DON’T PLAY LIKE YOU’RE LOSING: Football Weather, a Bible in the Hand, and the Two-Point Swing That Can Still Hold the House

This is free advice. Nobody sent a twenty-five-hundred-dollar-an-hour invoice. I have been talking to people who live close to the pointed end of Republican strategy—the White House orbit, the Hill, the donor class that still thinks a memo is a movement—and I am putting the same thing on paper that I have been saying out loud. I do not know their internals. I know the look of a team that has started managing a loss before the fourth quarter. I have a long track record of calling the weather before the radar does. Take it or leave it.

Two months is a long time in American politics and a short time in a football season. The generic ballot is ugly. The president’s numbers are not what they were on the night the balloons fell. A lot of very serious people have decided the House is already gone and the Senate is a grind. Fine. Serious people have been wrong before.[1] The map is still a map of close races. Close races move on turnout, weather, and whether your own side can stand to look at itself in the mirror. That last item is the one Speaker Johnson keeps failing.[2]

Mike Johnson Is Talking Like a Man Preparing the Concession Speech

Mike Johnson has not done a really good job of projecting the one thing a thin majority cannot live without: the appearance of wanting the ball. He says the right sentences. He told NOTUS he would not even think about minority leader because “we’re going to win.” He told Dallas this is a pivotal moment and that the next fifty-odd days decide the republic.[3] Then the body language arrives. The schedule shrinks. The House books a quick September exit. The speaker warns audiences what Democrats will do if they take the gavel—impeachment is “not even the big concern,” he says; they will go after the family, the donors, the cabinet. That is not a two-minute drill. That is a man describing the visitor’s locker room.[4]

I am not asking Johnson to lie about the polls, which I don’t think are that bad; the election of 2026 will be all about engagement. I am asking him to stop sounding like a chaplain at a wake. The country can smell managed decline. Voters who already lean your way will stay home if they think the people with the gavel have already donated the furniture. Democrats do not need a wave if Republicans supply the shrug.

Johnson is a devout man. That is supposed to be an asset. Lately it reads as apology. He has spent too many years on the hook, line, and sinker of the progressive contamination that treats public Christianity as a zoning violation. Separation of church and state, as the slogan is now used, is not Madison. It is a muzzle. If you want to know how stupid the muzzle is, skip the seminar and walk three blocks in Southwest Washington.

Remember the Stretch Between the Election and January 20

Everybody who was paying attention remembers that little corridor of time after the 2024 election and before the inauguration. People were happy. Trump went to the fights. He brought people around. He made the transition look like a court and a carnival at the same time—which, if you understand American energy, is the correct mixture. He brought Speaker Johnson into that weather. He brought Elon Musk into that weather. The country got to watch alignment instead of autopsy.[5]

That is the template. Not a new platform. Not another reconciliation draft that dies in a five-vote conference. Presence. Trump should pull Johnson into the open air again and keep him there until the speaker’s shoulders come down. Bring the candidates. Put an arm around the people he picked and let the picture do the work the talking points cannot. Ken Paxton is one. There are others. The point is not a photo-op for the already converted. The point is to tell a tight district that the president still thinks the race is live.

Elon Does Not Need to Pray on Camera. He Needs to Be in the Room.

I say Elon Musk should be around this because I have a significant position in SpaceX stock and I feel better about where the thing is headed than I did when I first said I was in for the IPO. I was enthusiastic then. I am more enthusiastic now. That is not a ticker-tape prayer. That is a judgment about build-out, launch cadence, orbital compute, and the simple fact that the country that cedes the high ground will not remain the country that writes the rules.[6]

Elon does not need to hang around Trump and do the praying circuit. Leave the altar to the people who mean it. What he needs to do is refuse the role the press has written for him: court jester, wrecking ball, or exile. The midterms will be run, in part, as a referendum on whether American industry is allowed to remain impolite. SpaceX is impolite. Good. Bring that heat into the same frame as the speaker and the president and let the contrast with the Democratic freeze-and-regulate coalition explain itself.

Fox Already Has Your People. Football Season Has Everybody Else.

Doing another hit on Fox & Friends is not a strategy. Those viewers are already in the boat. They will vote if the weather is decent and the church van shows up. What you do not have, automatically, is the man who works first shift, drinks a beer on Saturday, and thinks politics is a smell he would rather not bring into the house. That man still goes to football games.

It is football season. You may not have a string of UFC cards to tour, but you have stadiums. You have tailgates. You have jumbotrons and mayors who will still pose for a picture if the president of the United States walks the sideline. Arena speeches work because they look like a country that is still alive. Mega rallies work for the same reason. Take Johnson. Take the candidates. Shake hands. Kiss the babies. Let the vice president hang around and do the work vice presidents are for. Do it in October, when the leaves turn and people remember they have neighbors.

The professional class will call this optics. Optics is what you call it when you have forgotten that human beings decide with their eyes first and their position papers later. A president in a stadium on a Saturday afternoon is a statement that the administration is not hiding in the Residence reading tracking memos. A speaker who looks like he wants to be there is a statement that the majority is not a rental.

The McDonald’s Test, or What DC Actually Sounds Like Before 10 a.m.

If you want to know where America is, skip the think-tank breakfast and go to the McDonald’s on the corner just down from the federal cluster in Southwest. Everybody who films in this town knows the neighborhood I mean. You are close to the Air and Space Museum. The American Indian museum is in the same walk. Congressional offices, the old Health and Human Services pile, the Department of Education’s gravity well—the whole faded government face of the city sits in a few blocks. Two blocks south of that McDonald’s is the Museum of the Bible.[7]

My wife and I have a ritual when we are in Washington. We park in a garage there, at a spot next to the elevator shaft at the bottom where the car fits as if the architect had us in mind. Ten feet to the elevator. The elevator dumps into a lobby that looks like a financial office. Two rights and you are in that McDonald’s. It is awkward in the way elevators are awkward, so somebody always talks. I like your hat. Thank you. Where are you headed?

I have stood in those elevators and at those tables and listened. “I work at Education.” “I am heading to one of the Smithsonian buildings.” “Congressional office.” The voice is flat. It is a job voice. Then, in a car of seven people, somebody says they are going to the Museum of the Bible, and the register changes. There is a little pop. You can see it. Not piety as performance. Pleasure. Anticipation. The same city that teaches its workforce to speak in acronyms still produces a human sound when the subject is Scripture.

I could have gone anywhere I wanted for my birthday in April. I told my wife I wanted a full day at the Museum of the Bible. We did the other DC things. I kept one day just for that museum. Sausage muffin, egg, orange juice or a Coke, about nine o’clock. The museum opens around ten. Then six or seven hours inside a building that does not apologize for the book that made the country possible. That joy is not a private hobby. It is a political fact. I sat there and watched people the way I watch shop floors and precincts. The ones walking toward the Bible were the ones who still had a pulse. The ones walking toward another government building looked like they were reporting for a sentence.

If You Cannot Unite Them on a Bill, Unite Them on a Book

I have been carrying a new Jonathan Edwards Study Bible and I am extremely pleased with it. I have been going through it like a man who has been waiting for a tool. Edwards understood something the modern party consultant has forgotten: joy is not the opposite of seriousness. Joy is the fuel. “The enjoyment of God,” he wrote, is the only happiness with which the soul can be satisfied. You do not have to sign the Westminster Confession to feel the political implication. A movement that cannot speak with pleasure about the source of its own moral language will lose to a movement that at least knows how to yell.[8] [9]

Republicans in the professional class are reluctant to do this because they swallowed, whole, the idea that the Constitution requires the public square to be a chapel with the crosses pried off. That is lunacy. The system was built Christian in the only sense that matters for a republic: it assumed a created order, a fallen citizen, a law above the state, and a people who could be trusted with liberty because they feared something higher than a committee.[10]

I love the Bible as a historical narrative. Those are not two different objects. There is an entry point at every degree of scholarship. Some people will come for the archaeology. Some will come for the cadence of the King James that still sits in the American ear whether they attend or not. Some will come because their grandmother did. You do not need a uniformity of dogma to get a uniformity of attention. Attention is the scarce commodity of a midterm.

So carry the book. Do not only produce it for a swearing-in and then lock it in a drawer. Talk about it. Do a short press availability that is not a culture-war trap and not a sermon. “This is the family Bible. This is a wonderful place. The country still knows what this is.” That is enough. The people you need do not require a systematic theology from the podium. They require permission to stop being embarrassed.

A Quiet Hour at the Museum Before the Ropes Open

I would go further. President Trump should walk across town—it is not far—and take a private tour of the Museum of the Bible before it opens to the public. Eight o’clock. They would open the building for him. Secret Service can lock a place like that down so it would be very safe. The access points are manageable. He can be through the history floors and the room with the Bibles laid out, pictures taken, and gone by nine-thirty, with the public none the wiser until the photos land. Visit the history-of-the-book exhibit while he is there. Stand in the room where the book is treated as an object of civilization rather than a punch line.

Then say the simple sentence: I love this museum. People who visit Washington often tell you it is their favorite stop, and they say it with that same pop in the voice I hear in the elevator. Put the president’s name next to that feeling. It is not phony if he means even half of it. Reminding people where he stands costs an hour and a motorcade. The return is not a sudden forty-state revival. The return is permission, again, for the people who already suspected they were allowed to believe this to act like it on a Tuesday in November.

Do Not Play Not to Lose

I have been saying this all along. Republicans who would not get behind the hard instruments—the same-day rules, the full use of a trifecta, the refusal to pre-negotiate the next Democratic revenge tour—did it because they believed Democrats always take power back, and that the smart play is to stay presentable so the other side will not pack the courts or torch the furniture. That is how you lose on purpose and call it statesmanship.

Democrats do not play that game. They play to take the referee. When they are out of power they yell, they play the victim, and they hope Republicans do not show up. When the rules of mail and curing and late counting favor them, they use the rules. I am not writing a brief for lawlessness. I am writing a brief against the peculiar Republican talent for bringing a rulebook to a street fight and then congratulating themselves for the bruises.

Go out there and win. If you cannot find a tax provision everyone will bleed for, you can still find a book almost everyone in your coalition will recognize. That is not a substitute for wages and borders and energy. It is the thing that makes people bother to vote for the wages and the borders and the energy in the first place.

The AI Debate Is a Strategy, Not a Concern

While we are talking about midterms, look at what is being built on the other side of the board. Democrats are trying to play the whole AI game. A lot of the people who run the large AI shops spent years working against President Trump. They are also busy playing games with each other over who owns the future. The issue is hot inside the Republican coalition for a reason: it is designed to be hot. Steve Bannon is set to appear at the same Washington “pro-human” AI gathering as Bernie Sanders. Populist right and socialist left, holding the same fear by different handles.[11]

For them the unifying note is jobs, dignity, the machine that will replace the man. Those are real human questions. I am not sneering at a machinist who wonders what a model trained on his craft will do to his shop. I am saying the political use of that fear is older than the transformer architecture.

They Ran This Play on Nuclear. They Will Run It on Compute.

Nuclear was always good for a healthy industrial society. Dense energy is how a free people stay warm without kneeling to a cartel or a planning board. Democrats of the anti-human strain used Three Mile Island—and every movie and textbook that turned a contained accident into a morality play—to discourage the independence that comes with the atom. They crippled an industry to suppress the growth of a capitalist nation and called it safety.[12]

Ohioans of a certain age do not need the lecture. We watched the same shot fired at FirstEnergy’s nuclear plants. Regulation and politics helped run a generation business onto the rocks. The subsidiary goes looking for a way to stay alive. Suddenly the company is corrupt, the Republicans who touched the file are dirty, and the moral of the story is that atoms were the original sin. The plants were a balance-sheet problem wrapped in a morality play. The morality play won the news cycle. The electrons still had to come from somewhere.[13]

AI is the new reactor. The doomsday register is the same. Pause. Ban superintelligence. Global coordination. Keep the models on a leash held by the people who already lost the last three arguments about growth. Trace a good portion of that propaganda and you will not end in a Vermont lecture hall. You will end in a strategic environment where China does not want America to embrace the thing that multiplies American labor. Beijing does not need to invent our anxiety. It only needs us to treat our own dynamism as a war crime.[14]

Barack Obama’s network does not have to send a memo titled “Split the GOP with AI” for the effect to be the effect. Put Republicans on their heels. Make the party of builders argue with the party of builders about whether building is allowed. In a midterm year, when turnout is already soft, that argument is not a seminar. It is a suppression tactic.

Low-turnout midterms reward whoever gets their people to the room. The AI fight, framed as apocalypse, keeps the Republican coalition in a family argument while the other side votes. That is why the biblical narrative is not a side quest. It is the offset. The communist register around AI—man as raw material, the future as a planning problem, the soul as an outdated user interface—cannot survive contact with a public that still thinks a human being is a creature and not a dataset. You do not beat a materialist panic with a better white paper. You beat it by reminding people what they are.[15]

The Tight Races Are Tight for a Reason

I look at the board and I do not see a wipeout that has already happened. I see a House that is still a handful of seats and a Senate that can hold even if a chair or two gets wobbly. Texas is the advertisement. Ken Paxton and James Talarico have been inside the margin of error for months. Some surveys now have Talarico a couple of points up. That is not destiny. That is a couple of points.[16]

A couple of points is a stadium visit. A couple of points is a president who looks like he is having a good time standing next to the man he wants in the seat. A couple of points is church-going women who decided the race was about more than a generic ballot average. A couple of points is the difference between Johnson keeping a gavel and Johnson becoming a trivia question about the last Republican speaker before the investigations.[17]

Fox will cover the rallies. That is not the point. The point is the pictures that leak into the places Fox does not run the morning show: the parking lot, the Sunday potluck, the group chat of the parents who have not voted since 2024 because they assumed the grown-ups had it. High engagement is not a mystery cult. It is a function of whether people think their side is alive.

Two Months. Not a Miracle. A Decision.

I think the House is winnable. I think the Senate can hold. I think some of these close races are close enough that a little public relations in football weather would move them. I think you can swing two or three points of engagement—not by converting the faculty lounge, but by giving your own people a reason to stand in a line. Democrats cannot pull this particular lever. They can lecture. They can threaten. They can mail. They cannot make the Museum of the Bible crowd feel seen, because they have spent a generation telling that crowd to sit down.

Do not act like you are losing. Act like you have fifty days and a country that still knows a hymn when it hears one. Bring Johnson into the light until he stops narrating the minority. Bring Musk into the frame as the man who builds. Bring Paxton and the rest into the presidential weather. Carry the book. Walk the museum. Go to the games. Talk like the majority is a thing you intend to keep.

If you ever read The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, you already know the rule I am applying. You do not win a gunfight by announcing your readiness to lose the street. You win it by being the man who came to keep the street. In the age of disclosure you must understand the politics of heaven. The earthly contest is downstream of what a people think a human being is for. The Bible is not a prop in that argument. It is the argument, bound in leather, still doing what it has always done when somebody is willing to carry it into the weather.[18]

That is the advice. I would like to see Republicans win. From my map, and from the neighborhood I actually walk when I am in that city, it is very winnable—if they will stop rehearsing the loss and go collect the joy that is already standing in line for a sausage muffin and a museum ticket.

Notes:

Scripture, Theology, and American Religion

The Holy Bible. New King James Version. The Jonathan Edwards Study Bible. Edited by Matthew Everhard. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2026.

Edwards, Jonathan. “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.” Enfield, Connecticut, July 8, 1741.

Edwards, Jonathan. A Treatise Concerning Religious Affections. 1746.

Edwards, Jonathan. The Works of Jonathan Edwards. New Haven: Yale University Press, various volumes.

Noll, Mark A. America’s God: From Jonathan Edwards to Abraham Lincoln. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002.

Marsden, George M. Jonathan Edwards: A Life. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003.

Kidd, Thomas S. The Great Awakening: The Roots of Evangelical Christianity in Colonial America. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2007.

Heiser, Michael S. The Unseen Realm: Recovering the Supernatural World of the Bible. Bellingham, WA: Lexham Press, 2015.

Jefferson, Thomas. Letter to the Danbury Baptist Association. January 1, 1802.

Dreisbach, Daniel L. Thomas Jefferson and the Wall of Separation between Church and State. New York: NYU Press, 2002.

Museum of the Bible. “Plan Your Visit” and “Frequently Asked Questions for Press.” museumofthebible.org.

Politics, Congress, and the 2026 Midterms

RealClearPolling. “Latest Polls 2026, 2028.” Accessed September 14, 2026.

USPollingData. “US Polling Data 2026 — Midterms, Generic Ballot & Trump Approval.” Updated September 14, 2026.

Cornell, Fred. “US Senate Forecast September 2026.” fredcornell.com. Model run September 14, 2026.

Newsweek. “Democrats’ chances of flipping the Senate with 50 days to midterms—Polls.” September 14, 2026.

New York Times. “Senate Polls 2026: See the Latest Midterm Polls.” Updated September 10, 2026.

New York Times. “Promising Much to Many, Johnson Loses His Grip on the House.” July 1, 2026.

NOTUS. “Johnson’s Political Future May Hinge on Republicans Exceeding Midterm Expectations.” August 24, 2026.

Newsweek. “Mike Johnson Warns Impeachment Not ‘The Big Concern’ if Dems Win Midterms.” June 26, 2026.

CNN. “Johnson gambles on ambitious summer agenda as GOP anxiety rises ahead of midterms.” July 13, 2026.

Just the News. “Mike Johnson says 2026 marks a ‘pivotal moment’ in American history.” September 10, 2026.

Roll Call. “House plans quick September exit.” September 3, 2026.

Denver Gazette. “The 21 seats Mike Johnson says will decide the House majority.” September 2026.

NBC News / Meet the Press. Interview with Speaker Mike Johnson. September 13, 2026.

USA Today. “Talarico ahead of Paxton in Texas Senate race as older voters shift lead.” September 14, 2026.

The Hill. “James Talarico, Ken Paxton tied at 47 percent in Texas Senate race: Poll.” June 30, 2026.

Texas Politics Project / University of Texas. Statewide survey releases, spring–summer 2026.

NPR. “With 99 days until midterm elections, here’s where things stand.” July 27, 2026.

Campbell, Angus. “Surge and Decline: A Study of Electoral Change.” Public Opinion Quarterly 24, no. 3 (1960).

Artificial Intelligence, Energy, and Industrial Policy

New York Times. “From Bernie Sanders to Steve Bannon, Political Figures Sound Alarms on A.I.” September 14, 2026.

Axios. “Scoop: Coxon, Bernie and Bannon unite for ‘pro-human’ AI.” September 14, 2026.

Reuters. “US Senator Sanders and podcaster Bannon, longtime foes, to urge AI restrictions.” September 14, 2026.

The Hill. “Bernie Sanders and Steve Bannon join forces to advocate for AI regulation.” September 14, 2026.

Washington Examiner. “Sanders, Bannon, and former Anthropic staffer join forces in AI regulation push.” September 14, 2026.

Future of Life Institute. “The Pro-Human AI Declaration” and “Pro-Human Assembly” program notes. September 2026.

U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission. Historical accounts of the Three Mile Island Unit 2 accident, March 28, 1979.

Federal Register. Materials related to the Crane Clean Energy Center / former Three Mile Island Unit 1 restart docket. 2026.

Ferrise, Adam. “Ex-regulator: FirstEnergy nearly tanked credit as nuke plants drained finances.” Cleveland.com, February 4, 2026.

Utility Dive. “Ohio PUC orders FirstEnergy utilities to pay $250.7M over HB 6 bribery scandal.” November 20, 2025.

U.S. District Court, Southern District of Ohio. Civil filings summarizing FirstEnergy, House Bill 6, and the nuclear-plant bailout structure.

Reuters. “Musk’s SpaceX prices record $75 billion IPO at $135 a share.” June 11, 2026.

New York Times. “SpaceX Stock Rises in Largest IPO Ever.” June 12, 2026.

Wikipedia. “Initial public offering of SpaceX.” Accessed September 2026.

The Author’s Shelf and Related Works

Hoffman, Rich. The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business: A Skeleton Key to Western Civilization. Liberty Hill Publishing, 2021.

Hoffman, Rich. The Symposium of Justice. iUniverse, 2004.

Hoffman, Rich. Tail of the Dragon.

Hoffman, Rich. The Politics of Heaven. Forthcoming.

Hoffman, Rich. The Overmanwarrior (blog). overmanwarrior.wordpress.com and richhoffmanbooks.com.

Nietzsche, Friedrich. Thus Spoke Zarathustra. 1883–1885. For the Overman frame the author has long adapted, not baptized.

Farah, Dan, dir. The Age of Disclosure. Documentary, 2026.

Author’s note.

This essay is strategic commentary offered in a private and public voice I have used for years. It is not a paid consulting product, not an official statement of any campaign, and not investment advice. SpaceX is a publicly traded company as of June 2026; readers should treat every market sentence here as the opinion of a shareholder who has already shown his cards.

Footnotes

[1] Generic congressional ballot averages in mid-September 2026 have generally shown Democrats ahead by roughly five to eight points depending on the pollster. Rasmussen Reports, September 14, 2026, found Democrats 47 percent and Republicans 42 percent. CBS News, September 13, 2026, found Democrats 54 percent and Republicans 46 percent. Aggregators such as USPollingData placed the generic ballot near D+6.9 as of September 14, 2026.

[2] House and Senate seat counts as commonly reported in September 2026 put Republicans near 222–213 in the House and 53–47 in the Senate, meaning Democrats needed a modest net pickup for the House gavel and a larger four-seat swing for Senate control. See USPollingData, “US Polling Data 2026,” updated September 14, 2026; Newsweek, “Democrats’ chances of flipping the Senate with 50 days to midterms,” September 14, 2026.

[3] Speaker Mike Johnson has publicly insisted Republicans will keep the House. See NOTUS, “Johnson’s Political Future May Hinge on Republicans Exceeding Midterm Expectations,” August 24, 2026. The same coverage notes that Johnson’s future as speaker is widely understood to be tied to the majority. Separate reporting described caucus frustration and a sense of a thinning grip. New York Times, “Promising Much to Many, Johnson Loses His Grip on the House,” July 1, 2026.

[4] Johnson told a Dallas audience that the next fifty-three days would “determine the fate of the republic.” Just the News, September 10, 2026. He has also spoken of twenty-one toss-up seats as decisive. Denver Gazette / Colorado Politics, September 2026.

[5] On the transition period after the 2024 election and before the January 20, 2025 inauguration, the public record is thick with high-visibility events, cabinet theater, and the brief alignment of Trump, congressional Republicans, and Elon Musk around a governing project. The point here is political memory, not a claim that every meeting was a prayer circle.

[6] SpaceX priced its IPO at $135 a share on June 11, 2026, raising on the order of $75 billion and valuing the company near $1.77 trillion at pricing, with a first-day close that pushed the market capitalization higher. Reuters, “Musk’s SpaceX prices record $75 billion IPO at $135 a share,” June 11–12, 2026; New York Times, June 12, 2026. Subsequent trading was volatile. This essay’s enthusiasm is the author’s investment thesis and political judgment, not investment advice.

[7] Museum of the Bible, 400 Fourth Street SW, Washington, D.C., opened November 17, 2017, three blocks from the U.S. Capitol. Museum of the Bible, “Frequently Asked Questions for Press.” A McDonald’s sits a short walk from the museum—Yelp lists one about 0.08 miles away—on the southwest federal corridor near Federal Center SW Metro, the National Air and Space Museum, and the National Museum of the American Indian.

[8] The Jonathan Edwards Study Bible (NKJV), edited by Matthew Everhard and published by Thomas Nelson, was released in 2026. Thomas Nelson Bibles product page; Christianbook.com listing for NKJV The Jonathan Edwards Study Bible.

[9] Jonathan Edwards, “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God” (1741) and the broader First Great Awakening are the American precedent for treating religious revival as a public, not merely private, event. Edwards’s own emphasis on joy in God is the stated editorial theme of the 2026 study Bible.

[10] On church and state, the relevant constitutional text is the First Amendment’s prohibition on an establishment of religion and its protection of the free exercise of religion. The modern slogan of a “wall of separation” is a later political gloss, most famously associated with Jefferson’s 1802 letter to the Danbury Baptists, not a phrase in the Constitution itself.

[11] The Future of Life Institute’s “Pro-Human Assembly” in Washington, announced for September 15, 2026, listed Senator Bernie Sanders and Steve Bannon among speakers, along with labor leaders and members of both parties. They were not scheduled to share a single stage. New York Times, September 14, 2026; Axios, September 14, 2026; Reuters, September 14, 2026.

[12] Three Mile Island Unit 2 suffered a partial meltdown on March 28, 1979. The accident produced no immediate deaths but became the central public symbol of anti-nuclear politics in the United States and helped freeze a generation of reactor construction. See NRC historical summaries of TMI-2.

[13] FirstEnergy’s Ohio nuclear plants, Davis-Besse and Perry, became the center of a financial and political crisis that included the bankruptcy of the generation subsidiary, House Bill 6, and later criminal and regulatory proceedings. Cleveland.com, February 4, 2026; Utility Dive, November 20, 2025; related federal court filings summarizing the HB 6 bailout structure.

[14] On AI industrial policy and Chinese competition, see the public record of export controls, semiconductor policy, and repeated U.S. government warnings that Beijing treats frontier compute as a strategic resource. The causal claim that every domestic “pause AI” campaign is a Chinese information operation is the author’s inference, not a documented indictment.

[15] Midterm electorates are typically older, more partisan, and lower-turnout than presidential electorates. The “surge and decline” literature from Angus Campbell onward remains the basic framework. Small shifts in evangelical and conservative Protestant turnout have been decisive in multiple close cycles since 2004.

[16] Recent Texas Senate polling has been tight. An AARP survey conducted August 30–September 1, 2026, and reported September 14, showed James Talarico at 48 percent and Ken Paxton at 44 percent among likely voters. Earlier NYT/Siena work in late June had them tied at 47 percent. USA Today, September 14, 2026; The Hill, June 30, 2026.

[17] President Trump’s job approval in mid-September 2026 varied by pollster, with several national surveys clustering in the high thirties to mid-forties approve and a clear plurality disapprove. Rasmussen, September 14, 2026: 45 approve / 54 disapprove. Morning Consult, same window: 42 / 56. CBS News, September 13: 39 / 61.

[18] Rich Hoffman, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business: A Skeleton Key to Western Civilization (Liberty Hill Publishing, 2021). The forthcoming Politics of Heaven develops the same author’s argument that earthly power contests are unintelligible without the older grammar of heaven, will, and moral order.

Rich Hoffman

More about me

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

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

Rich Hoffman is an 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.

The Moon-Eyed People: The Real Indigenous People: How the Cherokee’s Own Story Breaks the Stolen-Land Timeline

I am not trying to mess everybody up. I am trying to ask a question that the indigenous-people argument cannot survive if you let it breathe.

How do you decide that somebody is indigenous to an area? Do you draw the line at 1500 and call whoever is standing there when Columbus arrives the eternal landlord? What about everyone who was there before that tribe? What about the people that tribe says it ran off?

That is the academic question. The Cherokee of the southern Appalachians, through the story that reached print and through the story I have heard with my own ears in the Smoky Mountain country, say they were not the first people on that ground. They say a people were already there. They call them moon-eyed. They say they could not live with them. They say they drove them out. Then later the United States removed the Cherokee west, and the same word — indigenous — is used as if the Cherokee had been the beginning of the clock.

If the Cherokee took the land from someone, the Cherokee, in that hour, were not indigenous in the way the pamphlet uses the word. They were the latest people on the ridge. The moon-eyed people, if the story is even half a memory, would be the prior claim. So I want to know why we freeze the frame at the Cherokee and call that history, and why we treat Andrew Jackson as the original sinner of the mountains while treating the Cherokee expulsion of the earlier people as folklore too thin to count.

I used to love going down to the Cherokee country south of Gatlinburg. The museum. The dances. The ceremonies. I still like that culture. I am not here to rob a living nation of its art. I am here because I have always had the same question sitting in the back of my mind while the drums were going: if these people tell you they displaced somebody, why is that chapter a tourist shrug and the next chapter a moral law?

Who Were the Moon-Eyed People?

The moon-eyed people of Appalachia are described as small, pale, often bearded, with eyes that could not bear the day. They lived in caves and came out at night. They were already in the mountains when the Cherokee arrived. In the version that stuck, the last fight came under a full moon, when the light that should have helped them ruined them, and the Cherokee drove them out for good.[1]

That is not a Columbus story. That is not a settler pamphlet about noble savages. The first printed English version is 1797, Benjamin Smith Barton, who said he had it from a man connected to the Cherokee: when the Cherokee first came into the country they now inhabit, they found it possessed by certain moon-eyed people who could not see in the daytime, and they expelled them.[2] John Haywood picked it up in Tennessee. James Mooney put related material in the great Cherokee folklore collection. A marker at Fort Mountain in Georgia still tells visitors that a people who could not see in certain phases of the moon were annihilated, and that some believe they built the wall on the ridge.[3]

I have heard the short version from people who work the mountain tourist circuit and from Cherokee performers who will say, if you ask, that those people used to be here and that they got rid of them. That is not a controlled oral-history sample. When a people keep a story that makes them the invaders, they are not doing themselves a public-relations favor. Most nations bury that chapter. The Cherokee did not bury it well enough to keep it out of Barton, Haywood, the park signs, or the talk around Gatlinburg.

Commentary — what the paper trail actually is. The cautious version is real and should be said out loud. The highly specific package — small, white, bearded, giant light-sensitive eyes, cave-only, full-moon battle — is thickest in late-eighteenth- and nineteenth-century print, written down by Euro-American men. Living Cherokee tradition also has the Yunwi Tsunsdi, the Little People: small beings of the rocks and caves, sometimes helpers, sometimes dangerous if watched. Lynn King Lossiah’s Eastern Band collection treats them as spiritual neighbors more than as a lost white tribe.[4] Some modern writers fuse the two. Some Cherokee cultural workers say the pale-bearded, moon-eyed story is not central to tribal history. So the honest sentence is this: the Cherokee world contains stories of earlier and other people in the mountains. The 1797 CE English sentence is one such channel. It is not a DNA report. It is also not a story that Europeans needed to invent to feel better about President Jackson. It makes the Cherokee look like what every people in history have been: successors.

Fort Mountain, the Lost Sea, and a Livable Dark

Fort Mountain in north Georgia has a low, wandering stone wall that nobody understands. Dates guessed for it range from 500 CE to 1500 CE. Park lore has given it to the moon-eyed people, to the Creek, to a Welsh prince named Madoc who is supposed to have crossed the Atlantic in the twelfth century.[5] I do not need Madoc. Madoc is what happens when a vacuum meets a romance. I need the simpler fact: there is stone on a ridge, there is a story of earlier people, and there are later people who say they won.

Then there is the underground. I have driven from Cincinnati to Florida enough times to know the halfway logic of Sweetwater, Tennessee. The Lost Sea, in Craighead Caverns, is the largest underground lake in the United States. You walk a long sloping path into fifty-eight-degree rock and take a boat on water that has no published end. Cherokee artifacts have been found in those caverns. So has a Pleistocene jaguar. The place is now a tourist dock. It was a world before that.[6]

A people who hated daylight and needed water, fish, cool air, and a door you could defend would not have to invent a habitat. The Appalachians are a limestone country. Caves are not a metaphor there. They are inventory. If you spent generations in that dark, your eyes would not be the eyes of a ridge farmer. Cave animals lose pigment and rewrite their sight because the sun stops paying them. I am not saying the moon-eyed people were salamanders. I am saying the description is not a gnome from a lawn catalog. It is what a human population might look like if the mountain taught it a different shift.

I know how this sounds—spilled milk. Someone cleans the floor, and in the morning you only notice the carton is light. That is the archaeological problem of a people who lived in holes and lost. The absence of a labeled skeleton is not proof that they were a symbol. It is proof we have not been paying for the kind of cave work that would settle it.

The Statue in Murphy and the Eyes at Three Rivers

In Murphy, North Carolina, at the Cherokee County Historical Museum, there is a strange stone. People point to a sculpture of two flat-faced figures with oversized crescent eyes and say, “There.” I have stood in that county’s history and felt the same jolt. It does not look like the museum-brochure Indian. Whether that particular piece is a portrait of the moon-eyed people is unproven. The museum’s public landscape also holds Nuya Saligugi, the soapstone turtle pulled out of a quarry on the Nottely, which is a different object and a different claim.[7] I mention both because the mountains keep coughing up faces that do not fit the costume.

Then you go west. I have been to Three Rivers in New Mexico. More than twenty thousand petroglyphs on a basalt ridge, Jornada Mogollon work, roughly from the early centuries into the 1400s. Masks. Goggle eyes. Almond eyes. Tablita headdresses. Figures that look at you like lamps.[8] Most southwestern archaeologists will tell you those are gods, rain-beings, Tlaloc-cousins, ceremonial masks — not a census of pale cave-dwellers from Georgia.

I am not going to pretend a thousand miles of dry country is a sidewalk. I am also not going to accept the lazy rule that two similar eyes cannot be related because a textbook put them in different chapters. People moved. Copper moved. Obsidian moved. Ideas move faster than bones. If a people were driven out of the Smokies, the next habitable dark and the next carved rock need not be in the next county. The Three Rivers eyes may be spirits. They may be masks. They may be a memory of faces that bothered everybody who met them. I have not seen a laboratory close that file. I have seen a habit of closing it with a tone.

Commentary — pattern is not proof, and proof is not a grant narrative. Big-eyed figures show up in the Amazon, in Mesoamerica, in Japan, in modern cryptid talk from Loveland, Ohio, on down. That pattern is real. It does not, by itself, make the moon-eyed people a separate biological species or “aliens.” Psychedelic vision, spirit-world encounter, mask tradition, and ordinary human portraiture can all produce a staring eye. What I will not do is use distance as a veto. Distance is a research problem. The political use of “indigenous” treats distance as a wall so that Appalachia and New Mexico cannot talk to each other, and so that 9000-year-old copper in Superior cannot talk to 8000-year-old burials in Florida. That wall is convenient. It is not science.

Windover, Superior, and the Clock That Does Not Start in 1492

We already know the continent was busy long before the tribes that met the English. The Windover people of Florida buried their dead in a pond seven to eight thousand years ago — brain tissue, fiber, a last meal still readable.[9] The Old Copper Complex around Lake Superior was hammering native copper as early as the ninth millennium before the present, with mining signatures argued even earlier. That metal moved.[10] Paleoindian presence goes deeper still.

So when someone says “indigenous people of North America” and means the nations of 1500, they are not doing archaeology. They are choosing a photograph. The moon-eyed story, even at its thinnest, is a local version of the same problem. There were people before the people we memorialized. The Cherokee say so about the Smokies. The dirt says so about Florida and the Keweenaw. The political argument needs those earlier people to stay fog, because fog cannot file a claim against the claim.

If we dug the caves with the same money we spend explaining why we must not dig, we would know more. I want archaeologists rich. I want them in campers only if they like campers. I want them paid like the story they are sitting on is worth a civilization’s attention. A profession that has to please a grant office will find what the grant office can stand. That is not a conspiracy in a cloak. That is how payroll works.

Why Jackson Is the Villain and the Earlier Removal Is a Campfire

Trail of Tears was terrible. I am not going to sand that down. Jackson signed a removal. People died on the road west. The Cherokee have a right to that grief, and the United States has a duty not to lie about it.[11]

I also like Andrew Jackson more than the people who run the tone of American finance like him. He went after the Bank. He thought a private money power sitting on the republic was a problem. Every summer, the same class of people gathers in Jackson Hole and manages not to notice the joke. They will tell you Jackson was a brute. They will not tell you that a president who breaks the bank is the kind of executive they do not want to see repeated. They are wary of Trump for the same reason as a cousin. Control of the executive is control of the weather around money.[12]

Watch how the two stories are weighted. Cherokee removal by the United States: sacred text, museum wing, school unit, moral veto on the founding. Cherokee removal of the moon-eyed people: cute legend, maybe Barton made it up, no bones so no crime. One removal is allowed to organize a nation’s shame. The other is not allowed to organize a question. That is not a difference in evidence quality sufficient to explain the difference in volume. That is a difference in usefulness.

I have a friend who thinks of himself as a red-white-and-blue, gun-owning, Republican-voting man. In the garage there is a Don’t Tread on Me. On the flagpole in the yard there is only the one flag he thinks the neighborhood can bear. He does not want the trouble. He likes his paycheck. Human resources and compliance offices do not need a politburo when they have a mortgage. Marxism in the nineteenth-century sense is not required. Capture of the story is enough. Academia, in the indigenous-people version I am talking about, serves the cause of stability. It freezes a timeline that makes the creation of America the original theft and makes every prior theft a myth. Markets like a simple guilt. Simple guilt is predictable.

How Do You Decide Someone Is Indigenous?

Here is the test I want applied without flinching.

If indigenous means first on the ground, the Cherokee of the Smokies fail their own story. The moon-eyed people, or whoever those prior people were, would hold the word.

If indigenous means the culture that was here when Europeans arrived, then the word is a 1492 stamp. It is not a deep history. It is a diplomatic category invented for a later fight.

If indigenous means continuous living nation with language, law, and memory, the Cherokee qualify and so do many others — and the word still does not make them the beginning of the mountain.

If “indigenous” means a moral title against the United States, then we are not doing anthropology. We are doing a brief. Briefs pick their plaintiffs. They do not fund caves.

Oral tradition is not a lesser archive. Rock art is not a lesser archive. I will not sneer at “white guys writing it down” as if ink were a racial sin. Writing is how my civilization keeps a sentence still. The Cherokee kept sentences moving by mouth, by stone, by dance. Both methods lose things. Both methods keep things. The method that survived in English is the method I can footnote. That does not make it holier. It makes it checkable. When Barton writes that the Cherokee said they expelled a moon-eyed people, you can argue he distorted it. You cannot argue that the existence of a prior-people story is a European need. Plenty of Native nations have prior-people stories. The honest ones sound like history because history is replacement.

The Cherokee later walked a road they did not choose. That is true. It does not erase the road they chose for the people they found in the dark. Two things can be true. The indigenous-people argument, in its left-wing political form, cannot afford two things to be true. It needs a single innocent and a single thief. The mountain will not give it that.

What I Think Happened

I think the Cherokee encountered someone unusual in those mountains. The encounter was bad enough to keep. I think caves like the Lost Sea system show that, at night, people did not need magic to eat. I think some of the staring faces in American rock are spirits, and some may be memories of faces. I think pale skin and bad day-eyes could be isolation, cave life, albinism, an early Atlantic crossing we have not proved, or a story that picked up European furniture as it passed through Barton and Haywood. I do not know which. I will not pretend I do.

I do know this. The Windover Dead and the Superior miners are not legends. They shatter any sentence that starts the indigenous clock at the tribes of contact. The moon-eyed story is the Appalachian version of that shatter, whether the people were a hidden band, a Little People tradition later dressed in English adjectives, or a real population whose bones are still in the limestone. The designation “indigenous” is being applied to serve a political and financial peace, not to record the stack of peoples who actually stood on the ridge.

That is why I say the moon-eyed people — or the unnamed prior people for whom they stand — are the indigenous question the Smokies cannot close. The Cherokee said they were there, and because the continent’s deeper archaeology says somebody always was.

NOTES

[1] Standard elements of the Appalachian moon-eyed story as circulated in Barton (1797), later Tennessee and Georgia antiquarian writing, Fort Mountain park interpretation, and popular retellings: prior occupation, light-sensitive eyes, night activity, expulsion by the Cherokee, sometimes under a bright moon.

[2] Benjamin Smith Barton, New Views of the Origin of the Tribes and Nations of America (Philadelphia, 1797), reporting via Col. Leonard Marbury that “the Cheerake tell us, that when they first arrived in the country which they inhabit, they found it possessed by certain ‘moon-eyed-people,’ who could not see in the day-time. These wretches they expelled.”

[3] John Haywood, The Natural and Aboriginal History of Tennessee (Nashville, 1823); James Mooney, Myths of the Cherokee (Washington: Bureau of American Ethnology, 1900); Georgia State Parks marker text at Fort Mountain State Park, Chatsworth, Georgia, on the stone wall and moon-eyed / Creek traditions.

[4] Lynn King Lossiah, Secrets and Mysteries of the Cherokee Little People (1998); discussion distinguishing Yunwi Tsunsdi from the pale-bearded 1797 type in recent public-history treatments, including Atlas Obscura (2024) and Appalachian Historian (2025).

[5] Fort Mountain wall: locally attributed in various decades to moon-eyed builders, Creek action, or Madoc of Wales. Archaeological authorship remains unassigned. Madoc material enters through later American antiquarianism and a tradition associated with John Sevier’s report of a conversation with Oconostota; it is not a solution to the wall.

[6] The Lost Sea, Craighead Caverns, Sweetwater, Tennessee. Largest underground lake in the United States; visible surface about 4.5 acres, 140 feet below ground, further rooms mapped by divers. Cherokee artifacts and Pleistocene jaguar remains reported from the cavern system. Commercial tours currently.

[7] Cherokee County Historical Museum, Murphy, North Carolina. Popular identification of a flat-faced, oversized-eye sculpture with the moon-eyed people is traditional among visitors and some local writers; it is not a demonstrated archaeological attribution. Nuya Saligugi, the soapstone turtle from a Nottely River quarry, sits on the museum grounds as a separate ancient carving.

[8] Three Rivers Petroglyph Site, Otero County, New Mexico, Bureau of Land Management. More than 21,000 Jornada Mogollon petroglyphs, commonly dated across roughly 200–1450 CE (village occupation often cited ~500–1450). Large corpus of masks and goggle-eye figures; standard interpretation is ceremonial / rain-and-deity iconography with Mesoamerican echoes, not a portrait gallery of Appalachian cave-dwellers.

[9] Windover Archaeological Site, Brevard County, Florida. Early/Middle Archaic pond cemetery, roughly 8,000–7,000 years before present; 168 individuals; exceptional organic preservation. Glen H. Doran, ed., Windover (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2002).

[10] Old Copper Complex of the western Great Lakes. Dates on organic material in copper artifacts from about 8500 to 3580 cal BP; sediment work around Isle Royale and Keweenaw used to argue for earlier mining signatures. Pompeani et al., The Holocene (2015) and Radiocarbon (2021); Susan R. Martin, Wonderful Power (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1999).

[11] Indian Removal Act (1830); Cherokee removal of 1838–39; Fort Butler at Murphy among the North Carolina collection points. Theda Perdue and Michael D. Green, The Cherokee Nation and the Trail of Tears (New York: Viking, 2007).

[12] Jackson’s Bank War, 1832–36, against the Second Bank of the United States, is a separate historical file from removal policy. The claim that the financial memory of the Bank War explains the modern moral volume of the Trail of Tears is an inference about incentives, not a documented conspiracy by the Federal Reserve.

BIBLIOGRAPHY FOR FURTHER READING

Moon-eyed people, Fort Mountain, and Cherokee prior-people stories Barton, Benjamin Smith. New Views of the Origin of the Tribes and Nations of America. Philadelphia, 1797. Haywood, John. The Natural and Aboriginal History of Tennessee. Nashville, 1823. Mooney, James. Myths of the Cherokee. Washington: Bureau of American Ethnology, 1900. Lossiah, Lynn King. Secrets and Mysteries of the Cherokee Little People. 1998. Meares, Hadley. “The Moon-Eyed People of Appalachia.” Atlas Obscura, October 22, 2024. “The Moon-Eyed People and the Fort Mountain Wall.” Appalachian Historian, 2025. Georgia Department of Natural Resources. Fort Mountain State Park interpretive materials.

Cherokee removal and the mountain country. Perdue, Theda, and Michael D. Green. The Cherokee Nation and the Trail of Tears. New York: Viking, 2007. Wilkins, Thurman. Cherokee Tragedy. 2nd ed. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1986. Cherokee County Historical Museum, Murphy, North Carolina. Site histories of Fort Butler and local collections. “Nuya Saligugi (Stone Turtle), Murphy.” Commemorative Landscapes of North Carolina, DocSouth.

Caves and the Lost Sea: Accounts of Craighead Caverns and the Lost Sea, Sweetwater, Tennessee. U.S. largest underground lake; tour and geological summaries.

Three Rivers and the goggle-eye motif. Bureau of Land Management. Three Rivers Petroglyph Site, Otero County, New Mexico. Miller, Myles R. “Dating Perishables to Refine the Chronology of Shrine Cave Use, the Goggle-eye Motif…” Kiva 90 (2024). Schaafsma, Polly. Rock Art in New Mexico and related Jornada Mogollon studies. Duran, Meliha S., and Helen K. Crotty. Three Rivers documentation of masks and figures.

Deeper American clocks. Doran, Glen H., ed. Windover. Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2002. Martin, Susan R. Wonderful Power: The Story of Ancient Copper Working in the Lake Superior Basin. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1999. Pompeani, David P., et al. Papers on Isle Royale / Keweenaw copper chronology. The Holocene (2015); Radiocarbon (2021). Mann, Charles C. 1491. New York: Knopf, 2005.

Jackson, banks, and the fight over founding stories. Remini, Robert V. Andrew Jackson and the Bank War. New York: Norton, 1967. Wilentz, Sean. The Rise of American Democracy. New York: Norton, 2005. Hannah-Jones, Nikole, et al. “The 1619 Project.” The New York Times Magazine, August 18, 2019. McClay, Wilfred M. Land of Hope. New York: Encounter, 2019.

Forthcoming Hoffman, Rich. The Politics of Heaven. Forthcoming. Naming, order, and the hunger to fit in as contested ground — including the question of who is allowed to be called indigenous, and who pays when the clock is moved.

Rich Hoffman

More about me

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

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

Podcast Episode: Why the 2026 Midterm Polls Are Still Misleading: Ohio, Texas, Wisconsin, and the

Pip: Welcome to The Overmanwarrior, where the polls say it’s a toss-up and Rich Hoffman says the polls are lying to you — again.

Mara: Rich Hoffman has been tracking the 2026 midterm landscape closely, and the central argument running through his recent work is that the published numbers in Ohio, Texas, and Wisconsin are systematically understating Republican support.

Pip: Let’s start with why those poll averages keep getting it wrong, and what Wisconsin just proved about the problem.

Why the 2026 Midterm Polls Are Still Misleading

Mara: The core tension here is between what the published averages show and what the underlying partisan lean of these states actually suggests. Ohio went Republican by eleven points in 2024. Texas by fourteen. Yet the polling has both states looking like toss-ups.

Pip: And then Wisconsin handed everyone a very loud data point. The Democratic primary had Francesca Hong leading David Crowley by double digits — sometimes twenty points — right up until election night.

Mara: The post is direct about what happened: “One late survey had her at 44 percent to Crowley’s 22 percent.” Crowley won by less than half a percentage point. Hong received roughly what the final polls projected for her. The entire error was on Crowley’s side.

Pip: So the polls captured the progressive candidate’s floor perfectly and missed everyone else entirely. That’s not a rounding error.

Mara: The explanation offered is non-response bias. Conservative, rural, and Trump-aligned voters are less likely to answer a survey. The people who do respond skew toward Democrats and toward the more engaged, activist end of the electorate. Pollsters try to correct for this with demographic weighting, but the corrections are imperfect when the harder-to-reach population is systematically absent from the sample.

Pip: There’s also a commercial layer worth naming — close races sell advertising, and campaigns keep spending when the horse race looks competitive.

Mara: Right. The argument is that a seven- or eight-point underlying Republican advantage, published as a two-point race, generates more television and digital spending than a blowout narrative would. The incentive structure rewards the appearance of competitiveness.

Mara: In Ohio, the governor’s race between Vivek Ramaswamy and Amy Acton sits near a statistical tie in the aggregates, with Ramaswamy at 47.0 and Acton at 46.2 in one weighted average. The Senate special between Jon Husted and Sherrod Brown shows a similarly compressed margin, with individual polls bouncing between a small Husted lead and a small Brown lead. In Texas, the Emerson College survey from August ninth and tenth had Ken Paxton at 47 and James Talarico at 46 among likely voters.

Pip: Three states, same pattern. The post’s read is that if the election were held today, Republicans would win these races by closer to seven or eight points — not by a fraction.

Mara: And the Wisconsin primary is the evidence that the measurement problem hasn’t been solved. Late-deciding and previously undecided voters broke hard against the more radical option, and the models missed it entirely because those voters weren’t in the sample.

Pip: Election night geography in Ohio compounds the illusion — early returns from Columbus and urban centers can show a temporary Democratic lead before the suburban and rural counties report.

Mara: The post flags that directly: if rural voters don’t respond to the poll, they won’t be counted in the averages either. The same population that’s hard to reach by phone is the one that shows up late on election night and moves the final margin.

Pip: Which brings us to what actually happens when November arrives and those voters show up.

Mara: The through-line is a gap between measurement and reality — and the argument that Wisconsin made that gap visible in a way that’s hard to dismiss.

Pip: Watch what the hard-to-reach voters actually do when the ballots are counted. Not what the people who answer the phone say in August.

Rich Hoffman

More about me

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

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

There Are Millions of Graham Platners Taking Advantage of Liberal Women: They hide bad conduct in collectivist movements, such as communism

I heard the news the other day about this Graham Platner loser dropping out of the Maine Senate race, and it struck me the same way it probably struck many people who watched his video statement. Here was a guy who had just won the Democratic primary in a big way, an oysterman and Marine veteran out of Sullivan, Maine, who beat the establishment favorite and raised something like sixteen million dollars in contributions for a race against Susan Collins. Then a former girlfriend comes forward with a story about him forcing himself on her back in 2021 while drunk, ignoring her repeated objections, and the whole thing unravels in a matter of days. He denies it outright, calls the claims false and not real, but still suspends operations and files the paperwork to withdraw before the July 13 deadline so the party can scramble for a replacement by the 27th. In his eleven-minute video, he says it is not an admission of guilt, that some will think it is, but it most certainly is not, and that they are stepping aside not because of the allegations but because those in power are taking away the structures and access. For the movement to continue, it cannot be him.

That surface reaction, the astonishment and the quick takes, does not get deep enough. What happened here is not just another politician caught in a mess of his own making. It is a window into something larger about how certain kinds of people rise in the current version of Democrat politics, especially the populist left strain that has been building since Bernie Sanders and now carries elements of what some are calling a blue MAGA or communist-adjacent energy. Platner fits a pattern that keeps showing up. Multiple ex-girlfriends have described intimidating behavior, one saying he twisted her arm and locked her in a bedroom until she calmed down, another recounting comments about raping intruders to show dominance, and still another alleging he removed protection without consent during sex. There was the chest tattoo, a Totenkopf that he first claimed he did not understand, just a skull and crossbones from a drunken night with Marines in Croatia in 2007, but ex-girlfriends say he knew exactly what it was, bragged about it as a reminder that the United States was the evil bad guy overseas, and called it his Totenkopf. Then came the old Reddit posts where he described himself as a communist, said all cops are bastards, and made other remarks disparaging women, rural White Americans, and various groups. He had also been sending sexually explicit texts to other women during a rough patch in his marriage, something his wife publicly defended while saying they had a great marriage overall.

When the latest allegation hit from Jenny Racicot, the pressure from national and state Democrats mounted fast, and endorsements started peeling away. The party machinery that had lifted him after Governor Janet Mills stepped aside suddenly found the strings being pulled. Platner framed it as the establishment taking away his ability to run, his access to funding, and the mechanisms of power, even though he had beaten their preferred candidate in the primary. It sounded like an admission that the machine believed the story or at least believed it would stick and cost them the seat. Susan Collins, for all the complaints about her being a RINO Republican at best, suddenly looked like the safer bet in a race that matters for Senate control. The whole episode felt familiar, like watching the same movie the Republican side lived through a decade ago, only now it is the Democrats’ turn and the characters coming forward to fill the populist void on their side carry different baggage.

I have been saying for a long time that the Tea Party movement was never really about pulling the Republican Party back to some Chamber of Commerce comfort zone. It was the start of something bigger: MAGA, a demand for individual accountability and pushback against the permanent class that had captured both parties. The RINOs like McConnell, Romney, and Kasich types resisted Trump because they saw the threat to their control. They got pushed to the margins or had to adapt. What we are watching now on the Democrat side is their version of that purification, except the energy they are riding is collectivist at its core. Bernie Sanders gave it shape, and now you see candidates who talk about Medicare for All, banning billionaires from buying elections, ending wars forever, and strong unions, but the people who step forward to lead that charge often bring personal conduct that would get them run out of a more individual-responsibility culture. Platner is not an outlier in that environment. He is a predictable product of it.

The warm blanket of collectivism is what draws these characters and protects them for a while. When you tell people that the individual does not matter as much as the group, that judgment on personal behavior is bourgeois or oppressive, or whatever the current phrase is, you create space for someone with a Nazi tattoo, a history of rough treatment of women, and a trail of denied allegations to present himself as the champion of the working class. The cause becomes the excuse. Personal integrity gets subordinated to participation in the movement. If you are out there advocating for the collective good, for the masses against the oligarchs, then who cares if your private life shows a pattern of dominance, non-consent, or simple low character? The ideology says do not judge the individual; judge him by his alignment with the larger project. That is why you keep seeing the same types of behavior surface. They find a home where their dysfunction does not trigger the same social cost it would elsewhere.

I have watched enough of this over the years to know that sexual conduct is one of the clearest windows into character. People who live for self-pleasure, who chase validation without scrutiny, who treat others as means to an end, often gravitate toward environments that promise no judgment. Liberal politics has been that environment for decades for a certain kind of man. It is not that every liberal man is like this, but the ones who are find it easier to operate there. The women who get drawn in, the ones who are insecure and looking for collective cover, often end up in situations they later regret. They talk about wanting a strong, dominant presence, but they do not look for it on the side that might actually hold them accountable or demand standards. They stay inside the circle where the bad behavior can be reframed as a moment of weakness, or the fault of the system, or something the collective will forgive because the higher cause matters more. You see it in the wine-tasting crowds, the middle-aged women who start hitting on everyone once the drinks flow, the husbands standing off to the side, embarrassed, while their wives seek validation in a group setting. It is the same impulse that makes collectivism attractive to people who do not want their personal record examined too closely. Four or five abortions, repeated cheating, substance issues, whatever the story is, the group provides the blanket. Do not judge me for my individual choices; judge me for my participation in empowering the masses.

That is the danger with someone like Platner. On the surface, he looked like a fresh face, a veteran oysterman who could connect with working people in a state facing real economic pressures. Underneath was the same pattern that had shown up with other figures on that side of the aisle in recent years. The party did not know what to do when the stories kept coming, so they did what machines do: they pulled the plug once it became clear he could no longer win or raise money effectively. Platner’s response was to blame the structures rather than own the conduct that had turned the structures against him. That is also classic. It is never the individual’s fault in a collectivist frame. It is the machine, the establishment, the powers that be who are threatened by the movement.

The Republican side went through its own version of this a decade ago and is still sorting some of it. The difference is that the underlying philosophy on that side, even when imperfectly practiced, still holds room for individual responsibility and personal conduct as legitimate standards. Trump himself came out of a Playboy background in the eighties and nineties, lived that life openly, and the people who supported him later knew what they were getting. Melania came out of that same world, and they built something that has lasted. He did not hide behind a collective excuse when things got hard. He used his brand and his willingness to fight the permanent class to deliver on borders, energy, judges, and pushing back against the administrative state. The voters who backed him were not endorsing the 1990s lifestyle; they were endorsing the man who would impose limits on government power and restore some sense of sovereignty. That is why the purification worked on the right. It was messy, and it took years, but it produced a filter that still operates. People who cannot meet a basic standard of personal integrity or who treat politics as cover for their own appetites get exposed and sidelined eventually.

On the Democratic side, the filter is currently weaker because the ideology itself discourages individual judgment. The populist energy they are trying to harness is being filled by characters who would have been laughed out of a serious movement on the other side. You are going to see more Graham Platners before this cycle finishes. They will keep coming forward because the environment rewards the ability to perform the collectivist script, while their personal lives stay hidden or are excused. The more they double down on that direction, the more the low-character actors will find it a comfortable place to operate. Republicans already paid the price and did the work of cleaning house. Democrats are just starting their version, and it looks like it is going to be uglier because the philosophy they are embracing provides better cover for dysfunction.

That is why some of the dumbest outcomes in politics keep happening. People who would never tolerate certain behavior in their own families or businesses will defend it or excuse it when it comes from someone aligned with their political tribe. They will vote for policies that demonstrably harm the vulnerable, erode family formation, import incompatible cultures, and centralize power in unaccountable bureaucracies, all while insisting it is compassion or progress. On the surface, it looks like ideology run amok. Deeper, it looks like influence is amplifying the parts of human nature that are already broken.

Platner’s short rise and fall is just one more data point in that larger story. A man with a documented pattern of behavior that should have disqualified him from any position of trust found a lane in the current Democrat populist moment because the ideology provided cover and the machine needed a fresh face who could raise money and excite the base. When the cover began to fail, the machine cut him loose, and he blamed it. The cycle will repeat with the next candidate who can perform the script while carrying similar baggage. On the other side, the work of insisting on personal conduct and individual responsibility continues, however imperfectly. That insistence is not just political hygiene. It is resistance to the older pattern that wants humanity to dissolve responsibility into collectives so the real influences can operate without resistance.

Footnotes

1. National Review and multiple outlets reported Platner’s formal withdrawal letter and video statement on or around July 8–10, 2026, including his phrasing that the structures were being taken away and that it was not an admission of guilt.

2. Politico, CNN, and Washington Post reporting on Jenny Racicot’s allegations of forced sex in 2021, including details of the incident and her decision to come forward after Platner’s public denials of abusive behavior.

3. New York Times reporting on multiple ex-girlfriends describing physical intimidation, locked rooms, and other conduct, including Lyndsey Fifield’s accounts from 2013–2015.

4. New York Post and other reporting on the Totenkopf tattoo, ex-girlfriends stating Platner knew its meaning and used it as a reminder that the U.S. was the “evil bad guy overseas,” and his initial public claim that he did not understand the symbol.

5. Reporting on deleted Reddit posts from 2009–2021 in which Platner described himself as a communist and made various disparaging remarks; also coverage of sexually explicit texts sent during marital difficulties and the wife’s public defense.

6. Campaign finance totals and primary results showing Platner’s strong performance after Mills suspended her campaign and his subsequent withdrawal before the July 13, 2026 ballot deadline, with the Maine Democratic Party given until July 27 to name a replacement.

Bibliography for Further Reading

• The Book of Enoch, translated editions with commentary on the watchers, giants, and pre-flood rebellion.

• The Bible, particularly Genesis 6, Daniel on principalities and powers, Ephesians 6 on spiritual warfare, and Revelation on the ongoing conflict.

• Dead Sea Scrolls materials and related scholarship on Second Temple period views of heavenly politics and fallen entities.

• My own forthcoming book, The Politics of Heaven, explores these threads through history and current events.

• The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business and its developing sequel, which apply lessons of individual will, resilience, and integrity to institutional and political environments.

• Tail of the Dragon and The Symposium of Justice for narrative treatments of personal conduct, justice, and hidden power structures.

• Standard works on UFO disclosure and non-human intelligence, including historical government documents and researcher compilations on reported entity types and their interactions with human systems.

• Histories of the Tea Party movement and its evolution into broader populist realignments on the right, with attention to the internal purification process.

• Accounts of Bernie Sanders’ influence and the subsequent development of progressive populist currents on the

Rich Hoffman

More about me

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

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

The Way to Win for Republicans: Voters like people who fight back, not people who play nice

There is a growing controversy surrounding Amy Acton’s campaign as it attempts to distance itself from the COVID-era lockdown decisions that defined her tenure as Ohio’s health director. That strategy faces a fundamental problem: the record is well known, and voters remember. Governor Mike DeWine may have held executive authority, but Acton was not a passive figure—she was the central public voice and policy driver behind the state’s pandemic response. Day after day, she appeared before Ohioans, advocating aggressive mitigation measures, including shutdowns, mask requirements, and restrictions on gatherings. Those policies were not abstract recommendations; they were implemented in real time under the administration she helped guide.

Attempts to shift responsibility now—whether onto the governor or broader circumstances—risk undermining credibility. Acton was appointed to provide expert guidance, and by all observable accounts, DeWine relied heavily on that guidance. In that sense, the administration’s decisions were inseparable from her influence. The argument that these policies were solely political or that they emerged independently of her leadership is difficult to reconcile with the public record of her daily briefings, national media presence, and close alignment with federal health leadership at the time.

Politically, the sensitivity of this issue suggests vulnerability. The campaign’s effort to reframe or soften Acton’s role indicates awareness that the lockdown period remains deeply polarizing, particularly among voters who experienced economic disruption, job loss, or prolonged social restrictions. Efforts to draw comparisons between Acton and her opponents, including Vivek Ramaswamy, may reflect a broader defensive strategy—one intended to diffuse criticism rather than directly confront it. But such comparisons also risk backfiring if voters perceive them as evasive.

Another point of criticism centers on Acton’s departure from her role in 2020. She resigned amid mounting public pressure and protests, at a time when tensions around lockdown policies were intensifying. For critics, this moment reinforces a narrative of incomplete accountability—that she helped shape sweeping policies and then exited before the long-term consequences fully unfolded. Supporters may interpret her resignation differently, but politically, the timing continues to factor into how her leadership is judged in retrospect. She is very vulnerable to the lockdown issue. She dragged Jon Husted into her mess, as well as DeWine. They were too nice to say no to her. David Pepper and the national Democrats think Republicans won’t expose her because of complicity. Jon Husted will not take friendly fire if Republicans destroy Amy Acton with her lockdowns. It’s easy to defend. Her stupid policies were some of the dumbest things ever to be done in politics. And she completely owns it.

I was out in the driveway the other day, swapping tires on the RV after blowing a couple on our recent trip, sockets in hand, going back and forth to the garage. The rain was coming down, so I had WLW on for some background noise 12 to 3 on Saturday afternoon, right before the Cardinals game. I didn’t catch every word. I was in and out, focused on the work, but I heard enough. It was Kim Brew hosting, with Jim Renacci as a guest, discussing Ohio politics, John Husted, Vivek Ramaswamy, and the path forward for Republicans.

What I heard didn’t surprise me, but it reinforced exactly why I’ve distanced myself from that station over the years. They used to have more Tea Party energy, real conservative voices in the programming and talent. But as Clear Channel evolved into the corporate middle-road sports-and-news machine, the anti-Trump corporate types gained the upper hand. Cunningham hasn’t been outright hostile, but Scott Sloan and others have leaned that way for a long time. Even Tucker Carlson types shifted toward stronger support for Trump over the years, but the station’s overall direction felt like it was cracking down on anything too disruptive to the ad-revenue model. I usually keep a radio on in the garage while I’m working on projects around the house—cars, the RV, whatever needs fixing. I catch snippets, but I don’t live by them. That Saturday was no different.

They were discussing campaigns, and the guest was pushing the idea that candidates like Vivek and Jon need to distance themselves from Trump because he’s “baggage.” That was one of the dumbest pieces of advice I’ve heard in years. I’ve seen this game up close. I came out in favor of Jim Renacci in his races. I told him, straight after a Miami University event where he debated Sherrod Brown, that you left too much on the table. You were too nice. You didn’t hit hard enough on the things that matter—attack, attack, attack. That’s how you give voters something to show up for on Election Day. Not nice-guy politics. Voters don’t reward playing defense or hoping for fair coverage. They reward fighters.

I remember sitting down for lunch with Bernie Moreno during his campaign. Smart young guy, full of energy. First question out of his mouth: “What do you think about Sherrod Brown?” I told him the truth. Bernie listened better than some. Trump endorsed him even from political exile at one point, and Bernie won. That’s the model. Trump showed the country you don’t win by playing the corporate media game, spending millions on traditional ad slots, and hoping the gatekeepers treat you fairly. He built his own platform, dominated podcasts, went directly to the people on YouTube, Rumble, X—free or low-cost reach that bypasses the old gatekeepers.

That’s exactly what I heard critiqued on WLW that day. The narrative was that Republicans are in trouble in the polls, so they better spend more on ad revenue with stations like this one to close the gap. It’s the same old revenue-driven thinking. I know how radio works from the inside—I bought ads, I even hired Bill Cunningham back in the 90s as a spokesman for a project. They’ve got the big sales floor, the WLW 55KRC on the desk, and cubicles full of people chasing revenue. The belief is that if you don’t outspend Democrats on their airwaves, you won’t get fair play. But that’s nonsense. Trump broke the mold. He won without playing their game. He attacked relentlessly, defined the opposition, and created his own media reality. Elon Musk’s changes to X further eroded the old suppression model. Corporate media wants you scared into buying their slots.

Look at the current Ohio landscape as we head toward November 2026. Vivek Ramaswamy crushed the Republican primary for governor with over 82% of the vote. Amy Acton, the former Health Director under DeWine during COVID, won the Democratic side unopposed. Polls have been tight—some showing Acton with a slight edge or dead heat, others giving Ramaswamy the advantage. But the fundamentals favor aggressive conservatism.

Acton’s record is vulnerable. She was central to the lockdowns—closing schools and businesses, restricting gatherings, and even pushing to postpone the primary. Protesters showed up at her house. Republicans remember the economic pain, the overreach, the mutiny against the restrictions. She left the position in mid-2020 amid backlash. There’s plenty to attack there: the human cost of those policies, the constitutional questions, the long-term damage to kids’ education and small businesses. Playing nice or treating her as some neutral public servant won’t cut it. Voters respond to reminders of why these approaches failed.

Jon Husted (often referenced in these discussions) has his own path, whether in the Senate or in other roles, but the principle is the same. Distancing from Trump is terrible advice. Trump remains enormously popular with the base. People still love him for what he represents—fighting the establishment, delivering results, refusing to bow. Running away from that energy is how you lose enthusiasm. Embrace it. Remind voters why the alternatives are worse.

My friend Senator George Lang is a perfect example of what works. He’s won repeatedly in his district by being aggressive when challenged. He’s a nice guy personally, but he doesn’t hesitate to go after opponents metaphorically—hard. That’s how you deter challenges and win decisively. I’ve watched him rise because he understands the arena. Same with Trump: attacked from every direction, impeachments, lawfare, assassination attempts, and he keeps fighting back. That resilience resonates. Jim Renacci, for all his strengths, played too nice against Sherrod Brown, and it showed. I told him as much in the parking lot after that debate. You can’t leave domestic issues, policy failures, or character questions on the table.

Corporate radio personalities like the ones I heard that day know how to stay employed. They tow a line that keeps the ad dollars flowing and the golf invitations coming from the “titans of industry” crowd. Many in corporate media have migrated toward softer, more socialist-friendly positions because control through authority and supply chains appeals to the management mindset. They want to be like Fox or MSNBC in their own way—mouthpieces that don’t rock the boat too much. Podcasts and independent platforms threaten that. That’s why you hear the suppression polls and the fear-mongering about Republican chances unless they buy more airtime.

I’ve lived this for decades in Butler County and the Cincinnati area. From my time as a young man handling logistics in some rough circles—Newport and Sharonville—learning coded signals, plausible deniability, and how power really operates, to my days deeply involved in downtown Cincinnati politics and infrastructure projects. I’ve seen the game from multiple angles. The lesson is consistent: nice guys finish last when the other side plays for keeps. Democrats attack relentlessly. They use lawfare, media allies, every tool—Republicans who mirror that energy and define the contrast win.

The data backs the fighter approach. Trump’s 2024 victory, Bernie Moreno’s success against Brown, the enthusiasm in grassroots circles—these come from unapologetic messaging. In Ohio, with its mix of suburban, rural, and working-class voters, reminding people of the failures of lockdown policies, high taxes, and education issues in places like Lakota, as well as the broader cultural drift, works. Vivek brings energy, business success, and a willingness to challenge the status quo. Pair that with relentless attacks on the opposition’s record, and the path is clear.

This is bigger than one radio segment. It’s about the shift in media and politics. Traditional outlets are losing ground because people see through the bias. Podcasts like mine, independent voices, direct communication—these are where real conversations happen. I dictate these essays as first-person narratives because that’s authentic. No scripts, no corporate filters. Just truth as I’ve lived it, backed by history, personal experience, and observation.

My book The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business lays out similar principles: impose your will on circumstances, prepare relentlessly, strike decisively. The same ethos applies to politics. The whip I carry as a symbol—discipline, precision, deterrence—fits here too. You don’t win by being soft. You win by being ready.

As we move through 2026, I’ll keep helping where I can—locally in Butler County, supporting strong candidates who understand the fight. Republicans don’t need to defend or chase poll-driven ad spend endlessly. They need to attack the vulnerabilities: Acton’s COVID record, the broader Democrat policy failures, the corruption and two-tier systems we’ve seen. Democrats haven’t been “too smart to get caught”; they’ve benefited from institutional protection and media cover. Expose it.

Don’t listen to the Saturday afternoon analysis that tells you to run from Trump or play nice. Attack. Destroy the arguments. Give voters a reason to show up. That’s how Vivek Ramaswamy wins the governorship, how Jon Husted and others secure their seats, and how Ohio stays on the right track. Trump proved it nationally. George Lang proves it locally. History proves it repeatedly.

I’ve shared these thoughts before in various forms—on the podcast, in writings, in conversations with candidates. The response from people who get it is strong. The Overmanwarrior approach isn’t about blind aggression; it’s about moral clarity, preparation, and the will to impose order on chaos. Whether it’s troubleshooting a rocket launch with my grandson in bad weather or navigating political storms, the mindset is the same: adapt, strike, prevail.

Corporate media will keep pushing the narrative that fits their business model. Ignore it. The future belongs to those who build their own platforms and fight without apology. That’s the lesson from that rainy Saturday in the driveway, and it’s the one Ohio Republicans should heed as they head into November.

Further Reading / Bibliography (partial, expandable):

• Ohio Secretary of State election results and polls.

• Coverage from Ohio Capital Journal, AP, Wikipedia summaries on candidates.

• Trump campaign analyses, Moreno Senate race reporting.

• Personal works: The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, Tail of the Dragon.

• Broader: Books on political strategy, corporate media influence, COVID policy impacts.

Rich Hoffman

More about me

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

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

Rich Hoffman is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.

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

Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events

Ohio’s Unfinished Economic Reckoning: How Amy Acton’s Lockdowns Created the High-Price Reality Democrats Are Trying to Now Blame on Trump and Vivek Ramaswamy—but the guilt is completely on Lockdown Democrats

In the spring of 2026, Ohio voters are being told a familiar story by the Democratic ticket led by the stringy-haired Amy Acton. High grocery bills, elevated gas prices, stubborn supply-chain bottlenecks, and the everyday squeeze felt by working families and small manufacturers are, according to Acton’s campaign and its surrogates—Mark Elias, David Pepper, and the usual Democratic spokespeople—the direct result of Trump-era policies and the supposed continuation of that agenda under Vivek Ramaswamy. The irony is staggering. The very architect of Ohio’s most disruptive government intervention in modern history—the woman who, as Director of the Ohio Department of Health in 2020, signed the stay-at-home orders that shuttered schools, closed non-essential businesses, and upended millions of lives—is now positioning herself as the solution to the very economic pain her policies created.

This is not partisan rhetoric. It is a matter of documented cause and effect, visible every day in Ohio’s factories, restaurants, construction sites, and family budgets. The high prices we live with in 2026 are not primarily the fault of tariffs, speculation, or any single administration in Washington. They are the long shadow of a forced economic shock imposed in 2020 by a centralized government decree—one in which Amy Acton played a central role, coordinating with federal health authorities, the CDC, the World Health Organization, and, ultimately, with policies shaped by information flowing from China. The damage was not abstract. It was immediate, structural, and enduring. And while headline statistics have been massaged to suggest recovery, the real economy—especially for midsize manufacturers, small businesses, and working families—never returned to its pre-2019 equilibrium.

To understand why Acton’s record matters now, we must revisit what actually happened in Ohio in the spring of 2020. On March 22, 2020, Acton issued a stay-at-home order effective at 11:59 p.m. that night. Non-essential businesses were closed. Schools shuttered. Gatherings were limited. The order, later extended by Governor Mike DeWine, was not a suggestion; it carried the force of law. Within weeks, Ohio’s unemployment rate exploded from roughly 4.5 percent pre-pandemic to a peak of 16.4 percent in April 2020—the highest level in modern state history. More than 2.1 million unemployment claims were filed that year alone, compared to just 360,000 in all of 2019. Entire sectors—manufacturing, hospitality, transportation, professional services—were suddenly and forcibly interrupted.

This was not a natural recession triggered by market conditions. Ohio’s economy in early 2020 was not overheating. It was not over-leveraged. It was functioning normally until the government decree flipped the switch. The result was a structural break in continuity that no amount of federal stimulus could fully repair. Over 341,000 non-farm jobs disappeared in a single year—a decline of more than 6 percent. Manufacturing, the backbone of Ohio’s economy, absorbed a particularly brutal blow, losing roughly 480,000 jobs at the height of the crisis. Supply chains that had taken decades to optimize were severed overnight. Relationships between suppliers, customers, and workers were shattered. Skills atrophied. Experience was lost.

Federal relief money flowed in—Ohio ultimately received billions through the CARES Act and subsequent packages, with more than $10 billion in direct grant funding allocated early on and additional ARPA dollars later. That money stabilized household consumption and prevented total collapse on paper. It propped up demand. But it did not rebuild labor pools, restore broken supplier networks, or reverse the loss of institutional knowledge. GDP figures eventually rebounded. On the surface, Ohio appeared to recover. Yet for thousands of private, midsize, and industrial firms—the companies that form the real productive core of the state—the recovery never materialized in the way that matters most. Revenue stabilized in some cases, but labor did not return evenly. Supply chains remained fragile six years later. Many businesses entered a new, permanently altered economic reality from which they have yet to exit.

Look at the numbers that actually matter on the ground. Manufacturing employment has clawed back toward pre-pandemic levels in headline counts—hovering near 680,000 statewide by late 2025 and into 2026—but the composition is different. Output rose in aggregate, yet headcount remained flat or declined in many subsectors. Productivity gains came not from rebuilding capacity but from automation, consolidation, and doing more with fewer people. Smaller suppliers absorbed shocks they could not pass along. Material inflation, labor shortages, and customer concentration became permanent features. A 2025 survey of Ohio manufacturers found that around 40 percent still cited material costs as a major concern, with tariffs and other factors playing secondary roles. Speculators and opportunistic pricing certainly contributed to some price spikes—gasoline being the most visible example—but the underlying fragility traces directly back to the 2020 rupture.

Even more telling is the labor force participation rate. Ohio’s rate dropped sharply in 2020 and has never fully recovered. As of March 2026, it stands at approximately 62.1 percent—still roughly 1.3 percentage points below 2019 levels. That gap represents tens of thousands of missing workers. Many retired early. Others shifted to disability. Skilled trades lost experienced hands who never re-entered. The pandemic accelerated trends already underway—remote work, changing employer expectations—but the government-mandated shutdown turned those trends into a structural labor shortage. Employers now pay significantly higher wages without corresponding productivity gains. Chronic hiring difficulties persist. Small and midsize businesses, lacking the scale of large corporations, took the brunt of this hit.

The human and business-level consequences are visible in every corner of the state. Fast-food restaurants that once operated with long lines and reliable staffing still struggle with chronic understaffing. Supply chains that used to move with just-in-time efficiency now carry permanent buffers, higher costs, and longer lead times. Contracts signed in 2018 or 2019 based on pre-pandemic pricing realities cannot be easily renegotiated in 2024 or 2025 when everything from labor to materials has inflated. Large buyers—Walmart, major distributors, big manufacturers—hold suppliers to those old terms while their own costs have risen. Many smaller firms plateaued at lower output, higher risk, and reduced resilience. Nearly half of the Ohio businesses operating in 2019 were no longer active by 2024. New formations occurred, as they often do after crises, but stimulus checks or reconfigured statistics cannot replace the permanent loss of experience, relationships, and localized capacity.

This was not mismanagement or an isolated failure. It was a structured shock imposed by the government, and in Ohio, by Amy Acton directly. The recovery that followed was real on paper but redistributive in practice. Large firms with access to capital, automation, equity markets, and policy cushions emerged stronger. Smaller private companies absorbed transition costs without the same protections. Stimulus prioritized consumption over reconstruction of upstream production capacity. The result is an economy that looks healthier in aggregate GDP and unemployment figures but feels fundamentally different—and more fragile—for the businesses and workers who actually produce goods and services.

Compounding the damage were subsequent policy choices, including repeated minimum-wage adjustments tied to CPI and other labor-market interventions. While intended to help workers, these hikes acted as an artificial price floor that businesses—especially those already reeling from supply-chain disruption—had to absorb by raising consumer prices. In an environment where labor shortages already drove up wages, the added pressure from mandated increases translated directly into higher menu prices, higher retail costs, and thinner margins for the very firms least able to absorb them. Democrats often frame these as acts of compassion, but the economic reality is that they function as another layer of costs passed on to consumers in an economy still recovering from the original government-imposed rupture.

Contrast this track record with the alternative represented by Vivek Ramaswamy. As an entrepreneur who built real companies and created substantial value, Ramaswamy understands from firsthand experience what it takes to navigate supply chains, labor markets, capital allocation, and regulatory hurdles. His platform—aggressive tax cuts (including phasing down the state income tax and meaningful property tax relief), energy independence through expanded natural gas and streamlined permitting, and a laser focus on reducing the regulatory burden—addresses the structural issues that Acton’s policies left behind. Where Democrats offer more stimulus, more government employment, and more wealth redistribution, Ramaswamy offers the conditions for genuine private-sector expansion: lower taxes so families and businesses keep more of what they earn, reduced uncertainty so investment can return, and policies that reward production rather than consumption propped up by printed money.

The political inversion is almost Orwellian. The same network of Democratic operatives—Mark Elias, David Pepper, and their allies—who have spent years litigating, regulating, and centralizing power now seek to pin the enduring consequences of their own policy choices on the very people who warned against them. They want voters to forget that Acton was the public face of the orders that closed Ohio’s economy. They want voters to ignore the long-term scarring visible in labor participation, small-business survival rates, and fragile supply chains. And they want to portray Vivek Ramaswamy—an outsider who built a billion-dollar value through innovation and discipline—as somehow responsible for prices that trace directly to decisions made in 2020 under Democratic-influenced health policy.

This is not ancient history. The effects are measurable today. Manufacturing survived the shock but did not return to its prior equilibrium. Labor-force participation remains depressed. Supply chains are still adapting. Smaller firms operate with lower resilience. High prices at the grocery store, the gas pump, and the restaurant counter are not mysterious. They are the predictable outcome of a forced shutdown followed by stimulus that prioritized short-term consumption over long-term productive capacity. Government did not merely interrupt Ohio’s economy in 2020—it rewired it. And for many companies, especially private midsize and industrial firms, the 2020 era has never truly ended.

Ohioans deserve better than political amnesia. They deserve leaders who understand that real economic vitality comes from production, not redistribution; from predictable policy, not repeated government shocks; and from accountability, not blame-shifting. Amy Acton’s record as Health Director is not a footnote—it is the central chapter in the story of why so many Ohio families and businesses are still paying the price six years later. Vivek Ramaswamy’s background as a value-creating entrepreneur offers the clearest alternative: a governor who will cut taxes, slash red tape, expand energy production, and restore the conditions under which Ohio businesses and workers can thrive again.

The choice in 2026 is not abstract. It is between continuing the politics that created the problem and embracing the policies that can finally heal the damage. Ohio’s real economy—its factories, its family businesses, its working men and women—has waited long enough for that reckoning. But when we have to talk about who is responsible for all the misery we are still feeling, there is only one person to blame, and that is Amy Acton, the Lockdown Lady.

Footnotes

1. Ohio Department of Job and Family Services, Employment Situation Indicators, various monthly releases 2020–2026.

2. Bureau of Labor Statistics and Ohio JFS data on unemployment claims and rates, April 2020 peak.

3. Contemporary reporting on Acton’s stay-at-home order, March 22, 2020 (Ohio Department of Health).

4. Federal COVID-19 grant funding allocations to Ohio, CARES Act, and subsequent packages (approximately $10 billion+ in early grants).

5. Ohio manufacturing employment and labor force participation trends, Ohio LMI and FRED data through March 2026.

6. NFIB and small-business survival analyses post-2020.

7. Surveys of Ohio manufacturers on material costs and supply-chain issues, 2025.

8. Vivek Ramaswamy campaign platform materials on tax relief, energy, and regulatory reform.

9. Additional sourcing from Policy Matters Ohio, the Cleveland Fed, and contemporaneous economic analyses of pandemic impacts.

Bibliography

• Ohio Department of Job and Family Services. Employment Situation Indicators (monthly releases, 2019–2026).

• U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics. Labor force, employment, and unemployment data for Ohio.

• Acton, Amy. Director’s Stay-at-Home Order, Ohio Department of Health, March 22, 2020.

• Federal COVID relief tracking reports (CARES Act, ARPA allocations to Ohio).

• NFIB Ohio Small Business Economic Trends reports.

• Cleveland Federal Reserve District data briefs on supply-chain disruptions.

• Ramaswamy for the Ohio campaign platform documents.

• Contemporary news coverage from AP, Signal Ohio, and Ohio LMI publications.

Rich Hoffman

More about me

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

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

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

Don’t Play Nice with Democrats: If we have a true representative republic, made by the will of the people, Republicans will always hold a majority

The recent decision by the Supreme Court in Louisiana v. Callais, handed down on April 29, 2026, represents a watershed moment in American constitutional law and the long struggle to restore color-blind principles to our electoral system. In a 6-3 ruling, the Court declared Louisiana’s congressional map—specifically Senate Bill 8, which had created a second majority-Black district—an unconstitutional racial gerrymander. Justice Samuel Alito, writing for the majority, made clear that compliance with Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act of 1965 did not justify the state’s predominant use of race in drawing district lines. The map, which stretched across more than 200 miles to link disparate Black communities in a serpentine fashion reminiscent of earlier racial districts struck down decades ago, violated the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment and the Fifteenth Amendment’s prohibition on racial discrimination in voting. This was not a mere technicality; it was a direct rebuke to the practice of engineering electoral outcomes by segregating voters according to skin color, a tactic we have seen deployed for years under the guise of “protecting minority rights.” The decision affirms what we have long contended: treating citizens differently based on race to create artificial voting blocs does not advance equality—it undermines it.

We must pause here to appreciate the full weight of this ruling. For too long, certain political actors have exploited the Voting Rights Act not as a shield against genuine discrimination but as a sword to carve up the electorate into racial fiefdoms. Louisiana’s 2020 census data showed a roughly 33 percent Black population, yet lower courts had ordered the legislature to draw two majority-Black districts from the state’s six congressional seats, even though the state’s 2022 map already complied with traditional districting principles and partisan considerations. When the legislature complied by drawing SB8 to include a second such district, non-Black voters challenged it as an impermissible racial gerrymander. The Supreme Court agreed, holding that the Voting Rights Act, properly construed, did not require Louisiana to engage in such race-based line-drawing. As Justice Alito explained, Section 2 cannot be read to collide with the Constitution itself; it enforces the Fifteenth Amendment, not overrides equal protection guarantees. This disentangles race from politics in a way that prior cases like Alexander v. South Carolina State Conference of the NAACP had begun to demand, forcing courts and legislatures to prove that race, not partisanship, predominated. The implications ripple far beyond Louisiana’s borders. Maps in states across the nation that relied on similar racial balancing acts now face renewed scrutiny, potentially shifting dozens of seats toward fairer representation based on actual voter preferences rather than engineered demographics.

To understand why this decision has Democrats in such visible distress—melting down in public statements and media commentary as if their very survival depended on it—we have to step back and examine the deeper history of gerrymandering and its evolution into a tool of racial politics. The term itself dates to 1812, when Massachusetts Governor Elbridge Gerry signed a redistricting plan that created a salamander-shaped district designed to favor his Democratic-Republican Party. A Boston newspaper coined the term “gerrymander,” blending Gerry’s name with the creature’s form, and the practice became a bipartisan sin in American politics. Both parties have engaged in partisan gerrymandering over the centuries, drawing oddly contoured districts to pack opponents into fewer seats or to crack their support across many seats. The Supreme Court, in cases like Rucho v. Common Cause (2019), has rightly held that pure partisan gerrymandering claims are nonjusticiable political questions best left to legislatures and voters. Yet racial gerrymandering occupies a different constitutional plane because it triggers strict scrutiny under the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Amendments. When race becomes the predominant factor—subordinating traditional criteria such as compactness, contiguity, and respect for political subdivisions—the state must demonstrate a compelling interest and narrow tailoring. This doctrine traces directly to Shaw v. Reno (1993), where the Court invalidated North Carolina’s bizarre, snakelike majority-Black district drawn to comply with the Voting Rights Act. Justice Sandra Day O’Connor wrote that such plans “reinforce the perception that members of the same racial group…think alike, share the same political interests, and will prefer the same candidates at the polls.” We could not agree more; this racial essentialism treats citizens as members of monolithic groups rather than individuals with diverse views.

The Voting Rights Act of 1965 itself was a triumph of the civil rights movement, dismantling Jim Crow barriers like literacy tests and poll taxes that had disenfranchised Black Americans for a century. Section 2 prohibits any “standard, practice, or procedure” that denies or abridges the right to vote on account of race or color. In Thornburg v. Gingles (1986), the Court established a three-prong test for Section 2 claims: a minority group must be sufficiently large and geographically compact to form a majority in a single-member district; it must be politically cohesive; and the majority must vote sufficiently as a bloc to defeat the minority’s preferred candidate. These were narrow, remedial tools for cases of extreme dilution. Yet over decades, activists and Democratic strategists stretched Section 2 into a mandate for maximizing majority-minority districts wherever possible, often ignoring the Gingles compactness requirement by creating sprawling districts that connected far-flung communities solely by racial data. The 1982 amendments to the Act, passed by Congress amid debates over “results” versus “intent,” further encouraged this by allowing plaintiffs to prevail based on electoral outcomes rather than on proven discriminatory intent. By the 1990s, after the 1990 census, the Department of Justice, under the first Bush administration and later Clinton, aggressively pressured states to draw as many such districts as possible, leading to the very plans that were scrutinized in Shaw. We saw this pattern repeat after every census: 2000, 2010, and especially 2020, when population shifts and court orders forced states like Louisiana, Alabama, and others to redraw lines with race front and center.

Contrast this with the Court’s 2023 decision in Allen v. Milligan, which required Alabama to create a second majority-Black congressional district. There, the majority (including Chief Justice Roberts) upheld a Section 2 claim under Gingles, finding Alabama’s map diluted Black voting strength. Yet even then, the Court cautioned against race predominating unduly. Fast-forward to Louisiana v. Callais in 2026, and the conservative majority has drawn a sharper line: the VRA does not compel race-based remedies that themselves violate equal protection. Justice Alito’s opinion meticulously dissects the record, noting that Louisiana’s initial 2022 map was not proven to violate Section 2 when race and politics were properly disentangled. The state’s later map, drawn explicitly to create the second district, failed strict scrutiny because no compelling interest existed once the VRA obligation was clarified. Dissenters like Justice Elena Kagan warned that this renders Section 2 “all but a dead letter,” but we see it as restoring the Act to its original, limited purpose: preventing intentional discrimination, not mandating proportional racial outcomes. Proportional representation by race has never been the constitutional command; the Fifteenth Amendment guarantees the right to vote free of racial denial, not a right to districts engineered for group success. As Justice Clarence Thomas has long argued in concurrences, race-conscious districting perpetuates the very stereotypes the Constitution abhors.

This brings us to the heart of the matter that has Democrats so alarmed. For years, we have watched as one party systematically used racial profiling in redistricting to manufacture “victimized sectors” of the electorate. By drawing districts that packed minority voters—often urban Black and Hispanic communities—into safe Democratic seats, strategists created the illusion of broad demographic inevitability. The theory was simple: identify groups historically aligned with Democratic policies on welfare, affirmative action, and identity politics; concentrate them to maximize those seats while diluting their influence elsewhere; then portray any challenge as racist. This was not organic coalition-building; it was engineered balkanization. Data from the 2020 census and subsequent analyses showed that without such maps, Republicans would hold significantly more congressional seats nationwide. The same pattern played out in state legislatures and local governments. Urban versus suburban divides, Black versus White, immigrant versus native-born—all were exploited not to heal divisions but to deepen them for electoral gain. We have argued repeatedly that if everyone is treated equally under the law, without regard to skin color, the natural political leanings of the American people—favoring limited government, individual responsibility, and opportunity—would produce Republican majorities far larger than the razor-thin margins we see in national “horse race” polling. Democrats have never been the 50-50 party they claim; their power has always depended on these artificial constructs and, we contend, supplemental mechanisms like extended voting windows, ballot harvesting, and lax identification rules that invite abuse.

Consider the broader pattern of election manipulation that this ruling exposes. We have documented for years how Democrats have benefited from rules that prioritize turnout over integrity. Voter ID requirements, which enjoy overwhelming public support across racial lines in poll after poll, are derided as “suppression” precisely because they make fraud harder. Extended early voting, same-day registration, and no-excuse absentee ballots were sold as accommodations for the “victimized,” yet they create opportunities for chain-of-custody problems and ineligible voting. In 2020 and even into 2024, despite a Republican presidential victory, we saw House and Senate seats flip or held by suspiciously narrow margins in precisely those jurisdictions with the most permissive rules and history of irregularities. States like Pennsylvania, Michigan, Georgia, and Arizona became battlegrounds not because of natural demographic tides but because of procedural advantages Democrats had institutionalized. The Supreme Court’s gerrymandering decision is one piece of a larger corrective: when race-based districting is curtailed, when maps revert to neutral criteria, and when combined with voter ID and same-day voting standards, the playing field levels dramatically. Republicans do not need to “cheat” to win; we need elections that reflect the will of the people without artificial inflation of turnout among low-propensity voters who require constant mobilization through grievance narratives.

The meltdown we observe among Democratic leaders and aligned media is telling. They know, as we have long suspected, that their electoral success has hinged on these mechanisms. Remove the ability to pack districts by race, and suddenly, safe blue seats become competitive. Eliminate the fiction that minority voters must be treated as a bloc, and the coalition fractures along class, values, and policy lines—lines where working-class voters of all backgrounds increasingly gravitate toward Republican messages of economic growth and border security. For decades, Democrats have victimized groups: minorities told they cannot succeed without government largesse, women pitted against traditional family structures, urban cores against suburbs, and even generational divides exploited through student debt forgiveness promises. This was never about equality; it was about dependency and turnout. The color of skin became a proxy for presumed political loyalty, just as the Supreme Court has now ruled impermissible in districting. We see this as a return to first principles: the Constitution is color-blind. As Chief Justice John Roberts famously wrote in Parents Involved in Community Schools v. Seattle School District No. 1 (2007), “The way to stop discrimination based on race is to stop discriminating based on race.” The Louisiana ruling applies that wisdom to the ballot box.

Of course, this victory is not the end of the fight. Gerrymandering litigation will continue, with states now free to prioritize partisan advantage without the VRA as a racial cudgel. Republicans must seize the moment while holding majorities. We have advocated for years that the filibuster, once a tool of minority protection through extended debate, has been weaponized against the will of the majority. With a Republican Senate and House, and a president committed to reform, the time has come to consider nuclear options or carve-outs for election integrity legislation. A simple majority should suffice to pass nationwide voter ID and proof-of-citizenship requirements, same-day voting cutoffs, and chain-of-custody rules for mail ballots. These are not radical; they mirror practices in most democracies and enjoy supermajority support among voters, including majorities of Black and Hispanic Americans in recent surveys. The uni-party elements within Republican ranks—those globalist RINOs who benefit from the status quo—must be challenged from within the movement. True conservatives understand that power must be used aggressively to restore the republic, not conserved in the name of bipartisanship that only one side honors.

The demographic reality further bolsters our case. National polls and voting patterns consistently show that, absent fraud and racial engineering, the electorate tilts Republican. Most Americans, regardless of background, value self-reliance over dependency. Actual election outcomes and shifting attitudes among working-class and minority voters have debunked the “emerging Democratic majority” thesis popularized in the early 2000s. Hispanics, in particular, have trended toward Republicans on issues like immigration and inflation. Black support, while still heavily Democratic, shows cracks among younger men and church-going families. Women are not a monolith; suburban mothers prioritize safety and education over cultural radicalism. By correcting maps to eliminate racial packing, we allow these natural coalitions to form without artificial distortion. Democrats’ “meltdown” stems from the fear that, stripped of their rigged advantages, they cannot compete in a fair fight. History proves the point: when elections are clean—as in many red states with strict ID laws—Republican performance exceeds expectations. The 2024 presidential result, where Donald Trump secured victory despite headwinds, would have been even more decisive without the lingering procedural vulnerabilities in key states.

We must also confront the philosophical rot at the core of the opposition. Identity politics, rooted in Marxist class struggle rebranded as racial grievance, teaches that society is a zero-sum battle of oppressors and the oppressed. Democrats have mastered this, victimizing groups to harvest votes while promising free stuff—reparations rhetoric, affirmative action, welfare expansion—in exchange for loyalty. This is not empowerment; it is patronage. The Supreme Court’s ruling strikes at the foundation by saying the state cannot use skin color to segregate voters into blocs. It echoes the color-blind vision of civil rights pioneers like Frederick Douglass and Martin Luther King Jr., who dreamed of a nation that judges citizens by character, not race. Modern “progressives” have abandoned that dream in favor of power. We reject it outright. A free society treats individuals equally; anything else breeds resentment and division.

Looking forward, the path is clear. Republicans must act with the same urgency Democrats have shown in pursuing their agenda. Pass election reform now, while the moment allows. Enforce the Louisiana precedent nationwide through Department of Justice guidance or legislation. Challenge remaining suspect maps aggressively. And purge the party of those dragging their feet in the name of “institutional norms.” The filibuster, if it blocks basic integrity measures, should yield to the majority’s mandate. We are not seeking one-party rule; we seek a representative republic where votes count, and outcomes reflect the people’s will. Democrats have never commanded a true national majority without these crutches; their 50-50 self-image is a myth sustained by fraud, gerrymandering, and demographic manipulation. Remove the crutches, and the illusion collapses.

In the end, the Louisiana v. Callais decision is cause for celebration, not just for Republicans but for all Americans tired of race-obsessed politics. It restores integrity to the franchise and dignity to every citizen by refusing to reduce them to racial statistics on a map. We have waited decades for this correction. Now is the time to build on it—voter ID, secure elections, neutral maps, and a return to the constitutional promise of equal treatment. The Democrats’ power was always borrowed from these distortions; its return to baseline is long overdue. The American people deserve nothing less than a system where every vote counts equally, every district reflects the community, and no one is profiled by skin color. This ruling is the first major step in that restoration, and we must follow through with resolve. The republic hangs in the balance, and the people—united, not divided—will prevail.

Footnotes

¹ Louisiana v. Callais, 608 U.S. ___ (2026) (slip op. at 1-2, Alito, J.).

² SCOTUSblog, “In major Voting Rights Act case, Supreme Court strikes down redistricting map challenged as racially discriminatory” (Apr. 29, 2026).

³ NPR, “The U.S. Supreme Court strikes another severe blow to the Voting Rights Act” (Apr. 29, 2026).

⁴ Associated Press, “Supreme Court weakens the Voting Rights Act and aids Republicans” (Apr. 29, 2026).

⁵ See Shaw v. Reno, 509 U.S. 630 (1993).

⁶ Thornburg v. Gingles, 478 U.S. 30 (1986).

⁷ Allen v. Milligan, 599 U.S. 1 (2023).

⁸ Wikipedia entry and SCOTUS opinion summary for Louisiana v. Callais.

⁹ PBS NewsHour analysis (May 2026) on nationwide implications.

Bibliography

• Alito, Samuel. Opinion in Louisiana v. Callais, 608 U.S. ___ (2026). Supreme Court of the United States.

• Amy Howe, “In major Voting Rights Act case, Supreme Court strikes down redistricting map,” SCOTUSblog (Apr. 29, 2026).

• “The U.S. Supreme Court strikes another severe blow to the Voting Rights Act,” NPR (Apr. 29, 2026).

• “Supreme Court weakens the Voting Rights Act and aids Republicans,” Associated Press (Apr. 29, 2026).

• Shaw v. Reno, 509 U.S. 630 (1993).

• Miller v. Johnson, 515 U.S. 900 (1995).

• Allen v. Milligan, 599 U.S. 1 (2023).

• Rucho v. Common Cause, 588 U.S. 684 (2019).

• Voting Rights Act of 1965, 52 U.S.C. § 10301 et seq.

• Abigail Thernstrom, Whose Votes Count? Affirmative Action and Minority Voting Rights (Harvard University Press, 1987).

• J. Christian Adams, Injustice: Exposing the Racial Agenda of the Obama Justice Department (Regnery, 2011).

• Hans von Spakovsky, The Election Fraud Handbook (Heritage Foundation, various reports 2020-2025).

• Shelby County v. Holder, 570 U.S. 529 (2013).

• Frederick Douglass, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass (1845) and speeches on color-blind justice.

• Martin Luther King Jr., “I Have a Dream” (1963).

• Additional conservative analyses: Heritage Foundation Election Integrity Project reports (2024-2026).

Rich Hoffman

More about me

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

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

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

Amy Acton, the Puppet of Marc Elias: When they can’t defend their record, they send cease and desist letters, hoping to hide their past

In the bustling parking lot of Ohio’s brand-new Buc-ee’s just north of Dayton off I-70, Dr. Amy Acton posed for what was meant to be a wholesome campaign snapshot—a smiling physician-turned-politician standing beside the gleaming Texas-sized travel center, projecting the image of a nice, relatable lady who shops where everyday Buckeyes shop. The first Ohio Buc-ee’s opened in Huber Heights in early April 2026, drawing massive crowds and national attention for its clean restrooms, fresh brisket, and over-the-top convenience. Acton’s team seized the moment, posting the photo to humanize her, to say, “See? She’s just like you.” But the optics couldn’t paper over the deeper story unfolding in this 2026 gubernatorial race. While Acton tried to reset her image with photo ops and bedside-manner charm, Vivek Ramaswamy was drawing genuine, overflowing crowds of longtime Ohio friends, family, and supporters who have known him since he was a boy in Cincinnati—people who remember his parents’ immigrant journey, his entrepreneurial drive, and the decades of personal relationships that speak louder than any staged picture. You can judge a person by the company they keep, and Ramaswamy’s circle spills over with proud, authentic voices from his past who have stuck with him through every chapter of his life. Acton’s campaign, by contrast, feels increasingly desperate, resorting to high-powered Washington lawyers to silence critics rather than defend her record.

NEW ALL-TIME HIGH: Vivek Ramaswamy has a 97.6% chance of being the Ohio Republican Governor nominee pic.twitter.com/d9qj0lLrfo
— Kalshi Politics (@KalshiPolitics) April 26, 2026

To understand why this race matters so much to Ohio’s future, you have to go back to the spring of 2020, when Dr. Amy Acton served as Director of the Ohio Department of Health under Republican Governor Mike DeWine. She wasn’t elected; she was appointed. Yet she became the public face of some of the nation’s most aggressive COVID-19 policies. On March 22, 2020—when Ohio had reported just a handful of deaths—Acton helped lead the state into one of the earliest and strictest lockdowns anywhere. Schools closed statewide for the rest of the academic year. “Non-essential” businesses shuttered overnight. Stay-at-home orders restricted movement. Nursing homes were locked down, isolating vulnerable residents from loved ones. Capacity limits, mask mandates, and social-distancing rules followed, all modeled closely on guidance from the CDC and Dr. Anthony Fauci. Acton appeared in daily press briefings alongside DeWine, projecting calm authority while estimating infection numbers that frightened the public into compliance. She resigned in June 2020 amid growing protests outside her home, but the policies she championed reshaped Ohio in ways the state is still recovering from six years later.

The human and economic toll of those decisions has been documented in mounting data. Ohio’s unemployment rate rocketed from 4.9 percent to 16.4 percent in a single month—the sharpest spike in modern state history. Thousands of small businesses, restaurants, gyms, and retailers never reopened. Hospitality and tourism sectors collapsed. Learning loss among schoolchildren, especially in low-income districts, was catastrophic; studies projected lifetime economic losses in the hundreds of billions for Ohio alone due to missed instruction and widened achievement gaps. Mental health crises exploded: overdoses rose sharply, youth depression and suicide ideation increased, and isolation in nursing homes contributed to excess deaths beyond the virus itself—many from untreated conditions, delayed care, or despair. Nationwide analyses, including those examining excess mortality, have increasingly questioned whether the most restrictive measures saved more lives than they cost, when indirect harms are weighed. In Ohio, the early modeling that justified the lockdowns proved overly pessimistic, yet the policies remained locked in place longer than in many peer states. Acton has never fully reckoned with this in her campaign. Instead, she positions herself as “a doctor, not a politician,” emphasizing her roots in working-class Youngstown and her compassion. But for families who lost businesses, kids who fell behind, or elderly residents who died alone, those words ring hollow. The statistics don’t lie: the lockdown playbook—drawn from federal guidance influenced by international models—inflicted measurable, lasting damage on Ohio’s economy, education system, and social fabric.

Fast-forward to 2026, and Acton is the presumptive Democratic nominee for governor, running with David Pepper—former chair of the Ohio Democrat Party—as her lieutenant governor pick. Polls show the race tightening or even tilting her way slightly in some surveys, despite Ohio’s deep Republican lean. Her campaign message focuses on affordability, families, and pushing back against “special interests.” Yet when journalists and commentators like Jack Windsor of the Ohio Press Network dig into her record—whether the 2020 policies, the resurfaced 2019 Bexley police report, or other public details—her team doesn’t debate the substance. They deploy heavy legal artillery. The Acton/Pepper campaign has retained Elias Law Group, the Washington, D.C., firm founded by Marc Elias, the Democratic election lawyer infamous for his role in the 2016 Clinton campaign’s Steele dossier efforts, post-2020 litigation challenging election integrity claims, and aggressive legal maneuvers nationwide. Elias’s firm has sent cease-and-desist letters to outlets and commentators questioning Acton, framing routine investigative reporting as defamation or libel. These aren’t polite corrections; they are designed to intimidate, to force journalists and critics into defensive silence rather than risk costly litigation—even when the recipients know the claims lack merit.

This tactic is classic lawfare, and it’s especially galling because Acton is now a public figure running for the highest office in the state. Under the landmark U.S. Supreme Court precedent New York Times v. Sullivan (1964), public officials and candidates must prove “actual malice”—knowledge of falsity or reckless disregard for the truth—to win defamation suits. The bar is deliberately high to protect robust political debate and press freedom. Elias’s team knows this, yet the letters keep coming. They mirror the same playbook used in the 2020 election challenges: procedural delays, technical objections, and resource-draining threats to bury inconvenient truths under paperwork and fear. David Pepper, Acton’s running mate, has long been a fixture in Democratic politics, and his involvement signals the campaign’s strategy—control the narrative through insiders rather than earn voter trust through transparency. When a police report from August 2019 resurfaced—detailing a verbal domestic dispute at the Acton home over her long work hours, where both she and her husband admitted to drinking, she had taken prescription medication, she shattered a large mirror in frustration, and she was heading toward her car until her husband physically intervened—no charges were filed, and officers noted no physical violence. It was a private family moment turned public by her candidacy. Yet instead of addressing it head-on or releasing more context, the campaign and its allies dismiss questions as “attacks” while Elias’s firm fires off warnings. The report is public record. Citizens have every right to weigh it when evaluating a candidate who once directed public health policy affecting millions.

Contrast this with Vivek Ramaswamy. The Republican frontrunner grew up in Ohio, built a successful biotech company from scratch, and ran a high-profile 2024 presidential campaign that put him in the national spotlight. His support isn’t manufactured through consultants or photo ops. Crowds at his events include people who knew him as a kid, family friends who watched him navigate his Indian-immigrant parents’ sacrifices, and longtime associates who have seen his character tested over decades. That kind of organic loyalty doesn’t come from polling consultants or law-firm intimidation. Ramaswamy’s platform emphasizes prosperity, limited government, school choice, economic freedom, and a rejection of the bureaucratic overreach that defined the COVID era. He has visited every county, secured endorsements from sheriffs, unions in some cases, and grassroots conservatives who remember exactly who was at the podium issuing orders in 2020. His running mate, Senate President Rob McColley, brings institutional knowledge and legislative heft. Together, they represent a future-oriented conservatism rooted in Ohio values—innovation, hard work, and accountability—rather than nostalgia for the administrative state.

The deeper issue here transcends one race. When campaigns hire the likes of Marc Elias to muzzle journalists covering a candidate’s public record—whether COVID policies that harmed families or personal incidents that raise legitimate character questions—they erode the very foundation of representative government. Free speech and a free press exist precisely so voters can vet those who seek power. Ohioans paid a steep price for Acton’s lockdown decisions: lost livelihoods, educational setbacks that will echo for generations, and a lingering sense that government overstepped its bounds under the banner of “following the science.” Data now shows that many of those measures delivered marginal or questionable benefits relative to their costs. Excess mortality studies and economic analyses continue to reveal the trade-offs. Yet instead of debating that record openly, the campaign seeks to shut down the conversation. That’s not leadership; it’s the same insider playbook that has eroded trust in institutions nationwide. Elias’s history—tied to efforts to litigate away election challenges in 2020 and beyond—only underscores the pattern: when the facts are uncomfortable, deploy lawyers to redefine reality.

Ramaswamy, by contrast, invites scrutiny of his record because it stands on merit—entrepreneurial success, family values, and a clear-eyed rejection of the bureaucratic excesses that hurt working families. His supporters aren’t fringe; they’re the backbone of Ohio communities who remember the pre-lockdown economy, the joy of school events, and the freedom to live without constant government edict. They see in him someone who judges people by character and results, not by elite credentials or media spin. The 2026 race is more than a choice between two candidates; it’s a referendum on whether Ohio learns from 2020 or repeats the mistakes. Voters who value prosperity, honest accountability, and open debate have every reason to reject the politics of intimidation and nostalgia for administrative control.

Acton’s team may believe a few more Buc-ee’s photo ops and some strategic legal letters will paper over the past. But Ohioans have long memories. The lockdown lady’s policies didn’t just inconvenience people—they upended lives, and the data backs that up. Police reports, public records, and economic statistics don’t vanish because a Washington law firm sends a letter. When the votes are counted in November 2026, character, record, and authenticity will decide it. Vivek Ramaswamy brings the relationships, the vision, and the backbone to move Ohio forward. Amy Acton’s campaign, built on image management and legal threats, reveals exactly why voters should send a different message. The truth doesn’t need cease-and-desist letters to survive—it just needs voters willing to remember.

Footnotes

1. Ohio’s first Buc-ee’s location details and Acton’s visit: Campaign site and local news coverage, April 2026.

2. Acton’s role as Health Director and lockdown timeline: Contemporary reporting and her Wikipedia entry.

3. Economic and educational impacts of 2020 lockdowns in Ohio: Unemployment data from state labor statistics; learning loss projections from education analyses.

4. 2019 Bexley police report: Public records as covered by NBC News and Ohio outlets, April 2026.

5. Elias Law Group retainers and cease-and-desist letters: Reporting by Jack Windsor/Ohio Press Network and related commentary, 2026.

6. New York Times v. Sullivan precedent: U.S. Supreme Court, 376 U.S. 254 (1964).

7. Vivek Ramaswamy’s Ohio roots and campaign: Polling and news coverage of his events and endorsements.

8. Broader COVID policy critiques: Peer-reviewed studies on excess mortality, mental health, and economic costs (various sources, including PMC and state-specific analyses).

Bibliography for Further Reading

• Wikipedia: 2026 Ohio gubernatorial election (for candidate overview and polling).

• Ohio Capital Journal and Dispatch articles on the 2019 police incident and campaign responses (April 2026).

• NBC News coverage of Acton’s domestic dispute report.

• Jack Windsor/Ohio Press Network commentary on Elias Law Group letters.

• Signal Ohio and local reporting on Buc-ee’s opening and Acton’s photo op.

• Historical coverage of Ohio COVID response (Washington Post, NBC4, 2020).

• Economic analyses of lockdown impacts (state labor data, education studies).

• U.S. Supreme Court case New York Times Co. v. Sullivan (full opinion available via legal archives).

Extended Footnote on New York Times Co. v. Sullivan (1964) and the “Sullivan Doctrine”

The landmark U.S. Supreme Court decision in New York Times Company v. Sullivan, 376 U.S. 254 (1964), fundamentally reshaped American libel law and remains the cornerstone of First Amendment protections for political speech and press freedom. Often called the “Sullivan case,” it gave rise to what legal scholars refer to as the “Sullivan doctrine” or “actual malice” rule—a constitutional standard that has been extended and refined in a line of subsequent Supreme Court cases (collectively the “Sullivan cases”). This body of law was born directly out of the Civil Rights Movement and was designed to prevent public officials from using defamation suits as a weapon to silence criticism.

Facts and Historical Context

In March 1960, amid the escalating sit-in protests and violence against Black students in Montgomery, Alabama, the Committee to Defend Martin Luther King and the Struggle for Freedom in the South placed a full-page advertisement titled “Heed Their Rising Voices” in The New York Times. The ad solicited donations to support King’s legal defense and the broader civil rights cause. It criticized “an unprecedented wave of terror” by Southern officials and police, describing incidents such as the padlocking of a dining hall at Alabama State College and police actions against demonstrators. The advertisement contained several minor factual inaccuracies (e.g., the exact number of times King had been arrested, the songs sung by students, and whether the dining hall was actually padlocked). It was signed by 64 prominent figures (including Eleanor Roosevelt and Jackie Robinson) and listed the names of four Alabama ministers associated with King’s Southern Christian Leadership Conference—some of whose names had been added without their explicit prior approval.

L.B. Sullivan, the elected Montgomery Public Safety Commissioner who oversaw the police department, was not named in the ad. Nevertheless, he sued The New York Times and the four ministers in Alabama state court, claiming the criticism of police conduct defamed him by implication. Under then-prevailing Alabama common-law libel rules, a plaintiff could recover substantial damages merely by showing the statement was false and tended to harm reputation; no proof of actual harm or malicious intent was required, and damages were often presumed. An all-white jury awarded Sullivan $500,000—a staggering sum in 1960. The Alabama Supreme Court affirmed the verdict. Similar libel suits were filed by other Alabama officials, part of a coordinated “libel attack” strategy by segregationists to bankrupt newspapers and intimidate national coverage of the Civil Rights Movement.

The Supreme Court’s Unanimous Ruling

On March 9, 1964, the U.S. Supreme Court reversed the judgment in a 9-0 decision written by Justice William J. Brennan Jr. The Court held that Alabama’s libel law unconstitutionally infringed on the First and Fourteenth Amendments when applied to criticism of public officials’ conduct. Brennan famously declared that the First Amendment “prohibits a State from awarding damages to a public official for defamatory falsehood relating to his official conduct unless he proves that the statement was made with ‘actual malice’—that is, with knowledge that it was false or with reckless disregard of whether it was false or not.” The standard must be proven with “convincing clarity.”

The opinion emphasized that “debate on public issues should be uninhibited, robust, and wide-open, and that it may well include vehement, caustic, and sometimes unpleasantly sharp attacks on government and public officials.” Erroneous statements, Brennan noted, are “inevitable in free debate” and must be protected lest the fear of liability chill essential political discourse. The ruling explicitly rejected the idea that the press could be held to the strict liability standards of ordinary private libel suits when reporting on matters of public concern.

Expansion to Public Figures and the “Sullivan Progeny”

The Sullivan rule was not limited to elected officials. In the companion cases Curtis Publishing Co. v. Butts and Associated Press v. Walker (388 U.S. 130, 1967), the Court extended the actual-malice requirement to “public figures”—prominent private citizens who thrust themselves into public controversies or are drawn into them. Justice Harlan’s plurality opinion refined the standard slightly but preserved the core protection.

Later, in Gertz v. Robert Welch, Inc. (418 U.S. 323, 1974), the Court drew a clearer line: private individuals (who have not voluntarily entered the public arena) need only show negligence by the defendant for compensatory damages, but public figures and officials must still meet the higher actual-malice threshold. Subsequent cases such as Time, Inc. v. Hill (1967) applied similar protections to false-light privacy claims, and Hustler Magazine v. Falwell (1988) extended First Amendment safeguards to parody and emotional-distress claims involving public figures.

Enduring Significance

Sullivan and its progeny were a direct response to the use of libel law as a tool of political suppression during the Civil Rights era. By placing the burden of proof on the plaintiff and raising the fault standard dramatically, the doctrine has made it extraordinarily difficult for public officials or public figures to win defamation suits against the press or critics—precisely the point. It has shielded investigative journalism, opinion writing, and robust political debate for more than six decades, even as critics (including some modern Supreme Court justices) have questioned whether the internet age requires recalibration.

In the context of modern political campaigns, the rule remains vital: candidates who voluntarily seek public office become public figures and must tolerate sharp scrutiny of their records, statements, and character. Cease-and-desist letters or threats of litigation that rely on pre-Sullivan common-law standards rarely survive constitutional review when aimed at commentary on a candidate’s official acts or fitness for office. The doctrine ensures that voters—not lawyers—ultimately decide the truth through open debate.

This historical and legal framework underscores why public-figure plaintiffs today face such a high bar: the Supreme Court deliberately chose to err on the side of protecting speech to safeguard democracy itself. For further reading, see the full opinion at 376 U.S. 254 and analyses in Actual Malice by Samantha Barbas (2023) or the Stanford Martin Luther King, Jr. Research and Education Institute’s primary-source collection.

Rich Hoffman

More about me

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

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

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

The Assassin Cole Tomas Allen: Like many Democrats, like John Wilkes Booth, when they can’t win a debate they turn into killers

I never thought I’d be sitting here reflecting on another attempt on President Trump’s life so soon after everything else that’s unfolded in this wild political landscape, but here we are, fresh off the chaos at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner on April 25, 2026, where a 31-year-old Democrat named Cole Tomas Allen from Torrance, California, decided to storm the security line at the Washington Hilton with multiple guns and knives, firing shots in a desperate bid to get close enough to the president to do the unthinkable. I hate to say it, but I saw this coming in the broader sense—not the specifics of this lone actor, but the pattern of rage and violence that keeps bubbling up from the same ideological corners that have targeted Republican leaders for generations. As someone who was just at the White House with my wife a few weeks ago, experiencing the layers of security firsthand—the rope barriers, the lengthy check-in processes, the offsite staging down Connecticut Avenue a mile and a half or two miles away that forces the president into inconvenient travel for events like this—I couldn’t help but connect the dots immediately when the news broke. The security is extensive, as it should be, but it’s not foolproof against someone willing to die in those first few chaotic seconds of a rush, and that’s exactly what Allen tried to pull off. He charged the barricades, shots rang out, a Secret Service officer took a hit to the chest but thankfully had no permanent damage and was released from the hospital later, and the whole thing ended with Allen tackled and wrestled to the ground without anyone else getting hurt. Trump, ever the fighter, wanted to go back in and continue the dinner, which I totally agree with—it’s a shame they had to evacuate and crawl off the stage in that embarrassing scramble, all because some loser with a grudge thought he could rewrite history with a bullet. But what fascinates me, and what I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since, is how this fits into a much larger, darker thread running through American history, one that stretches back to Abraham Lincoln and the very founding fractures of our republic. I’ve never been one to shy away from calling things what they are, and this wasn’t some random act of madness; it was the latest chapter in a strategy of storming the line when elections and arguments fail, and it’s a Democrat thing through and through, whether they admit it or not.

Let me back up a bit and share what I saw myself, because I was physically in Washington, D.C., not long before this all occurred, and it gave me a front-row perspective that makes the whole incident hit different. My wife and I spent several hours at the White House after touring it, soaking in the people’s house as it’s meant to be, and then we wandered the city doing other things. One of the stops my wife insisted on was Ford’s Theatre, just a few blocks from the White House on 10th Street, near the FBI building, the Department of Justice, and the Smithsonian. It’s in that little historic sector off Pennsylvania Avenue, and I’ve talked to plenty of frequent D.C. visitors who’ve never bothered to go there, which I find astonishing—if you live or work in the capital, why wouldn’t you make the pilgrimage to the spot where a president was assassinated? The day we visited, they were still running plays there—they had a production of 1776 on the schedule—but before the evening show, they let visitors in for a historic tour. I stood right at the box where Lincoln was shot, and downstairs in the basement museum, there’s this incredibly detailed exhibit on everything leading up to and after the assassination. I bought a stack of books—two from NASA engineers who created a portable AC unit that’s making old expensive models obsolete, plus a whole bunch more on the Lincoln era—and they were surprisingly good reads. The museum staff had a passionate member of the historic preservation society who gave a half-hour-to-45-minute talk on stage about the theater, John Wilkes Booth, and Lincoln at the time, and it was riveting. We geeked out hard on the historical preservation side of it, my wife and I, because we love that kind of deep dive into how events shape nations. Across the street, the house where Lincoln died is preserved exactly as it was, with the bed still set up, the waiting room where his wife sat through the night, and then an adjacent building turned into a multi-story museum with elevators and creative floor knockouts to display artifacts, including a three-story stack of every book ever written about Lincoln. It puts into perspective just how pivotal he was, how the Republican Party was born to defeat slavery under his leadership, and how the forces arrayed against him—Democrats of the day, essentially the party of the South and slavery—couldn’t accept the Civil War’s outcome.

That visit stayed with me, and when I heard about Cole Tomas Allen’s rush on the Hilton security, it felt like history repeating itself most chillingly. John Wilkes Booth was an actor, a celebrity of his time, a major supporter of slavery who hated the emerging Republican Party and the way Lincoln had led the Union to victory. Just days after Lee’s surrender, with Lincoln reelected and celebrating, Booth used his knowledge of Ford’s Theatre to slip into the private box, shoot Lincoln in the back of the head, jump to the stage, breaking his leg, and flee through the back. The search that followed was intense, and Booth was eventually cornered and killed. But the characteristics? The same righteous fury, the same belief that the political opposition had to be destroyed physically because they couldn’t be beaten at the ballot box or in debate. Booth wasn’t some outlier; he embodied the Democrat rage of the era against a Republican president who dared to end their way of life. Lincoln had done nothing but win the war fair and square, preserve the Union, and free the slaves, yet the opposition framed it as provocation. Sound familiar? Fast-forward to today, and you have Cole Tomas Allen, a mechanical engineer and computer scientist by training, an independent game developer, a part-time teacher who was even named Teacher of the Month in 2024 at a tutoring company in Torrance, flying across the country to storm a security checkpoint at an event where Trump was speaking. He had a room at the Hilton, multiple weapons, and the clear intention to get into that ballroom and take his shot before anyone could react. Preliminary reports note a small political donation to a PAC supporting Kamala Harris in 2024, and while he’s described as a lone wolf with no confirmed party registration, the pattern fits: Democrat-aligned frustration boiling over into violence when rhetoric and elections don’t deliver the outcome they want. The media and left-leaning voices immediately tried to flip the script, blaming Trump’s “rhetoric” for making people upset, as if his push to make America great again is the real crime. It’s the same framing they used after the Alex Jones Sandy Hook saga, where free speech got twisted into causing harm, setting precedents to silence opposition. And after the dinner was evacuated, there was a video of invited reporters—those paragons of lowlife character—stealing bottles of wine to take home, proving the event’s attendees weren’t exactly above reproach themselves.

To really grasp why this keeps happening, I think you have to zoom out and look at the full list of presidential assassins and would-be assassins throughout our history. It’s not a short roster, and when you examine the motives, the ideologies, and the political leanings, a disturbing trend emerges that the mainstream narrative loves to ignore or downplay. Start with the successful ones: Lincoln in 1865 by John Wilkes Booth, a pro-Confederate actor driven by Southern Democrat sympathies against the Republican who crushed slavery and the rebellion. Then, in 1881, James Garfield was shot by Charles Guiteau, a delusional office-seeker who claimed divine inspiration but whose act came amid the spoils system battles that Democrats often exploited. William McKinley in 1901 by Leon Czolgosz, an anarchist influenced by radical left-wing thought who saw the president as a symbol of capitalist oppression. John F. Kennedy in 1963 by Lee Harvey Oswald, a self-avowed Marxist who defected to the Soviet Union and had deep ties to communist and pro-Castro groups—hardly a right-winger. Those are the four who died in office from assassins’ bullets, and already you see a pattern leaning toward radical left or anti-Republican forces.

But the attempts are where it gets even more telling, especially when you layer in the modern era and the repeated targeting of Donald Trump. There was Andrew Jackson in 1835, targeted by Richard Lawrence, who blamed the president for personal financial woes tied to Democratic Party infighting, though he was acquitted on insanity grounds. Theodore Roosevelt, in 1912, was shot by John Schrank, a saloonkeeper obsessed with third-term politics, but whose act disrupted a progressive Republican campaign. Franklin D. Roosevelt in 1933 by Giuseppe Zangara, an Italian immigrant anarchist who hated “capitalists” and originally aimed at the mayor of Chicago, but killed the mayor instead when FDR’s motorcade shifted. Harry Truman in 1950 by Oscar Collazo and Griselio Torresola, Puerto Rican nationalists with left-leaning independence motives who tried to storm Blair House. Gerald Ford faced two attempts in 1975: first by Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme, a Charles Manson follower tied to radical environmental and left-wing cults, who pointed a gun at him in Sacramento; then by Sara Jane Moore, a radical leftist and associate of the Symbionese Liberation Army who fired shots in San Francisco. Ronald Reagan in 1981 by John Hinckley Jr., whose obsession was more personal but occurred amid a wave of anti-Republican sentiment. George W. Bush had plots against him involving various radicals. Barack Obama faced threats from white supremacists and others, but the volume pales compared to what Republicans endure. And then there is Trump; the list is staggering even before this latest one. In 2016, there were multiple threats and plots during the campaign. The 2024 Butler, Pennsylvania rally attempt by Thomas Matthew Crooks, a 20-year-old who fired from a rooftop, grazing Trump’s ear before being taken out by the Secret Service. Another incident occurred in Florida at Trump International Golf Club, where a man with a rifle was spotted near the perimeter. Now, this 2026 incident with Allen at the Correspondents’ Dinner, charging the line like Booth slipping into the theater box. These aren’t isolated; they’re symptoms of a side that resorts to bullets when ballots fail.

What strikes me most, having walked the very floors where Lincoln breathed his last and stood at that preserved box at Ford’s Theatre, is how the psychology hasn’t changed. His hatred of Lincoln’s policies radicalized Booth, his support for slavery, and his view that Republicans were destroying the Southern way of life. He plotted meticulously, using his insider knowledge as an actor to get close. Allen, from what’s emerging, flew in from California, checked into the very hotel hosting the event, and made his move in those critical seconds when security might be distracted. The media reaction was predictable: some outlets and commentators immediately pivoted to “Trump’s rhetoric provoked this,” echoing the post-event spin that it’s somehow the president’s fault for pushing back against globalism, terrorism, and the erosion of American values. They said the same about Lincoln—don’t provoke the South, let them keep their slaves, mind your own business. It’s the same gaslighting: if conservatives challenge the status quo, any violence that follows is on us. But I’ve studied this enough, and I’ve written extensively about the spiritual dimension behind it all, because this isn’t just politics; it’s a battle for the soul of the nation. In my upcoming book, The Politics of Heaven, which dives deep into the conspiracies plotting against God’s creation and the biblical foundations of true liberty, I lay out the receipts on how these movements—Marxist persuasions that gained traction in the mid-1800s and wormed into American soil—defend their ground with threats and acts of violence when ideas fail. Lincoln loved his Bible; Trump has found a genuine relationship with God amid his political fights. The Republican Party, born to end slavery and preserve the constitutional order, stands as a bulwark, and that’s why it draws the fire. People like Booth or Allen don’t just wake up one day and decide to kill; they’re vulnerable to the demon whispers that radicalize through hatred, the kind festering in elements of the Democrat machine where debate gets shut down, voices get canceled, and when that fails, the garden hose of violence gets turned on full blast.

I spent way more time at Ford’s Theatre than I expected because the exhibit was so well done—it’s not some dusty relic but a living museum with creative displays, like the stacked books soaring three stories high, symbolizing Lincoln’s enduring legacy. The staff noticed my intense interest, and we struck up conversations; they’re passionate preservers of history, serving everybody regardless of politics, but you could sense the hush around the violence angle. They know the truth—that the same evil that possessed Booth is at work today—but nobody wants to “set off” the other side or invite more backlash. It’s pathetic, really, this self-censorship where we’re told not to hurt Democrat feelings lest they unleash more of what they’ve always done. Across from the theater, the Petersen House, where Lincoln died, is equally powerful, with the bed and rooms preserved, and the expanded museum next door telling the full story of the search and cultural impact. My wife and I relished every minute because we value what the Republican Party stands for: anti-slavery roots, freedom’s perpetuation, the defense of God-given rights articulated in the Constitution and the Bible. We left with armfuls of books and a deeper appreciation, but also a resolve not to ignore the pattern anymore.

This latest attempt with Cole Tomas Allen underscores why events like the Correspondents’ Dinner can’t keep happening off-site in unsecured hotels. The White House is the people’s house, and it deserves a big, beautiful ballroom right on the grounds under the tightest security imaginable. No more driving all over town, exposing the president and officials to these risks. Trump’s reaction—wanting to push through and continue—shows the spirit we need. The low character on display afterward, with reporters pilfering wine while a would-be assassin was still being processed, just highlights the decadence. And the irony of Democrats and media claiming Trump caused this by “poking everyone in the eye” is rich; it’s the exact argument used against Lincoln for ending slavery. If you don’t want violence, stop defending indefensible positions like radical globalism or anti-American sentiment. The answer isn’t more policy tweaks; it’s confronting the spiritual warfare at the root, the kind I explore in The Politics of Heaven, with detailed explanations of how these hatreds possess people and why Republicans like Lincoln and Trump become targets. I’ve got the receipts in that book because too many conversations end with “how can you say that?”—well, here’s how, backed by history, facts, and faith.

Reflecting on my trip to D.C.—the White House shirt I picked up, the Ford’s Theatre geek-out with my wife, the realization that this city under Republican leadership feels vibrant and alive—I’m more convinced than ever that we learn from these tragedies by accelerating the ballroom project and calling out the pattern plainly. Killer democrats don’t represent every member of the party, but their movement has a historical strain of violence when cornered, from Booth to Allen and the attempts in between. It’s not new; it’s persistent. We preserve freedom not by cowering but by building stronger, speaking truth, and understanding the spiritual battle. The show goes on at Ford’s Theatre, plays still performed where history was made, and America will endure the same way—as long as we remember the lessons from 10th Street and apply them to today’s threats. The museum there could take a week to absorb fully, and every American should visit; it’s not just history, it’s a warning and a call to vigilance.

Footnotes:

[Footnote 1: Details on the April 25, 2026, incident drawn from contemporaneous reports, including Al Jazeera, The Times, Time magazine, and NBC Los Angeles coverage confirming Cole Tomas Allen’s identity, background, actions, and charges.]

[Footnote 2: Ford’s Theatre and Petersen House descriptions based on personal observations and standard historic site information from the National Park Service.]

[Footnote 3: List of presidential assassination attempts compiled from historical records, including those documented in sources like the U.S. Secret Service historical overviews and books such as The Presidents and the Assassins by Ronald J. Sterba.]

[Footnote 4: Political affiliations and motives of assassins cross-referenced with biographical accounts; e.g., Booth’s Confederate ties in American Brutus by Michael W. Kauffman.]

[Footnote 5: Upcoming book reference to The Politics of Heaven by the author, forthcoming, with a full analysis of spiritual and political conspiracies.]

Bibliography:

• Kauffman, Michael W. American Brutus: John Wilkes Booth and the Lincoln Conspiracies. Random House, 2004.

• Sterba, Ronald J. The Presidents and the Assassins: From Lincoln to Kennedy and Beyond. CreateSpace, 2015.

• National Park Service. Ford’s Theatre Official Guide. U.S. Department of the Interior.

• Various news reports on Cole Thomas Allen incident: Al Jazeera (April 26, 2026), The Times (April 26, 2026), Time (April 26, 2026), Washington Post live updates.

• Hoffman, Rich. The Gunfight Guide to Business, prior edition.

• Lincoln assassination primary sources: The Assassination of Abraham Lincoln by various compiled eyewitness accounts, Library of Congress archives.

• Trump assassination attempt histories: Official Secret Service reports and public records from 2024-2026 incidents.

Rich Hoffman

More about me

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

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bibliography

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rich Hoffman

More about me

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

About the Author: Rich Hoffman

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

	Anonymous on Why Christianity Survived as a…
	Anonymous on Christianity as a Weapon of Wa…
	Anonymous on Christianity as a Weapon of Wa…
	Anonymous on Is God an Idiot: I don’t…
	Anonymous on Christianity as a Scaling Move…
	Rich Hoffman on The Jonathan Edwards Study Bib…
	Anonymous on The Jonathan Edwards Study Bib…
	Anonymous on The Day the Past Arrives in th…
	Rich Hoffman on The Day the Past Arrives in th…
	Anonymous on The Day the Past Arrives in th…

Mike Johnson Is Talking Like a Man Preparing the Concession Speech

Remember the Stretch Between the Election and January 20

Elon Does Not Need to Pray on Camera. He Needs to Be in the Room.

Fox Already Has Your People. Football Season Has Everybody Else.

The McDonald’s Test, or What DC Actually Sounds Like Before 10 a.m.

If You Cannot Unite Them on a Bill, Unite Them on a Book

A Quiet Hour at the Museum Before the Ropes Open

Do Not Play Not to Lose

The AI Debate Is a Strategy, Not a Concern

They Ran This Play on Nuclear. They Will Run It on Compute.

The Tight Races Are Tight for a Reason

Two Months. Not a Miracle. A Decision.

Share this:

Share this:

Why the 2026 Midterm Polls Are Still Misleading

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: