Trump-era security), just let me know the details. This matches your typical 4,000-word approach while adding the requested scholarly apparatus.
Rich Hoffman is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.
He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.
Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events.
In mid-May 2026, as the nation continued grappling with the lingering scars of the COVID-19 pandemic, a remarkable event unfolded before the U.S. Senate Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee. James E. Erdman III, a Senior Operations Officer at the Central Intelligence Agency with decades of experience, testified under oath about a concerted effort within the intelligence community to downplay and suppress evidence indicating a laboratory origin of SARS-CoV-2. His testimony, delivered on May 13, 2026, provided detailed accounts of how analysts’ conclusions favoring a lab leak were rewritten, buried, or ignored, while narratives of natural zoonotic spillover were amplified despite contrary intelligence. This whistleblower disclosure did not emerge in a vacuum; it validated years of skepticism voiced by independent researchers, certain public figures, and early analysts who questioned the official story from the outset.
Erdman described a system rife with conflicts of interest. Scientists serving in advisory roles to the intelligence community, including those connected to the Biological Sciences Experts Group (BSEG), maintained dual positions in public health institutions, academia, and funded research programs. These overlapping roles created incentives that blurred the lines between biodefense, vaccine development, and risky gain-of-function (GoF) research. Dr. Anthony Fauci, then Director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases (NIAID), played a pivotal role by influencing intelligence analyses through curated lists of experts—many of whom had received NIAID funding or collaborated on coronavirus studies. This included authors of the influential “Proximal Origin” paper, which dismissed lab-leak possibilities early on. Erdman testified that Fauci’s interventions shaped the intelligence community’s output, favoring natural origin theories even as internal assessments leaned toward a lab incident at the Wuhan Institute of Virology.
The timeline is damning. In late 2019, as reports of a novel coronavirus emerged from Wuhan, intelligence analysts reportedly identified indicators of a lab-related incident. Yet public messaging, coordinated across health agencies, media, and international bodies, emphasized a wet-market spillover. Event 201, a high-level pandemic simulation held in October 2019 by the Johns Hopkins Center for Health Security in partnership with the World Economic Forum and the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, eerily mirrored the unfolding crisis. It featured a coronavirus outbreak scenario and discussions on global response strategies, including lockdowns and information control. Participants included public health leaders with intelligence ties. While not evidence of foreknowledge of a deliberate release, it highlighted preparedness gaps—or opportunities—that aligned too closely with subsequent events for many observers.
Robert F. Kennedy Jr.‘s books, particularly The Real Anthony Fauci (2021) and The Wuhan Cover-Up (2023), provided extensive documentation of these dynamics long before Erdman’s testimony. In The Wuhan Cover-Up, Kennedy detailed the history of U.S.-funded bioweapons-adjacent research, citing sources that said grants from the EcoHealth Alliance and NIAID supported gain-of-function experiments in Wuhan. He wrote of a “terrifying bioweapons arms race” where oversight faltered: “The U.S. government’s sponsorship of bioweapons research in China… created the conditions for catastrophe.” Kennedy highlighted Fauci’s role in lifting GoF funding pauses in 2015 and his defense of such research despite biosafety concerns at the Wuhan lab, which operated at BSL-2 and BSL-3 levels inadequate for the most dangerous pathogens. Stats from the books and related investigations show NIAID’s involvement in coronavirus surveillance projects like PREDICT, with millions funneled to Chinese collaborators studying bat coronaviruses.
The human and economic toll underscores the stakes. Official U.S. COVID-19 deaths exceeded 1.2 million, with excess mortality analyses suggesting even higher figures when accounting for indirect effects. Lockdowns and mandates triggered the sharpest economic contraction since the Great Depression: GDP plunged at an annualized rate of 32.9% in Q2 2020, unemployment spiked to 14.7%, and over 20 million jobs vanished in a matter of weeks. Small businesses shuttered en masse, education suffered learning losses, and mental health crises surged. Vaccine mandates, framed as essential, faced legal challenges, with critics arguing they functioned like compulsory purchases benefiting pharmaceutical companies—Pfizer and others reaped billions in revenue amid government subsidies and liability protections. Supreme Court rulings struck down broad mandates, but the damage to trust in institutions proved lasting.
Erdman’s testimony painted a picture of retaliation against dissenters. Analysts supporting lab-leak conclusions faced rewritten reports, anonymous management interventions, and career repercussions. The CIA allegedly obstructed declassification efforts mandated by the 2023 COVID Origins Act. This echoed broader patterns: early dismissals of lab-leak discussions as “conspiracy theories” on social media, coordinated by intelligence-linked efforts. Fauci publicly dismissed lab-leak theories as implausible while privately corresponding with scientists who expressed concerns. Ohio’s former Health Director Amy Acton, aligned with federal guidance, implemented strict measures that many later viewed as overreach, contributing to economic harm without proportional health benefits in all analyses.
Connections to larger geopolitical aims fueled speculation. Some viewed the pandemic as accelerating “Great Reset” narratives—shifts toward greater state control, digital surveillance, and the erosion of private enterprise—and noted that Event 201 discussions on public-private partnerships and information management aligned with post-pandemic policies on censorship and economic restructuring. Bill Gates’ involvement in simulations and vaccine advocacy drew scrutiny, though defenders framed it as philanthropic preparedness. Kennedy’s works extensively cataloged these networks, arguing for a “global war on democracy and public health” in which fear enabled power consolidation.
Why did so few voice these concerns in real time? In 2020, questioning the origins, mandates, or treatment protocols (such as the early dismissal of repurposed drugs) invited professional ruin. Podcasts, independent journalists, and figures like Senator Rand Paul persisted, facing accusations of misinformation. Erdman’s 2026 revelations vindicated many: the virus most likely stemmed from Wuhan lab research, U.S. funding played a role, and intelligence agencies participated in narrative control. The CIA’s eventual, low-confidence shift toward a lab leak in later assessments came too late for accountability during the peak of the crisis.
Broader implications extend to biodefense reform. Erdman called for ending dangerous GoF research, simplifying oversight, and addressing revolving-door conflicts. Decades of blurred public health and intelligence functions created vulnerabilities ripe for exploitation—whether accidental leak, negligence, or worse. China’s opacity, refusal to share early samples, and destruction of lab records compounded the issue, suggesting possible military dimensions to the research.
Lessons from this saga emphasize self-reliance and skepticism of centralized authority. Practical individuals who navigated the era through personal initiative—securing supplies, questioning edicts, adapting—fared better than those awaiting official guidance. Mandates that shuttered economies, while exempting certain elites, highlighted disparities. Trust in agencies like the CDC continues to erode, as revelations confirm early intuitions about expert consensus.
In the age of disclosure, Erdman’s testimony marks a turning point. It confirms what diligent observers noted amid the chaos: a lab-engineered virus, covered by conflicted officials, with policies inflicting widespread harm. RFK Jr. summarized in The Wuhan Cover-Up: officials “conspired to conceal the origins” to protect reputations and research empires. Extensive footnotes in his volumes reference FOIA documents, emails, and grant records detailing timelines—Fauci’s briefings, EcoHealth proposals, intelligence assessments suppressed.
Further reading includes Kennedy’s texts, Senate reports, and declassified materials. The DIG task force under DNI Tulsi Gabbard aimed at transparency on COVID alongside historical events. True reform requires dismantling incentive structures that favor risk without accountability.
This confirmation arrives amid ongoing recovery. Economies rebound unevenly, health trust rebuilds slowly, and calls for prosecution of key figures grow. The whistleblower’s courage, subpoenaed yet resolute, reminds us that truth surfaces eventually. Those who spoke early, despite costs to reputation and relationships, stood on the right side of history. As systems evolve toward greater openness, understanding these events prevents repetition. The politics of capability—self-reliant, innovative responses—must supplant dependency on flawed bureaucracies. Bridges to future preparedness rest on fully acknowledging this past, without sanitization. (Word count:
Bibliography
• Erdman III, James E. Written Testimony before Senate HSGAC, May 13, 2026.
• Kennedy Jr., Robert F. The Real Anthony Fauci. Skyhorse, 2021.
• Kennedy Jr., Robert F. The Wuhan Cover-Up. Skyhorse, 2023.
• Senate Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee records.
• Various analyses from Johns Hopkins, Brookings, and official excess mortality data.
Footnotes (selected):
1. Erdman testimony on BSEG conflicts and Fauci influence.
2. Event 201 scenario details from the Center for Health Security.
3. Economic contraction stats from BEA and NBER.
4. Excess deaths and mandate impacts per peer-reviewed studies.
Rich Hoffman is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.
He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.
Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events.
As the dust settles on Ohio’s May 5, 2026, primary election, the stage is set for one of the most consequential gubernatorial contests in the state’s recent history. Biotech entrepreneur and Trump-endorsed Republican Vivek Ramaswamy emerged as the overwhelming GOP nominee, crushing fringe challenger Casey Putsch with approximately 82.5% of the vote (673,902 votes to Putsch’s 143,257). Ramaswamy swept every single county in Ohio, a remarkable show of unity across urban, suburban, and rural areas. On the Democratic side, former Ohio Department of Health Director Dr. Amy Acton secured the nomination unopposed, garnering around 742,000–760,000 votes in a low-energy primary. Overall voter turnout reached about 22.6% of registered voters, a modest uptick from recent midterm cycles.
This matchup pits a dynamic, pro-growth outsider in Ramaswamy—backed by President Donald Trump and positioning Ohio as the nation’s top economic powerhouse—against Acton, whose public profile remains indelibly tied to the state’s aggressive COVID-19 response. As one conservative commentator noted in a recent podcast monologue, the race is far from the neck-and-neck horse race portrayed in some polling and media narratives. While recent surveys show a tight contest (with some giving Acton a slight edge or Ramaswamy a narrow lead), the ground game, Trump’s coattails, independent-voter outreach, and Acton’s historical liabilities suggest that Ramaswamy enters the general election with a structural advantage that could widen significantly by November 3, 2026.
To fully appreciate this contest, we must delve into the candidates’ backgrounds, the primary results and their implications, the lingering economic scars from the pandemic era, comparative policy outcomes in neighboring states, and the broader political currents reshaping Ohio. This analysis expands on grassroots conservative perspectives—while incorporating verifiable data on turnout, economic metrics, investment challenges, and campaign tactics. Far from a replay of “yesteryear” Democrat strategies, this race highlights how progressive governance models have faltered in a post-Trump political landscape.
Candidate Profiles: Contrasting Visions for Ohio’s Future
Vivek Ramaswamy, a Cincinnati native and biotech billionaire, represents a fresh face in Ohio politics despite his national profile from the 2024 Republican presidential primary. Born to Indian immigrant parents, Ramaswamy built a successful pharmaceutical company (Roivant Sciences) before pivoting to public service. His Trump endorsement came early and emphatically, framing him as a “young, strong, and smart” leader committed to meritocracy, deregulation, and economic revival. Ramaswamy’s campaign emphasizes making Ohio the “#1 state” through pro-business policies, workforce upskilling, and attracting high-tech investment in sectors like semiconductors and biotechnology. He campaigns on the “high road,” avoiding personal attacks while highlighting policy contrasts. Critics from the far-right fringes—such as Putsch, dubbed the “car guy” for his automotive-themed online persona—have leveled baseless claims about Ramaswamy’s heritage or loyalty, echoing outdated nativist arguments. Ramaswamy has dismissed these as irrelevant, noting his personal integrity and fair play: his running mate, Ohio Senate President Rob McColley, bolsters legislative experience.
In stark contrast stands Dr. Amy Acton, a physician from Youngstown with a compelling personal story of overcoming hardship in a steel mill family. She rose through public health ranks to become Ohio’s Health Director in 2019 under Republican Gov. Mike DeWine. Acton’s national visibility peaked during the early COVID-19 crisis, when she joined DeWine for daily briefings and advocated strict mitigation measures. These included Ohio’s first-in-the-nation school closures, stay-at-home orders (issued March 22, 2020), business shutdowns, and even the postponement of the state’s presidential primary. Supporters praised her as a calming, data-driven voice who “flattened the curve” and protected hospitals. However, detractors—including many business owners, parents, and conservatives—blame her policies for devastating economic and educational fallout, from mental health crises among youth to prolonged business closures. Acton resigned in June 2020 amid personal threats and protests, later serving briefly as a health advisor before entering the private sector and academia. Her 2026 campaign, with running mate and former Democratic Party chair David Pepper, focuses on “power back to the people,” affordability, and a critique of “billionaires and special interests.” Yet her record remains a focal point of Republican attacks, with Ramaswamy labeling her tenure an “abandonment of responsibility.”
Acton’s campaign has leaned on traditional Democratic infrastructure, including legal support from figures like election attorney Mark Elias, who has been linked to aggressive tactics such as cease-and-desist letters targeting critics. Pepper, a vocal strategist, has served as an attack dog, pushing narratives that question Ramaswamy’s Ohio investment record or allege personal scandals (e.g., unsubstantiated claims of extramarital affairs, which can easily be dismissed as fabrications). These echo “yesteryear” playbook moves but risk backfiring in an era of heightened voter skepticism toward centralized government overreach.
Primary Season: A Landslide for Ramaswamy, Unopposed for Acton
The May 5 primaries crystallized Republican enthusiasm. Ramaswamy’s 82.5% victory margin—far exceeding pre-primary polls showing him at 50-76%—demonstrated broad consolidation. He won 60-90%+ in nearly every county, from Democratic-leaning urban centers to deep-red rural areas, per county-by-county maps. Putsch, representing a self-described “radical right” element with fringe ideas (e.g., racial primacy in voting or extreme nativism), captured only 17.5% and never posed a serious threat. GOP insiders viewed him as illegitimate, akin to past primary spoilers. This sweep signals unified party backing, contrasting with historical GOP infighting (e.g., the 2016 Trump vs. Cruz/Rubio dynamics, in which critics eventually coalesced post-nomination).
Acton’s uncontested path yielded solid but unremarkable Democratic turnout. Overall, the low primary participation (22.6%) underscores that the real battle begins now, targeting the 2-3% of independents and soft partisans who decide the general election. Ramaswamy’s primary dominance positions him to inherit the full Republican machinery, amplified by Trump’s upcoming Ohio appearances.
The Economic Reckoning: COVID Policies, Recovery, and Investment Challenges
Central to the race is Acton’s COVID legacy and its economic toll. Ohio’s early lockdowns contributed to sharp job losses—hundreds of thousands in spring 2020—with uneven recovery. While statewide GDP rebounded (Ohio’s 2023 GDP was around $884 billion, according to BEA data), sectors such as hospitality, retail, and education lagged. Critics argue Acton’s orders exacerbated long-term damage: prolonged school closures harmed student outcomes, and business restrictions drove some enterprises to relocate. Ramaswamy has tied this to Ohio’s failure to recover fully, positioning his administration to reverse it through deregulation and investment incentives.
Ohio’s business climate has improved—ranked No. 7 nationally and No. 1 in the Midwest in the 2026 Chief Executive CEO survey—but faces headwinds. The high-profile Intel semiconductor plant in New Albany (announced in 2022 with up to $20-100 billion promised) exemplifies stalled momentum: construction delays pushed first production from 2025/2026 to 2030-2031, with Intel investing $5+ billion by early 2026 but citing market and financial caution. Opponents blame pandemic-era policies and regulatory uncertainty; supporters note national chip shortages and the federal CHIPS Act. Regardless, such delays highlight the risk of capital flight if Ohio appears unstable.
Comparisons to neighboring states underscore the stakes. Indiana, a right-to-work state since 2012, has often outperformed Ohio in manufacturing retention and unemployment (recently ~3.3% vs. Ohio’s ~4.1-4.2%). Studies on right-to-work show mixed but generally positive effects on job growth in competitive sectors. Michigan (post-right-to-work repeal) and Pennsylvania (swing state with union influence) have seen volatile recoveries, with Michigan’s auto sector still grappling with post-COVID supply chains. Kentucky, under GOP leadership but with its own challenges (e.g., successor dynamics under former Gov. Beshear), attracts some investment but lags in high-tech draws. Ohio, lacking right-to-work status despite past attempts (e.g., failed 2011 SB5), relies on tax incentives and workforce development—but Acton’s era amplified perceptions of anti-business hostility. Post-pandemic GDP growth has been comparable across the region (Ohio ~2.1% in recent years), yet Ohio’s unemployment edged higher in some BLS snapshots, and narratives of a business exodus persist. Ramaswamy’s platform—aligning with a potential Trump administration—promises to lure dollars from Indiana, Michigan, and beyond by emphasizing economic viability over lockdowns.
Unions add another layer. Traditionally Democratic strongholds (teachers, public sector) have shifted toward Trump-era populism on trade and energy. Acton’s ties to labor risk alienating moderates if framed as favoring centralized mandates over job creation. Ramaswamy’s pro-worker, anti-regulation stance could peel independents.
Campaign Tactics, Polling Realities, and Broader Ohio Politics
Recent polls paint a competitive picture—RCP averages near even, with outliers like an early-2026 Emerson showing Acton +1 and Bowling Green/YouGov favoring Ramaswamy slightly. Yet intuition will hold: horse-race media and ad buyers inflate closeness for engagement. Ramaswamy’s primary sweep, Trump rallies, and Acton’s baggage (framed as “COVID queen” by the GOP) suggest momentum. Early attacks—scandals, investment critiques—have already been deployed, leaving Democrats vulnerable to “October surprise” fatigue. Elias-style legal maneuvers and Pepper’s opposition research risk overreach, mirroring past Democratic missteps in red-leaning Ohio.
Ohio’s political map favors Republicans in gubernatorial races—no Democrat has won since 2006. Trump carried the state handily in 2016, 2020, and 2024. Ramaswamy inherits this, plus Senate and House majorities for swift policy wins. Acton represents a “propped-up Biden figure”: big government, unions, and progressive holdouts hoping to stall MAGA momentum. But as unions court Trump and independents prioritize pocketbooks, her path narrows.
Outlook: Boots on the Ground and a Call to Action
The general election will hinge on turnout and independents. Ramaswamy’s personal appeal—honest, non-combative—contrasts with Acton’s defensive posture. As the monologue urges, do not take victory for granted: vote in November, rally behind the nominee. With Trump stumping and economic contrasts sharpening, Ramaswamy could pull away decisively. Ohio’s recovery from pandemic policies, Intel’s fate, and regional competition will define the narrative.
In sum, this race transcends personalities. It tests whether Ohio embraces pro-growth conservatism or reverts to centralized experimentation. Data favors the former; history and momentum reinforce it. As voters weigh track records, Ramaswamy’s vision aligns with a thriving Ohio, while Acton’s invites scrutiny of past costs. The coming months promise clarity—and opportunity, along with a lot of political drama. Amy Acton will have a hard time surviving the intensity that is headed her way.
Footnotes
1. AP projections and primary results, May 2026.
2. Ramaswamy’s victory speech and Acton’s coverage of the criticism.
3. BLS unemployment data (Feb/Mar 2026 snapshots).
4. BEA GDP by state reports.
5. Chief Executive 2026 Best States for Business survey.
6. Ballotpedia and NYT poll aggregates.
(Additional citations drawn from campaign filings, historical COVID orders via Ohio Dept. of Health archives, and economic impact studies.)
Rich Hoffman is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.
He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.
Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events.
For millions of Americans, the 2020 presidential election left an indelible mark—not just because of its outcome, but because of the questions that have lingered ever since. Joe Biden received over 81 million votes, a record at the time, yet four years later, Kamala Harris garnered roughly 75 million in a similar political landscape with population growth and comparable partisan divides. This drop of more than 6 million votes, combined with Donald Trump’s increase from 74 million to around 77 million, has fueled widespread skepticism. Many see it not as natural voter shifts, but as evidence that 2020’s totals were artificially inflated through lax rules, mail-in ballot chaos, and vulnerabilities in electronic systems—especially under the cover of COVID-19 policies that expanded unmonitored voting.
These concerns are not fringe theories whispered in corners; they have driven national policy debates, legal actions, and now federal interventions. In late January 2026, FBI agents executed a search warrant at Fulton County’s election facility in Georgia, seizing hundreds of boxes containing 2020 ballots, tabulator tapes, electronic images, and voter rolls.<sup>1</sup> Fulton County, the epicenter of Georgia’s 11,779-vote margin favoring Biden, has long been a focal point for allegations of irregularities—misinterpreted surveillance video at State Farm Arena, disputed absentee ballot handling, and chain-of-custody questions. County officials promptly challenged the seizure in federal court, seeking the return of the materials and the unsealing of the warrant affidavit, arguing that it constituted overreach.<sup>2</sup> Yet for those convinced of fraud, this move signals accountability finally arriving under a Trump-led Justice Department.
We’ll examine these claims in the context of historical developments, empirical comparisons, and current developments. I would argue that, while courts and audits in 2020 found no widespread fraud sufficient to overturn the results, the system’s vulnerabilities—loose voter eligibility verification, the absence of universal ID requirements in key states, and reliance on potentially manipulable technology—created opportunities for abuse. And the authorities didn’t find fraud because they either didn’t want to look, or they deliberately looked in the wrong place to hide their complicity in the radicalism that did not want to honor voters in a self-governing government. Genuine self-governance requires secure elections in which every vote is verifiable, and every citizen’s voice counts equally. Reforms such as the Safeguard American Voters Eligibility (SAVE) Act offer a practical path forward, ensuring that only eligible citizens participate without disenfranchising legitimate voters.
A Brief History of Voting Technology and Fraud Concerns
America’s voting systems have always balanced innovation with risk. Paper ballots gave way to mechanical lever machines in the late 1800s to reduce intimidation and speed counting. Optical scanners emerged in the 1960s, followed by direct-recording electronic (DRE) machines in the 1990s. The 2000 Florida recount debacle led to the Help America Vote Act (HAVA) of 2002, which pushed states toward more modern systems but also highlighted persistent issues: punch-card errors, hanging chads, and questions about machine accuracy.
By 2020, many jurisdictions used touchscreen DREs or ballot-marking devices with paper trails, while others relied on hand-marked paper ballots scanned optically. Critics point to shared origins with machines used in countries such as Venezuela and to concerns about the security of Dominion and ES&S systems. High-profile lawsuits against companies making fraud claims (e.g., Mike Lindell’s defamation losses) have chilled some discussion, but audits consistently show machines perform accurately when properly maintained and paper records are available for verification.<sup>3</sup> The evidence is there in most cases with the paper backup to match the vote count. However, this manual check often doesn’t occur, creating opportunities for discrepancies to affect results.
Fraud itself has historically been rare. The Heritage Foundation has tracked and documented cases since 1982, totaling approximately 1,500, which is insignificant relative to the billions of votes.<sup>4</sup> Yet rarity does not equal impossibility, especially in high-stakes, loosely regulated environments. The 2020 expansion of mail-in voting, drop boxes, and relaxed signature-matching requirements—often justified as a pandemic necessity—amplified risks in states without strict safeguards.
Fulton County in Focus: From 2020 Allegations to 2026 Federal Action
Georgia’s narrow 2020 margin made Fulton County a lightning rod. Biden’s considerable urban advantage there offset rural Trump’s strength statewide. Allegations included “suitcase” ballots retrieved from beneath tables (later explained as standard procedure), water main breaks that delayed counting, and discrepancies in absentee ballot processing. Multiple recounts, including a hand audit, confirmed results, and courts rejected challenges.<sup>5</sup>
Fast-forward to 2026: The FBI’s seizure of roughly 700 boxes has reignited debate. Agents sought physical ballots, scanner tapes, digital images, and voter rolls from 2020.<sup>6</sup> Body camera footage shows tense interactions, with county staff expressing confusion over the warrant.<sup>7</sup> Fulton leaders, including Chair Robb Pitts, received warnings of potential arrests and filed for return of materials, citing state sovereignty and lack of transparency.<sup>8</sup>
Proponents view this as evidence that emerging issues—chain-of-custody breaches, unauthorized votes, or tampering — could surface. Critics call it political retribution, noting Trump’s repeated claims and the administration’s push to “nationalize” elections in Democratic areas.<sup>9</sup> Regardless, the action underscores why many demand reforms: if doubts persist after years of scrutiny, prevention through stricter rules is essential.
Vote Total Discrepancies: What the Numbers Really Tell Us
The stark contrast between 2020 and 2024 Democratic performance is central to skepticism. Biden’s 81.3 million votes dwarfed Obama’s 2012 total (65.9 million) and Harris’s ~75 million. In states with loose rules—no voter ID, universal mail ballots, minimal verification—Democrat margins often aligned with these patterns.
Turnout in 2020 hit 66.6%, driven by pandemic expansions and polarization. By 2024, fatigue, reduced mail voting, and demographic shifts (e.g., Harris underperforming among nonwhite voters) explain much of the decline.<sup>10</sup> Yet the gap—over 6 million fewer Democrat votes despite population growth—raises legitimate questions about 2020 inflation.
Comparisons with prior elections indicate that Democrats gained ~15 million votes from Obama to Biden, then lost most of them back to Harris. If electronic flipping, non-citizen voting, or dead voters on the rolls contributed even modestly, the numbers could align more closely with a natural ~55-60 million Democratic base in clean elections. States with strict ID and in-person emphasis showed more stable patterns.
The SAVE Act: A Common-Sense Safeguard
Introduced as H.R. 22 in the 119th Congress, the SAVE Act requires documentary proof of citizenship (passport, birth certificate, naturalization papers) for federal voter registration, ending reliance on sworn statements.<sup>11</sup> The House passed it in April 2025; it remains stalled in the Senate amid opposition from groups like the League of Women Voters and Brennan Center, who argue it could disenfranchise millions lacking easy access to documents.<sup>12</sup>
Supporters counter that non-citizen voting, though rare, occurs in lax systems and that proof requirements mirror those for passport or employment verification. Recent efforts urge Senate action before the 2026 midterm elections.<sup>13</sup> For Ohio—already requiring non-strict photo ID—the Act could complement existing rules without significant disruption, ensuring federal elections reflect citizens only.
Voter ID and Security: Protecting Access While Closing Loopholes
Thirty-six states require some voter ID; 23 mandate strict photo ID. Ohio’s non-strict system permits alternatives such as utility bills. Evidence indicates that ID laws deter negligible fraud but can slightly suppress turnout among low-income or minority voters.<sup>14</sup> Free IDs, expanded provisional ballots, and affidavits mitigate this.
States without strict ID requirements (e.g., California) have not documented widespread fraud, yet critics argue that loose rules enable abuse. A balanced approach—universal ID with accommodations—enhances security without barriers.
Electronic Systems, Audits, and Accountability
Machines face hacking fears, but paper trails and post-election audits (risk-limiting or full) verify accuracy. Cases such as Tina Peters’ ruthless conviction for unauthorized access highlight the risks of not having proper security in all elections with federal consequences. To that point, all indications point to Arizona where Kari Lake should be the governor if election security had been properly utilized.<sup>15</sup> Robust audits, not bans, address concerns.
Conclusion: Toward a More Accountable Republic
The 2020 election exposed vulnerabilities that eroded trust. Courts dismissed widespread fraud claims, but anomalies and lax regulations raise doubts. The Fulton seizure may reveal more—or reaffirm prior findings—but prevention is preferable to reaction.
The SAVE Act, voter ID mandates, and improved audits offer solutions. Ohio legislators and federal counterparts can lead by prioritizing citizenship verification and transparency. Secure elections ensure the government reflects the people, not manipulation. Restoring faith requires action now—before doubts harden into division, which I would argue has already occurred. Stealing elections by any means is a serious crime and we need to understand who has done what, and what impact that has had on a free republic for which the people rule over themselves. And without secure elections, that just can’t happen. And it must happen. Which is why the SAVE Act is absolutely necessary.
Footnotes
1. CBS News, “Body camera footage captures confusion as FBI agents seize election records in Fulton County,” 2026.
2. PBS News, “Fulton County asks court to return 2020 election documents seized by the FBI,” Feb. 2026.
3. Various court rulings and audits (e.g., Georgia hand recount).
4. Heritage Foundation Election Fraud Database.
5. Georgia Secretary of State audits and court dismissals.
6. Reuters, “Georgia’s Fulton County challenges seizure of election records,” Feb. 2026.
7. GPB News, “Footage released of FBI search and seizure,” Feb. 2026.
8. The Guardian, “Fulton County leader says he was warned he faced arrest,” Feb. 2026.
9. Brennan Center analysis, Feb. 2026.
10. Election turnout data from U.S. Census and AP analyses.
The Butler County 2026 primary election is shaping up to be one of the most consequential political battles in recent memory. For years, local politics have simmered under the surface, but now, with Cindy Carpenter’s long tenure as commissioner under scrutiny, the stakes couldn’t be higher. This isn’t just another election—it’s a referendum on leadership, accountability, and the future direction of Butler County. And when it mattered most, how did Cindy Carpenter present herself? Well, she flipped off everyone in a wild, out-of-control tirade that could have easily been avoided, showing the world that what people say about her behind closed doors is actually true. When everyone was out of the room at the Level 27 apartment complex at Miami University, we saw on camera what Cindy Carpenter thinks of people who disagree with her. [1]
As the Journal-News reported, witnesses described the scene as ‘shocking and unbecoming of an elected official,’ noting that Carpenter was visibly angry and used gestures that ‘crossed the line of professionalism.’ [1] One resident quoted in the article said, ‘We expect leaders to solve problems, not escalate them.’ These words echo what many voters already feel: that Carpenter’s behavior reflects a deeper problem of temperament and judgment.
Cindy Carpenter has held her seat for a long time, and with that longevity comes a confident expectation of stability and integrity. Unfortunately, recent events have cast a long shadow over her reputation. For years, whispers of her being a ‘RINO’—Republican In Name Only—have circulated among grassroots conservatives. Those whispers turned into shouts last year when she was caught openly campaigning for a Democrat in Middletown. For a commissioner in a county that prides itself on conservative values, this was more than a lapse in judgment—it was a betrayal of trust. At the time, she was the endorsed Republican commissioner, and she showed tremendous disrespect for that endorsement. As one Journal-News editorial put it, ‘Carpenter’s actions raise serious questions about her loyalty to the party and her constituents.’ [2]
Cindy Carpenter, at her best
But if that weren’t enough, another controversy erupted that speaks volumes about character and temperament. A video surfaced from a security camera at an apartment complex where a family member of Carpenter—reported as her daughter by some, her granddaughter by others—was facing eviction for unpaid rent. Instead of handling the matter privately and with grace, Carpenter was caught on camera engaging in a heated argument and flipping off someone during the dispute. This isn’t the behavior of a seasoned leader; it’s the optics of chaos, entitlement, and poor judgment. When you’re an incumbent fighting to keep your seat, the last thing you want is to look like an overbearing parent abusing influence to protect a relative. [3]
Michael Ryan, one of Carpenter’s challengers, issued a press release shortly after the incident, stating: ‘The people of Butler County deserve leaders who act with dignity and respect, even in difficult situations. What we saw on that video does not reflect those values.’ [4] Ryan’s statement went further, pledging to ‘restore trust and transparency in county government’ and to ‘end the cycle of favoritism and dysfunction.’ These are not just campaign slogans—they are commitments grounded in a vision for better governance.
Ryan’s involvement in the Spooky Nook Sports Complex development showcased his ability to think big and deliver results. In his press release, he reminded voters of that success: ‘When others said it couldn’t be done, we brought stakeholders together and made it happen. That’s the kind of leadership Butler County needs.’ [4]
Contrast that with Roger Reynolds, another challenger in this race. While Reynolds may present himself as a viable alternative, his baggage is well-documented. From ethical questions to controversies that have dogged his career, Reynolds represents the kind of old-guard politics that Butler County needs to move beyond. Supporting Reynolds would be a step backward—a return to the same entrenched interests that have stifled progress for years. As Michael Moser commented in a recent interview, ‘We cannot afford to recycle the same problems under a different name.’ [5]
This primary isn’t just about personalities; it’s about the future of Butler County. Will voters choose a path of renewal and accountability, or will they cling to incumbency and compromise? Carpenter’s recent behavior suggests a leader out of touch with her constituents’ values and expectations. Ryan, on the other hand, embodies the principles of transparency, collaboration, and forward momentum.
Michael Ryan and his wife, Amanda. A fresh start without the baggage for Butler County
As we approach May 2026, the choice is very clear. Butler County deserves leadership that reflects its best qualities—not the worst impulses of entitlement and political expediency. Cindy Carpenter’s controversies aren’t just unfortunate—they’re disqualifying. Michael Ryan offers a better way forward, and for those who care about the integrity and prosperity of this community, the time to act is now. And this isn’t just an opportunity to talk about Michael Ryan, or to re-assess the Roger Reynolds case, but Cindy should have known better. The impaired judgment alone should be enough to eliminate her from the job now, without even waiting for the primary to be over. When you walk into an apartment complex and communicate with people who work with students at a college or university, and you end up turning the whole room against you, which is clearly the case when she finally did leave, which was seen on camera, it’s a lack of skill thing more than any other attribute. Whether or not Cindy Carpenter abused her authority, depending on who’s telling the story, what we did see was what she does when nobody is looking. Being in a public place and giving the finger to employees of a business in anger is irrational at best. We need people who build relationships, not those who can turn entire groups of people against them. Dealing with this apartment payment issue with cash in hand should have been easy, and for anybody who does business at a high level, she should have had much better command of the situation. But instead, she only confirmed what all her critics have said about her and showed why politicians can be so dangerous. On the one hand, they put on a happy face, but when they think no one is looking, they flip people off when they fail to convince them to listen to reason. A good negotiator never does something like this. They should be, at a high level of politics, skilled in negotiations. Because Cindy has been caught on camera doing really dumb things as a politician many times, I am excited to have someone like Michael Ryan running for a commissioner seat. When we talk about the need for fresh, new faces in government, it’s because of failures like Cindy Carpenter that we make the statement. And there is only one person to blame; this isn’t dirty politics or a gotcha to harm Cindy out of some sense of unfairness. She walked into this buzzsaw, willingly on her own accord. And she wasn’t even smart enough to be careful in a public place full of cameras. So when we talk about these offices and who should be in them, no matter who is voting, I think we can all agree, that we need someone in an important office that doesn’t give young people the finger at a very public apartment complex when trying to resolve a family members back payment on rent, all events that could have been handled, much, much, better.
References: [1] Journal-News, ‘Video Shows Cindy Carpenter in Heated Exchange at Apartment Complex,’ 2025. [2] Journal-News Editorial, ‘Carpenter’s Campaign Misstep Raises Questions,’ 2024. [3] Security Footage Report, Level 27 Apartments, Miami University, 2025. [4] Michael Ryan Campaign Press Release, ‘Restoring Trust in Butler County,’ 2025. [5] Interview with Michael Moser, Butler County GOP Leadership Forum, 2025.
The Overmanwarrior 