Michael Ryan’s decisive victory in the 2026 Butler County Republican primary for commissioner marks a significant shift in local politics, reflecting voter demand for genuine conservatism, accountability, and fresh leadership. I have followed these races closely for years, and this outcome stands out as a clear repudiation of entitlement politics and a triumph for the kind of candidate who earns support through hard work and integrity. With final unofficial results showing Ryan capturing approximately 72% of the vote to Cindy Carpenter’s 28%, the primary essentially decides the seat in this heavily Republican county.
Butler County, Ohio, is in the southwestern part of the state, encompassing communities such as Hamilton, Middletown, Fairfield, and Oxford (home to Miami University), as well as numerous townships. Its population exceeds 390,000, with a strong manufacturing and agricultural base alongside growing suburban development. The Board of Commissioners oversees a substantial budget, infrastructure projects, economic development, public safety, and human services. For decades, the board has operated under Republican dominance, making the GOP primary the real contest. Winning it virtually guarantees victory in November against the unopposed Democrat Mike Miller.
Cindy Carpenter had served as commissioner since 2011 and was seeking a fifth term. Her tenure focused on human services, public health, and fiscal matters, but it was marred by controversies that alienated many in the party base. Incidents included a heated confrontation at a Miami University-area apartment complex involving her granddaughter, where she was accused of leveraging her position, using inappropriate language, and displaying aggressive behavior captured on video. Investigations cleared her of criminal wrongdoing but highlighted conduct deemed “distasteful” and “beneath her elected position.” Additional complaints arose, including allegations of aggressive conduct at a housing coalition meeting. Even the county sheriff publicly expressed concerns about her behavior.
A particularly damaging episode involved Carpenter campaigning for a Democrat in the Middletown mayoral race, crossing party lines in ways that many viewed as disloyal. This move, combined with her decision not to seek the Butler County Republican Party endorsement, signaled a disconnect. She appeared to operate with an entitled mindset, assuming incumbency alone would carry her through. Her campaign signs, some in blue tones reminiscent of Democratic aesthetics, and limited fundraising—only about $7,700 compared to Ryan’s over $46,000—underscored a lack of broad support.
In contrast, Michael Ryan entered the race as a former Hamilton City Council member with a background in business and community service. He positioned himself as a true conservative caretaker focused on fiscal responsibility, job creation, lower taxes, and practical governance. Ryan methodically built support: he secured the Republican Party endorsement with a striking 71% in the first round of voting, an early and historic show of strength. Major figures lined up behind him, including Auditor Nancy Nix, who endorsed him at a fundraiser when it still carried risk; Congressman Warren Davidson; State Representative Thomas Hall; and others, such as George Lang. These endorsements validated his approach and reassured voters that change could be safe and effective.
I endorsed Ryan early, well before the primary heated up. Having known him for years, I saw in him the sincerity and dedication often missing in politics. He raised money effectively, attended events tirelessly, engaged voters across the county, and maintained a positive, bridge-building demeanor even amid challenges like sign theft. His campaign emphasized family values, economic growth, and responsiveness—qualities that resonated deeply in a county frustrated with the status quo. The watch party on primary night, held at the Premier Shooting facility with a speakeasy-style back area, overflowed with supporters. The room was packed; people had to turn sideways to navigate. Energy filled the space as results rolled in.
Congressman Warren Davidson attended and shared insights from his experience in large districts. We discussed the political savvy required at every level and how Ryan had grown into a polished figure capable of uniting people. Davidson’s presence underscored the race’s importance, and his admiration for Ryan’s development over the couple of years spoke volumes. Other supporters like Darbi Boddy added to the festive, optimistic atmosphere. It felt like a genuine celebration of earned success rather than entitlement.
The results confirmed what grassroots momentum had suggested. With 100% of precincts reporting in unofficial tallies, Ryan’s 72%-28% margin was overwhelming and, for some, embarrassing to the incumbent. Early voting and election-day observations showed Carpenter’s team attempting a last-minute sign blitz, but it failed against organized, enthusiastic Ryan volunteers who kept their ground game strong. The Republican slate card proved crucial, as it often does; voters seeking vetted candidates found Ryan prominently featured through party processes and independent media coverage.
This victory carries broader lessons for politics, especially local races. Party systems matter because they help aggregate preferences in a diverse society. People differ on countless details—concrete versus asphalt, tax priorities, development approaches—but effective governance requires building majorities. Dismissing the party as irrelevant or operating as a “RINO” critic while undermining it rarely succeeds. Ryan demonstrated the opposite: he worked within the system, earned endorsements through respect and effort, and presented a positive vision.
Background on Butler County’s political landscape adds context. The county has long leaned conservative, supporting Republican candidates at high levels, including strong support for Trump in recent cycles. Yet local frustrations with taxes, growth management, infrastructure, and perceived insider politics have grown. Projects involving economic development, public safety, and services will benefit from new energy. Ryan has signaled readiness to hit the ground running, with ideas on efficiency, accountability, and forward-thinking initiatives already in motion during the campaign. His experience on Hamilton council involved practical decision-making on budgets and community issues, preparing him well for county-level responsibilities.
Roger Reynolds, former county auditor, briefly entered the race but withdrew after the party endorsement went decisively to Ryan. His last-minute alignment with Carpenter, including sign placement, highlighted lingering personal grievances but ultimately underscored the party’s unified shift. Voters rejected that approach. In an era where authenticity matters more than ever, Ryan’s consistent message and character won out.
I am proud to have supported him from the beginning. When Nancy Nix announced her endorsement at a fundraiser, it took courage because challengers to incumbents often face skepticism. Yet as momentum built—through articles, videos, conversations, and events—support snowballed. Thousands accessed information in the final days, researching Ryan’s record and deciding he represented the change they sought without chaos.
Looking ahead to the general election in November 2026, the focus shifts to implementation. Ryan will face minimal opposition, allowing emphasis on transition planning. Priorities likely include continuing fiscal stewardship amid state and federal shifts, addressing housing and development thoughtfully, enhancing public safety, and promoting economic opportunities in a region balancing rural roots with suburban expansion. His fresh perspective promises to inject optimism and results-oriented governance.
Politics at the county level profoundly affects daily life: road maintenance, emergency services, property taxes, zoning, and more. When voters sense entitlement or disconnection, they respond, as seen here. Carpenter’s campaign assumed voter inertia; Ryan proved engagement and sincerity prevail. This race reminds us that traditional political games—relying on name recognition, minimal effort, or media insiders—have diminished effectiveness in an era of an informed electorate.
The night of the primary embodied hope. A full room of dedicated Republicans, conversations with leaders like Davidson, and the visible relief and excitement on supporters’ faces painted a picture of renewal. Ryan’s wife and family shared in the moment, grounding the victory in personal commitment. For those involved in politics, the takeaway is clear: do the work, be genuine, build coalitions, and respect the process. Ryan exemplified this, turning potential obstacles into advantages.
As someone who values conservative principles of limited government, individual responsibility, and community strength, I see Ryan’s win as validation. Butler County deserves leadership that listens, acts prudently, and prioritizes residents. With the primary behind us, anticipation builds for his term starting in 2027. Many good projects and ideas wait in the wings, ready for execution. And because of this election, a lot of good things will happen.
Footnotes
1. Journal-News reporting on final unofficial results showing Ryan at 72%.
2. Cincinnati Enquirer coverage of fundraising disparity and endorsements.
3. Ballotpedia profiles on candidates and race background.
4. Accounts of Carpenter controversies from multiple local news outlets.
5. Party endorsement details and 71% vote.
6. Observations from the watch party and interactions with Davidson.
Bibliography / Further Reading
• Journal-News (Hamilton, Ohio): Multiple articles on the primary, results, and candidate profiles (2026).
• Cincinnati Enquirer: Coverage of the commissioner race, fundraising, and controversies.
• Ballotpedia: Entries for Michael V. Ryan, Cindy Carpenter, and Butler County elections 2026.
• Ryan for Butler official campaign site: Policy positions and updates.
• Butler County Board of Elections: Official results and candidate filings.
• articles on local politics and endorsements.
• Additional context from county commissioner office descriptions and historical election data.
This primary will be remembered as a turning point in which voters chose character, preparation, and vision over incumbency. Michael Ryan earned this victory, and Butler County stands to benefit. The hard work of the campaign now transitions to governance, with high expectations and strong support. It is a positive development for the future.
Rich Hoffman is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.
He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.
Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events.
I 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 is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.
He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.
Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events.
I’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.
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 is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.
He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.
Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events.
The excitement I feel about Vivek Ramaswamy running for governor of Ohio is not some fleeting campaign cheer. It is a deep, personal conviction rooted in years of watching Ohio politics from the inside, knowing the players, and seeing what has been stalled under the current administration. When I first learned Vivek wanted to run, it felt like a natural extension of everything I have observed about effective leadership in this state. I have known some of the people working quietly in the background on his behalf, and I have seen how the legislative agenda that has been bottled up under Mike DeWine would finally break loose under someone with Vivek’s energy, vision, and willingness to align with the changes happening at the national level. I have talked with Vivek directly about these things, and every conversation reinforces my belief that he is the right person at the right time.
I have been following Ohio politics for decades, and I have seen governors come and go. Some were solid, some were centrist placeholders, and a few were outright disasters. Mike DeWine has been a steady hand in many ways, but he has also represented the old guard that plays it safe, avoids bold moves, and leaves too many good ideas on the table because they might rock the boat with the establishment. That is where Vivek Ramaswamy stands apart. He is not a career politician. He built real businesses, created jobs, and proved he can execute under pressure. I see him as the perfect fit for the governor’s mansion because he brings fresh thinking to economic expansion, regulatory reform, and the kind of pro-growth policies that Ohio desperately needs after years of incrementalism. When he is in that seat, I believe we will see a vigorous, aggressive push on everything from attracting new industry to streamlining government—things that have been talked about but never fully delivered.
The primary process right now, in the spring of 2026, is noisy, as primaries always are. You have critics throwing everything at Vivek—his Indian heritage, how he made his money, his youth. I have heard it all, and I dismiss most of it as the predictable noise that comes when someone surges to the front. I supported Donald Trump long before he announced his first run in 2015. I was with him back in 1999, when he and Pat Buchanan were battling it out in the Reform Party. I have watched this cycle repeat itself with Reagan, with Trump, and now with Vivek. People who are frontrunners always draw fire. The media loves to amplify the drama because it sells advertising. Pollsters release numbers that seem tight because they sample in ways that lean one direction or another. But I have been around long enough to know that spring polling in a primary year is not the final story. By July and August, things clarify dramatically. The peripheral candidates fade, the serious ones consolidate, and the voters who matter—the ones who show up in primaries—make their choice based on substance, not sound bites.
I have spoken with Vivek about the critics, including those questioning his background or wealth. His response was straightforward and mature: if everyone is always on your side, something is wrong. That is the mark of someone who understands leadership. You do not get rattled by the noise. You win people over with results. Vivek has shown he can do that. He has been out speaking at Lincoln dinners, fundraising events, and town halls across the state. He is articulate, energetic, and has a strong partner in his wife. Those are the qualities that translate to governing. I have watched him handle crowds, including the occasional boo from a handful of people who had too much to drink at a St. Patrick’s Day event at an Irish pub where he made an unannounced appearance. The cheers far outnumbered the jeers, and he took it in stride. That is the kind of poise Ohio needs in the governor’s office.
On the other side, the Democrats’ best option is Amy Acton. That alone tells you how weak their bench is. Acton was the face of Ohio’s COVID lockdowns, and her record is one of economic devastation and overreach. She has a one-trick pony: “I’m a doctor, I care about health.” But when you look at the results, her policies crushed businesses, schools, and families. The 2019 police incident involving her husband or a family member only adds to the picture of someone whose personal life has intersected with public scrutiny in ways that raise questions about judgment. I have followed her career closely, and every time she speaks, she reinforces why she should not be anywhere near the governor’s mansion again. Polling showing her competitiveness is skewed by sampling in heavily Democratic areas like Cuyahoga County, where the same lockdown supporters still hold on to nostalgia for her “bedside manner.” But real-world results matter more than nostalgia. Ohio cannot afford another round of that.
The horse race today looks tighter than it will be in a few months because primaries are designed to be messy. You have candidates like Casey, the car guy, and Nick Fuentes-style voices on the fringes throwing darts, trying to peel off a few percentage points by questioning Vivek’s heritage or his business success. That is standard primary theater. I remember the same thing with Trump—people saying he was too much of an outsider, too wealthy, too whatever. Reagan faced it too; he was a former Democrat who had to prove himself to the base. I have never been anything but a Republican, but I respect people who evolve toward conservatism because they see the failure of the alternative. Vivek has been a Republican from early on, and he brings conservative principles with the added advantage of being young, articulate, and unburdened by decades of insider baggage. He is not a middle-grounder. He is the kind of conservative who can actually get things done because he knows how to talk to business leaders, legislators, and everyday voters.
I have roots in this state’s politics. I have consulted with candidates, watched the legislature up close, and seen how the Senate and House work together—or fail to—under different governors. Vivek already has strong relationships there. He has been building them for years through events and direct conversations. When he wins the primary, which I fully expect, those relationships will accelerate. The legislative agenda that has been stalled will move. Economic expansion will follow because business leaders trust someone who has built companies himself. Trump’s endorsement is not just symbolic. It is practical. Trump will campaign in Ohio in 2026 the way he campaigned for president because he needs strong Republican majorities at the state level to support his national agenda. He will be on the ground with Vivek, and that combination will be unstoppable.
Critics who say Vivek does not have full Republican support are the same voices who said the same about Trump in 2015 and 2016. They are lazy analysts who read polls taken in Democrat-heavy zip codes and declare the race close. Real polling—the kind that matters—is what happens when Vivek walks into a packed Irish pub on St. Patrick’s Day, and the crowd cheers louder than the handful of boos. That is the energy that wins primaries and general elections. Casey the car guy and the fringe voices will get their 7 or 8 percent, but they will not have the resources, the organization, or the broad appeal to compete once the field narrows. Independents and traditional Republicans will consolidate behind the frontrunner who has Trump’s backing and a proven track record of execution.
I have been through enough cycles to know how this plays out. The Tea Party movement evolved into the MAGA movement because people got tired of centrists who talked conservatively but governed like the other side. Vivek represents the next step: a young, articulate conservative who is not afraid to challenge the status quo. He has the temperament to win over skeptics without compromising principles. His wife is a strong partner in the effort. Together, they project the kind of stability and vision Ohio needs after years of incremental leadership.
The contrast with Amy Acton could not be sharper. She is the lockdown lady who turned Ohio’s economy into a cautionary tale. Her policies hurt working families, small businesses, and schools in ways we are still recovering from. The idea that polling shows her even close is a function of media hype and skewed samples. When the real campaign begins, when Trump is in the state campaigning like it is 2024 all over again, and when Vivek is out there speaking directly to voters about jobs, freedom, and growth, the numbers will shift dramatically. That is how primaries work. The noise in spring gives way to clarity by summer.
I am excited because I see the potential for real change. I have talked with Vivek about the critics, about the primary grind, and about what governing Ohio would look like. He gets it. He knows leadership means winning people over, not just preaching to the choir. He has the resources, the relationships, and the resolve to deliver. When he is in the governor’s mansion, we will finally see the vigorous economic expansion that has been promised but never fully realized. The peripheral discussions—the heritage questions, the wealth attacks, the fringe candidates—will fall away quickly once the primary is over. Republicans will unify because the alternative is unacceptable.
That is why I support Vivek Ramaswamy without hesitation. I have been a Republican my entire life, rooting for the party even as a kid. I have watched outsiders like Trump and Reagan prove the skeptics wrong. Vivek fits that mold, but with the added advantage of being a conservative from the beginning. He is the clear frontrunner for good reason. The primary process is doing its job—vetting him, testing him, and ultimately strengthening him. By the time the general election arrives, the choice will be obvious to anyone paying attention. Ohio cannot afford another lockdown-era disaster. It needs leadership that builds, not restricts. Vivek Ramaswamy is that leader.
The horse race today is a theater. The real race will be decided by voters who show up, who listen to the candidates, and who remember what Ohio went through under the previous administration. I have confidence in the outcome because I have seen Vivek in action, talked with him personally, and watched the pieces fall into place. The critics will keep talking, but the results will speak louder. This is going to be a good year for Ohio, and I am excited to be part of it.
Footnotes
1. Ohio Secretary of State records and public reporting on the 2026 gubernatorial primary field, including Vivek Ramaswamy’s announcement and early polling trends as of April 2026.
2. Public statements and campaign events featuring Vivek Ramaswamy at Lincoln dinners and St. Patrick’s Day gatherings in Ohio, 2025–2026.
3. Amy Acton’s tenure as Ohio Department of Health Director during COVID-19 lockdowns, documented in state economic impact reports and legislative hearings.
4. 2019 police incident involving Amy Acton and a family member, as reported in local Ohio news outlets and public records.
5. Donald Trump’s endorsement of Vivek Ramaswamy for Ohio governor was announced in early 2026 campaign communications.
6. Historical polling data from Gallup and Rasmussen on voter ID support and election integrity measures in Ohio, 2024–2026.
7. Ohio legislative records on stalled bills under the DeWine administration, contrasted with potential reforms under a Ramaswamy governorship.
Bibliography
• Ohio Secretary of State. 2026 Gubernatorial Primary Candidate Filings and Polling Summaries.
• Ramaswamy, Vivek. Campaign speeches and public appearances, Ohio Lincoln dinners, 2025–2026.
• Acton, Amy. Ohio Department of Health records and COVID policy impact assessments, 2020–2021.
• Local news archives (Cleveland Plain Dealer, Columbus Dispatch). Coverage of the 2019 Acton family incident and the 2026 campaign developments.
• Trump, Donald. Official endorsement statements for the 2026 Ohio governor race.
• Pew Research Center and Gallup. Polling on election security and voter ID, 2024–2026.
• Ohio Legislative Service Commission. Bill status reports under DeWine administration, 2022–2026.
Rich Hoffman is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.
He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.
Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events.
I warned what would happen in West Chester Township during the November 2025 election, and it’s playing out just as I said it would. I don’t want to pick on Amanda Ortiz personally—she seems like a pleasant enough young lady, a veterinarian and mom who presented herself in a way that felt approachable and non-threatening—but the reality is that her victory as a West Chester trustee represents something much larger and more dangerous than one local race. I warned everyone during the campaign that we should have stuck with Mark Welch, the longtime trustee who had helped build West Chester into the thriving, well-managed community it had become under Republican leadership. Instead, we now have a radical Democrat on the board, and the consequences are already starting to reveal themselves in ways that should worry every taxpayer and resident who values fiscal responsibility and growth without the typical left-wing overreach. Mark Welch was the only real hedge against the lean-Democrat influences that were already creeping into township decisions, and by losing him, we have opened the door to a shift that could erode the very foundations of what made West Chester successful in the first place. I have said it before, and I will say it again here: this was not just an election loss; it was a calculated Trojan horse maneuver by the Democrats, and the proof is right there in how they celebrated it afterward.
Let me walk through exactly how this unfolded because I believe people must understand the playbook Democrats are using in Republican strongholds like Butler County, Ohio, and across the country. Amanda Ortiz ran a campaign that deliberately downplayed her partisan affiliation. She did not go door-to-door shouting that she was a Democrat. She positioned herself as a nice mom, a community-oriented professional who cared about infrastructure, parks, and listening to residents rather than developers. Her website and materials emphasized “people over business,” which sounds reasonable on the surface, but in practice, it is code for a regulatory mindset that slows growth and increases costs for everyone else. People who were moderate or independent, or even some Republicans who were tired of seeing the same faces, listened to her and thought she represented a fresh, safe choice. They got suckered, plain and simple. I heard it from so many voters after the fact—folks who admitted they had no idea she was a card-carrying Democrat until after the ballots were cast. She kept it quiet, ran as a non-partisan in a technically non-partisan race on the ballot, and relied on the fact that most people do not dig deep into local trustee races. That is how Democrats win in places like West Chester, where the population has grown rapidly, and people are busy raising families rather than following every political nuance. They sneak in under the radar, sounding rational and moderate, and only reveal their true colors once they are safely behind the lines. I have watched this strategy play out time and again, and it only benefits Democrats in Republican areas because it creates ambiguity that allows them to peel off just enough votes from the center without mobilizing the full conservative base.
The proof of how Democrats viewed this victory came shortly after the election, at the Butler County Democratic Party’s Spring 2026 Gala. They awarded Amanda Ortiz their Democrat of the Year honor, and the room was packed with the party’s heavy hitters celebrating what they openly called a monumental win. I have followed local politics long enough to know that a township trustee seat in West Chester would normally not draw this statewide and even out-of-state attention, but here it was, front and center. Governor Andy Beshear from Kentucky flew up to speak at the event, using the platform to bash Vice President JD Vance and energize the crowd. Beshear, whom I have long maintained won his own close election through questionable means involving teacher unions and irregularities out of Louisville and Lexington, was there to lend his star power to this “victory.” Amy Acton was there too—the former Ohio Health Director under Governor Mike DeWine, who became the face of the COVID lockdowns that devastated our state’s economy and small businesses. She is now running for governor herself in 2026, and her presence alongside Beshear and the rest of the “misfit toys,” as I like to call them, sent a clear message: this seat mattered to them. Kathy Wyenandt, the chair of the Butler County Democrat Party and the architect of so much of their behind-the-scenes maneuvering, was at the heart of it all. She has always been nice to me personally, cordial and polite whenever our paths cross, but I have learned over the years that her brand of niceness is strategic. When you lack the raw political power to force your agenda through head-on, you smile, you build relationships, and you slip your candidates through the cracks. That is exactly what happened with Ortiz. No one knew who she was a year before the election, yet the party machinery got her across the finish line by keeping her Democrat identity low-key and letting her play the moderate mom card.
I have talked about this construct before in my writings and on my platforms, but it bears repeating here because Amanda Ortiz embodies the new Democrat strategy in places like Butler County. Their bench is shallow. They do not have deep pools of talent or proven leaders who can win on ideas alone in conservative territory. So instead, they recruit friendly faces who can pass as independents or moderates, avoid any mention of national Democrat policies that would scare off voters, and rely on the fact that local races often fly under the radar. Ortiz herself acknowledged in her acceptance remarks how grateful she was for the support of Kathy Wyenandt and others, as without them, she would not have been elected. That is code for admitting the party did the heavy lifting while she stayed in the background as the palatable front. Meanwhile, Mark Welch had been there for years, carrying forward policies that George Lang and others had helped establish—policies that turned West Chester into a model of explosive growth, strong infrastructure, and fiscal prudence. Welch was not flashy, but he was steady. He understood the balance between development and quality of life. He had built relationships and institutional knowledge that kept the township humming. Republicans around him, influenced by advisors who thought they needed to court moderates by pairing him with Lee Wong—a candidate who leans a bit more toward the center and attracts crossover appeal—made the fatal mistake of playing it too safe. They advised Welch not to go on the attack, not to “punch Democrats in the face” by exposing Ortiz’s true affiliations and the broader agenda she represented. Instead, they tried to run a cordial, moderate campaign, assuming Butler County’s Republican lean would carry the day. That was a miscalculation, and it cost us the seat.
I remember talking with Mark Welch around election time, and he expressed readiness to move on to other things after so many years of service, but he stayed in the race largely to hold the line for the township’s future. He had been a bulwark against the kind of creeping leftward drift that Democrats specialize in once they gain a foothold. West Chester’s success did not happen by accident. It came from years of Republican-led decisions that encouraged business growth while protecting the residential quality of life. The cash reserves, the infrastructure investments, the explosive population boom—all of that was built on policies that prioritized results over ideology. But now, with a Democrat on the board, I fully expect to see that foundation tested. Democrats are not known for preserving the status quo in places like this; they tend to burn through reserves with new spending priorities, push for more regulations under the guise of “sustainability” or “equity,” and gradually shift the culture. I have seen it in other communities, and the pattern is predictable. The explosive growth that fueled West Chester’s prosperity will be at risk if the board starts listening more to activist voices than to the taxpayers who actually fund the operation. That is why this seat mattered so much to the Democrats. It was not just one trustee position; it was a crack in the armor of one of Ohio’s most reliably Republican townships. They poured resources into it, celebrated it nationally by bringing in Beshear, and used it as a rallying cry because they see it as proof that their Trojan horse model works.
Too many Republicans fell for the moderate trap. I have been vocal about this for years, and people dismiss me as the guy in the cowboy hat who shoots guns and talks tough—but they always work in the background to steer people who should listen, away, but the record shows I am right more often than not. Look at the FirstEnergy scandal a few years back, where Democrats framed legitimate energy policy debates as corruption, and Republicans got defensive instead of fighting back on principle. Some ended up in jail because they failed to defend the traditional bases of power against the incursion of renewable energy. The same dynamic played out in West Chester. Advisors told Mark Welch and the local party to play nice, to embrace moderates like Lee Wong, to avoid aggressive attacks because voters supposedly wanted civility. But history proves otherwise. Look at George Lang’s campaigns—he has always been cordial in public, willing to talk to anyone, including Kathy Wyenandt, but when it comes to winning, he knows how to draw the line and mobilize the base. Successful Republicans do not win by bleeding over Democrats; they win by energizing their own voters and exposing the opposition for what it is. Donald Trump proved this time and again. He did not play nice; he punched back, exposed weaknesses, and forced the other side to defend indefensible positions. That is how you get turnout and loyalty. Playing in the middle of the road gets you run over. I told people during the campaign that if we wanted to keep West Chester red and strong, we had to treat this race like the battle it was. Instead, the gloves stayed on, and Democrats slipped Ortiz through.
This connects directly to what is happening at higher levels, too. Amy Acton is using the same playbook in her run for governor—positioning herself as a doctor who cares about people, downplaying the economic destruction her lockdown policies caused during COVID. She destroyed small businesses, prolonged unnecessary restrictions, and Ohio still has not fully recovered in many sectors. Yet she is out there smiling, talking about “power back to the people,” and Democrats are lapping it up. Beshear’s visit to the gala was no coincidence; he sees Ohio as a battleground and this local win as a template. Kathy Wyenandt has orchestrated this model for years. She ran for state senate herself back in 2020, lost, but stayed embedded in the county party, building relationships and waiting for opportunities like this. She is nice when she needs to be because she understands power dynamics. When Republicans hold the majority, as they do in Butler County, the only way for Democrats to advance is through deception and incremental gains. Sneak in a trustee here, a school board member there, keep the races non-partisan on paper so voters do not scrutinize the D next to the name, and slowly erode the conservative advantage. It is a long game, and they are patient. Meanwhile, too many Republicans think civility will win the day. I have heard it from moderate voices: “Don’t listen to that crazy Rich Hoffman; and his cowboy hat, bullwhips and talks about punching people.” But the truth is, elections are not won by being the nicest guy in the room. They are won by showing a path to victory and fighting for it.
I have always believed that people vote for winners, not for moderates who split the difference. Trump’s success was built on that truth. He did not apologize for being aggressive; he celebrated it. Vivek Ramaswamy is going to have to learn the same lesson as his own campaign heat up. Playing nice with the establishment or trying to bleed over left-leaning voters only works if you are already in a dominant position, and even then, it is risky. In a place like Butler County, where registered Republicans far outnumber Democrats, the winning formula is to expose the Trojan horse before it crosses the gates. We should have hammered the fact that Ortiz was the Democrat Party’s chosen candidate. We should have highlighted her endorsements and the national figures waiting in the wings to celebrate her. Instead, the campaign listened to advisors who thought Lee Wong’s moderate appeal would carry the ticket. Wong brings in some crossover, sure, but at what cost? When the race tightened, that strategy left Welch vulnerable. People took for granted how good Welch had been. He had helped implement policies that kept taxes reasonable, infrastructure moving, and growth exploding. West Chester’s success was built on Republican vision, and now Democrats are positioning themselves to claim credit while quietly undermining the principles that made it possible.
Looking back, I can see the buyer’s remorse already setting in among some voters who supported Ortiz, thinking she was a safe, independent choice. Christians, especially people of faith who value traditional values and fiscal conservatism are particularly vulnerable. We need that same clarity here. Moderates and independents who listened to Ortiz’s pitch about parks and walkability did not realize they were voting for a party that celebrates lockdown architects like Acton and out-of-state governors who benefit from questionable election practices. I stand by my view that Beshear’s first win involved enough irregularities through teacher unions and urban strongholds to tip the scales. The details from Louisville and Lexington have never been fully addressed, and this fits the pattern of Democrats resorting to deceit when ideas alone cannot prevail. Whether it is election irregularities or Trojan horse candidacies, the result is the same: power gained through misdirection rather than merit.
The interconnections here are fascinating and telling. Kathy Wyenandt, Amy Acton, Andy Beshear, and the entire Butler County Democrat machine rallied around Amanda Ortiz because they recognize a model when they see one. A minor trustee seat became their national rallying cry because it showed they could infiltrate Republican territory without triggering a full defensive response. They will copy this playbook everywhere—find a likable face, run non-partisan, keep the D quiet, and celebrate quietly at galas with big-name guests to build momentum. It worked here because Republicans underestimated the threat and overestimated the value of moderation. George Lang has shown the right way: be cordial when possible, but fight to win when it counts. I remember specific elections where challengers who got “down and dirty,” as the saying goes, came out on top because they connected with voters who want strength, not appeasement. The secret sauce is showing you are willing to win, not just participate.
As I reflect on all of this, I cannot help but reference my own book, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business. It lays out the philosophy I have lived by: in any competition, whether business or politics, you prepare for the fight, you understand the terrain, and you do not hesitate to draw when necessary. Playing nice only works if the other side respects the rules, and Democrats have shown they do not. They use sweetness as a weapon when outgunned, then reveal their agenda once inside the gates. I told everyone this would happen with Ortiz. I warned that Mark Welch’s experience and steadiness were irreplaceable in the short term. People dismissed it as over-the-top, but now the proof is in the award she received and the high-profile attendees who showed up to congratulate her. Democrats are proud of this win because it validates their shallow-bench strategy. They do not have a deep roster of stars; they have to manufacture victories like this one. That is why Beshear came from Kentucky and Acton showed up—they see it as a blueprint for flipping Ohio one local seat at a time.
The months ahead will test West Chester in ways we have not seen before. With Ortiz on the board, I expect more emphasis on “resident voices” that conveniently align with progressive priorities—more spending on social programs disguised as infrastructure, pressure to slow development under environmental pretexts, and a gradual shift away from the pro-growth policies that built our cash reserves. The explosive growth we have enjoyed will begin to be strained under new ideological weights, and the positive gains Mark Welch helped secure will be spent down. That is the Democrat nature: they inherit success and then erode it. I have seen it in school boards, county seats, and trustee races across Ohio. Non-partisan labeling only helps them in red areas because it hides the ball. Voters who lean conservative or independent think they are making a safe choice, but they are actually handing power to people whose national party pushes policies that would never win in a straight-up partisan fight here.
Republicans in Butler County and beyond need to learn the lesson: expose the Trojan horse early, attack the strategy aggressively, and mobilize the base by showing you are fighters, not moderators. Lee Wong’s approach might bring in a few crossover votes, but it leaves the door open for the very incursions we saw with Ortiz. Trump proved you win by being unapologetic. Vivek will have to internalize that as primaries approach. Amy Acton will try the nice-moderate route for governor, but the way to beat her is to knock her off her feet with the truth about lockdowns and economic damage. The same goes for every local race. Kathy Wyenandt’s model relies on Republicans playing nice. Deny her that, and the weaknesses become obvious. Their base is thin; they rely on deceit because ideas alone do not sell in places like West Chester.
People who voted for Ortiz because she seemed like a nice alternative to a longtime incumbent are already starting to feel that buyer’s remorse I mentioned. I talk to them regularly—moderates, independents, even some who thought they were supporting a Republican-leaning independent. They tell me they did not realize the full picture until the gala photos surfaced and the awards were handed out. That is the danger of low-information local voting. Trustees matter. They control budgets, zoning, and infrastructure—decisions that directly impact your property values, taxes, and daily life. When Democrats sneak one in, it is not harmless; it is the thin edge of the wedge. I do not doubt that the Democrat Party will try to replicate this in other townships, school boards, and county offices. The gala was not just a celebration; it was a strategy session disguised as a party. Out-of-state attention from Beshear signaled that this is now a national template. A trustee seat in West Chester drew Kentucky’s governor because Democrats see Ohio as winnable if they can chip away at the red wall one non-partisan race at a time.
I take no pleasure in saying “I told you so,” but the record shows I did. I urged people to support Mark Welch, to recognize the threat, to fight rather than accommodate. Listening to the moderate voices who advised playing it safe cost us. West Chester is too important to let it slip through niceness and naivety. The township’s success was built on strong Republican leadership, and preserving it requires the same aggressive defense that Trump and other proven winners have demonstrated. If we learn from this, expose future Trojan horses before they arrive, and reject the idea that moderation equals victory, we can reverse the damage. Democrats are proud of Ortiz because she represents their best shot at relevance in a county that should be solidly red. Their celebration with Acton, Beshear, and Wyenandt shows how desperate and coordinated they are. Our response must meet that coordination with clarity, energy, and a willingness to punch back. That is how elections are won, how communities stay strong, and how we prevent the kind of regret that is now settling over too many voters who gave Amanda Ortiz a chance she never should have had. The future of West Chester and similar communities depends on remembering this lesson: nice gets you nothing when the other side is playing for keeps. Fight smart, fight hard, and win.
Footnotes
1. Journal-News article on longtime West Chester trustee unseated, November 6, 2025, detailing Amanda Ortiz’s victory over Mark Welch.
2. Ballotpedia entry for Amanda Ortiz’s 2025 campaign for West Chester Township Trustee.
3. Amanda Ortiz for Trustee campaign website, outlining her platform and background.
4. ABC News report on Andy Beshear’s remarks at the Butler County Democratic Party Spring Gala, March 22, 2026.
5. Ohio Capital Journal coverage of Amy Acton’s announcement and campaign for Ohio governor, January 2025 onward.
6. Butler County Democratic Party official website listing Kathy Wyenandt as chair.
7. Overmanwarrior.wordpress.com post from February 4, 2026, discussing the West Chester election and Democratic endorsement of Ortiz.
8. Historical context on FirstEnergy scandal drawn from public records and Ohio political reporting.
9. Election results from the Butler County Board of Elections, November 2025.
10. George Lang campaign references from prior Butler County and state-level coverage.
Rich Hoffman is an aerospace executive, political strategist, systems thinker, and independent researcher of ancient history, the paranormal, and the Dead Sea Scrolls tradition. His life in high‑stakes manufacturing, high‑level politics, and cross‑functional crisis management gives him a field‑tested understanding of power — both human and unseen.
He has advised candidates, executives, and public leaders, while conducting deep, hands‑on exploration of archaeological and supernatural hotspots across the world.
Hoffman writes with the credibility of a problem-solver, the curiosity of an archaeologist, and the courage of a frontline witness who has gone to very scary places and reported what lurked there. Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events.
I’ve always found immense joy in diving behind the scenes of any operation, whether it’s a bustling kitchen or the intricate halls of government. Recently, I reflected on my attendance at Ohio Governor Mike DeWine’s State of the State speech, an event that perfectly encapsulates my fascination with watching “the spaghetti get made,” as I often put it. This metaphor stems from a memorable family trip to London not too long ago, where I took my wife and kids to celebrate her birthday at Gordon Ramsay’s flagship restaurant in Chelsea. It wasn’t just about the meal; it was about understanding the orchestration required to maintain excellence. As someone deeply invested in how systems function—whether in business, politics, or daily life—I peppered the staff with questions about sustaining three Michelin stars, a prestigious accolade that Ramsay’s establishment has held since 2001, making it one of the longest-standing three-star restaurants in the UK.[^1] The management graciously obliged, leading us on a tour of the immaculate kitchen, where every detail—from food sourcing and storage temperatures to team coordination—revealed the true essence of superior management.
In that kitchen, I saw firsthand how the magic happens. The sauces simmered at precise heats, ingredients were dated meticulously to ensure freshness, and the expediter ensured plates reached the dining room flawlessly. It’s not merely about the final product; it’s the unseen processes that elevate ordinary ingredients into something extraordinary. Ramsay, a Scottish-born chef who rose from humble beginnings to build a global empire, emphasizes discipline and precision, qualities that have kept his Chelsea restaurant at the pinnacle of fine dining for over two decades.[^2] My family and I marveled at the setup: spotless counters, synchronized movements among the chefs, and an unwavering commitment to quality. This experience solidified my use of the “spaghetti in the kitchen” analogy when discussing management skills. You see, good management isn’t accidental; it’s deliberate. How do you select the right sausage for the meatballs? What temperature do you cook them at, and for how long? Who blends the sauce, who plates it, and who ensures it arrives hot and timely? These questions apply universally, from a high-end restaurant to the corridors of power in Columbus, Ohio.
Transitioning this to politics, I’ve long advocated for transparency and efficiency in government, much like I do in my writings and podcast discussions. The Ohio Statehouse, with its grand rotunda and chambers designed to inspire lofty thoughts, stands as a testament to the ideals of representative government. Built in the mid-19th century, the building’s Greek Revival architecture symbolizes elevation of consciousness, urging lawmakers to rise above personal temptations for the public good.[^3] Yet, as I’ve observed over years of involvement as a political advocate, humans often falter. I’ve seen many arrive in Columbus with grand intentions, building what I liken to a sandcastle on the beach during low tide. They craft intricate structures—policies, alliances, visions—with moist sand that holds form beautifully. Flags atop turrets, photos snapped for posterity. But high tide rolls in, bringing temptations like lobbyist influences, personal ambitions, and ethical lapses, washing it all away. Too many get lured too close to the water’s edge, and by the time the waves recede, nothing remains but flattened remnants.
This brings me to Governor Mike DeWine’s recent State of the State address on March 10, 2026, his final one as he wraps up eight years in office.[^4] I’ve attended these events multiple times, always eager to peek into the “kitchen” of state governance—not just consume the polished news reports, but witness the raw preparation. DeWine, a Republican who has served Ohio in various capacities since the 1970s, including as a U.S. Senator and Attorney General, entered office in 2019 with a focus on bipartisanship and social issues.[^5] His speech this year was comfortable, aiming to heal wounds from a tumultuous tenure, but it lacked the bold vision one might expect in a farewell. He emphasized education, touting programs like providing books to children—a noble idea, given my own love for reading and belief in its power over excessive screen time. Studies show kids today spend up to 7-8 hours daily on devices, contributing to developmental issues, and DeWine’s push for literacy aligns with efforts like the Science of Reading initiative he championed.[^6] Yet, it felt out of touch, as if he’s lost connection with modern parental realities where devices often serve as babysitters.
Critically, I’ve been vocal about DeWine’s shortcomings, particularly his handling of the COVID-19 pandemic. Appointing Dr. Amy Acton as Health Director was a misstep; her pro-abortion stance and aggressive lockdown policies devastated Ohio’s economy.[^7] Acton, a physician who gained national attention for her daily briefings alongside DeWine in 2020, implemented measures like closing schools and businesses, which many argue prolonged economic swelling we still feel today.[^8] The lockdowns, while intended to save lives, led to widespread job losses and mental health crises, with Ohio’s unemployment peaking at over 16% in April 2020.[^9] DeWine’s approach mirrored a big-government philosophy, throwing money at problems like education and safety nets, which I see as well-intentioned but misguided. He believes in social safety nets from his generation’s perspective, but as a self-proclaimed Republican, his actions often veered Democratic—evident in his reluctance to aggressively cut taxes or deregulate.
Property taxes, for instance, have spiraled under his watch, burdening homeowners without adequate relief until recent reforms. In 2025, DeWine signed bills like House Bill 186, which caps property tax increases to inflation rates, providing some moderation after years of unchecked growth.[^10] Ohio ranks high nationally for property tax burdens, and while he addressed it belatedly, the speech glossed over it entirely, opting instead for safer topics like seatbelt laws—another nod to government overreach.[^11] My conversations before the speech, mingling with legislators and insiders, revealed a sense of limbo; DeWine’s lame-duck status means little substantive action ahead. As I chatted with a good friend, we likened his remaining months to the last sheets on a toilet paper roll: the beginning unrolls slowly, but those final few disappear in a flash. With the 2026 election looming, attention shifts to fresh faces.
Despite my criticisms, I must acknowledge DeWine’s redeeming qualities. Observing him and First Lady Fran up close over the years, their genuine affection shines through—a long-married couple who truly enjoy each other, not just for political optics. Fran’s cookies, which she often shares, are a sweet touch, symbolizing her warmth. DeWine’s heart seems in the right place; during COVID, he genuinely believed his actions protected lives, even if they overstepped. Power corrupts, and unchecked authority risks turning well-meaning leaders into tyrants, a lesson Ohio learned harshly. Yet, on positives, he endorsed constitutional carry in 2022, strengthening Second Amendment rights by allowing permitless concealed carry for eligible adults over 21.[^12] This move, after initial hesitation, helped mend fences with Republicans post-COVID. Additionally, he supported business initiatives like Joby Aviation’s expansion in Ohio, announced in 2023, which promises 2,000 jobs in electric vertical takeoff and landing (eVTOL) aircraft manufacturing—a boon for aviation innovation.[^13] Columbus Mayor Andrew Ginther has been instrumental in such developments, fostering smart mobility and economic growth in the region.[^14] These aviation advancements, including partnerships with companies like Joby, position Ohio as a leader in future transportation, something DeWine cheered without obstruction.
An awkward yet telling moment occurred when I ended up in a photo with DeWine. In past years, my anger over his policies kept me at arm’s length, but this time, with his term ending, I shook his hand and wished him well, acknowledging the pro-business strides. Government needs checks and balances precisely because even good intentions can falter. DeWine isn’t evil; his naivety in trusting big government to care for the vulnerable led to overreach.
Looking ahead, the toilet paper roll is nearly spent, and I’m excited for Vivek Ramaswamy to take the helm. Ramaswamy, a Cincinnati native and biotech entrepreneur who founded Roivant Sciences and ran for president in 2024, announced his gubernatorial bid in 2025 with Trump’s endorsement.[^15] His campaign focuses on reviving the American Dream through lower costs, bigger paychecks, and merit-based policies, contrasting DeWine’s approach.[^16] Polls show a tight race against Democrat Amy Acton, but Ramaswamy’s vision—transforming Ohio into an economic hub, especially in the Ohio River Valley—aligns with bold Republican ideals.[^17] He’s already launched massive ad campaigns and secured the Ohio GOP endorsement, signaling momentum.[^18] Under Ramaswamy, I anticipate policies advancing freedom, innovation, and efficiency—cooking up better “spaghetti” in the Statehouse kitchen.
Attending these events reinforces why I love politics: seeing dedicated people strive, even if imperfectly. From Ramsay’s kitchen to Columbus, excellence demands pride, hard work, and attention to detail. Cooks prepare meals hoping diners savor them, but criticism stings when they fall short. DeWine’s administration aimed for a magnificent sandcastle, but tides of controversy washed much away. Still, remnants like stronger gun rights and business growth endure. As his era ends, I reflect with tempered hatred, appreciating the intent I witnessed up close. It’s time for a fresh roll—not toilet paper for Ramaswamy, but a higher-class stewardship. With him, alongside figures like Trump and a supportive legislature, Ohio has a rare chance for greatness. I look forward to much better food coming out of the kitchen to come.
[^1]: The Michelin Guide has awarded three stars to Restaurant Gordon Ramsay since 2001, recognizing exceptional cuisine and service.
[^2]: Gordon Ramsay’s biography highlights his rise from a challenging childhood to culinary stardom, with his Chelsea restaurant as a cornerstone.
[^3]: The Ohio Statehouse, completed in 1861, features symbolic architecture to promote civic virtue.
[^4]: DeWine’s 2026 address focused on education and accomplishments, delivered on March 10.
[^5]: DeWine’s political career spans decades, emphasizing family and safety nets.
[^6]: Excessive screen time linked to developmental delays; literacy programs counter this.
[^7]: Acton supported abortion rights and led lockdowns.
[^8]: Acton’s role in COVID response included school closures.
[^9]: Ohio’s economic impact from COVID policies.
[^10]: House Bill 186 caps tax increases.
[^11]: Ohio’s high property tax ranking.
[^12]: Signed SB 215 in 2022.
[^13]: Joby Aviation’s Ohio expansion creates jobs in eVTOL.
[^14]: Ginther promotes smart mobility in Columbus.
[^15]: Ramaswamy’s 2026 bid announced in 2025.
[^16]: Campaign priorities include economic revival.
[^17]: Polls show competitive race.
[^18]: GOP endorsement in 2025.
Bibliography
1. Ramsay, Gordon. Humble Pie: My Autobiography. HarperCollins, 2006. (For insights into Ramsay’s management style.)
Rich Hoffman is an independent writer, philosopher, political advisor, and strategist based in the Cincinnati/Middletown, Ohio area. Born in Hamilton, Ohio, he has worked professionally since age 12 in various roles, from manual labor to high-level executive positions in aerospace and related industries. Known as “The Tax-killer” for his activism against tax increases, Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events.
He publishes the blog The Overmanwarrior (overmanwarrior.wordpress.com), where he shares insights on politics, culture, history, and personal stories. Active on X as @overmanwarrior, Instagram, and YouTube, Hoffman frequently discusses space exploration, family values, and human potential. An avid fast-draw artist and family man, he emphasizes passing practical skills and intellectual curiosity to younger generations.
Human beings interact in countless ways, layered with psychological complexities that often obscure simple truths. Friendships form, alliances shift, and conflicts arise—not always from malice, but from differing visions of what is right. In politics especially, these dynamics intensify: tides turn, candidates rise and fall, and people find themselves on opposite sides of debates. Yet, amid the noise, some relationships endure. Observers sometimes question loyalties: “How can you be so friendly with someone you disagree with politically?”
I’ve had some very public disagreements with people. But I can never think of a time that I wouldn’t ever talk to someone again
This question has arisen repeatedly in my interactions with Butler County Sheriff Richard K. Jones and many others. We’ve shared public moments of warmth and camaraderie, even as political winds have blown in conflicting directions. The same applies to recent encounters with Ohio Governor Mike DeWine. After years of sharp criticism—particularly over his administration’s handling of COVID policies and other matters—I shook his hand following his final State of the State address. We discussed areas of agreement, such as Second Amendment rights and efforts to combat AI-generated child exploitation. These moments highlight a core principle: genuine regard for individuals ‘ needs need not hinge on perfect alignment. Relationships built on authenticity withstand disagreement; those rooted in manipulation crumble.
We were talking about his wife’s great cookies. The second amendment during his administration. Taxes. And his endorsement of Vivek Ramaswamy.
This perspective stems from a life shaped by diverse encounters. Growing up in Ohio, I navigated rough characters and “celebrity” figures in my early adult years—individuals carrying heavy psychological burdens and disappointments. These experiences, often intense and sleepless, taught navigation of human darkness. I awoke each day intent on being the “good guy,” never contemplating villainy. This innate drive toward justice, perhaps divinely guided, clashed with destructive forces, leading through ominous courtrooms and rigorous trials.
The lofty expectations of public office. Few people ever live up to those expectations. But the building was built with the expectation of exceptionalism.
These trials instilled resilience. I’ve seen the worst of human behavior: betrayal, manipulation, and raw conflict. Yet, they clarified priorities. Nothing since has felt catastrophic by comparison. This foundation allows aloof observation—staying “lofty” amid chaos—while engaging directly when needed.
I love to see the future, in the here and now. Great young people!
Professionally, I’ve channeled this into commentary via platforms like The Overmanwarrior blog, podcasts, and writings (including books like The Symposium of Justice and business guides). As a fast-draw enthusiast and strategist, I’ve advised on local and state issues. Public friendships, like with Sheriff Jones, stem from shared values on law, order, and community—despite occasional political divergences. These are not performative; they’re authentic.
Most relationships reduce to two levers of control. The first is friendship as leverage: people offer smiles, hugs, or inclusion to gain compliance. When denied, they withdraw—“I’m not your friend anymore unless you…” This mirrors childhood games (stickers on lockers) and adult dynamics (passive-aggression in marriages, where affection is withheld until demands are met). In politics, it’s “endorse my candidate or lose my support.” Women and men alike use emotional coziness as currency; it’s learned early and persists.
The second is the threat of violence or intimidation. When friendship fails, escalation follows: harassment, protests, spiritual “warfare,” or physical threats—“Do what I say or face consequences.” Authoritarian regimes amplify this; bullies in parking lots embody it personally. Both aim at submission through fear.
I’ve rejected both. Secure in my positions, I express them openly—here, on podcasts, in writing—without needing validation. Disagreement doesn’t prompt cliff-jumping; it invites dialogue or indifference. If someone withdraws friendship over opinions, that’s their choice. If intimidation arises, I handle it unflinchingly, drawing from early lessons in facing rough characters.
This stance echoes timeless wisdom, like Sun Tzu’s The Art of War: become invincible by rendering tactics ineffective. Control what you can—your actions, values, responses—and influence outcomes without direct domination.
Sheriff Jones exemplifies this. We’ve agreed on much: law enforcement, border security, deportations, and community protection. His office’s work with ICE and unapologetic stance on illegal immigration align with my views. Publicly, we’re friendly—podcasts, events, and genuine conversations about his brand and duties.
Yet, political motivations diverge at times. Endorsements or strategies might differ. Critics note our chumminess amid such gaps, confused by loyalty despite opposition. The answer: I like him authentically. His character, spine, and public service earn respect. If we clash, we may not talk for a while—that’s fine. Friendship isn’t conditional on perfect alignment. I won’t manipulate him (or allow manipulation) to force agreement. Truth emerges through pressure and process, not emotional blackmail.
This extends broadly. I like many who’ve opposed me politically, and I reserve the right to value people independently. Indifference to reciprocity preserves freedom.
A recent addition underscores this: Governor DeWine’s final State of the State address. His administration faced criticism—over COVID handling and other policies—creating opposition, which I had been very critical of, rightfully so. Yet, post-speech, we shook hands and spoke cordially.
We aligned on key issues: Second Amendment defense, and crucially, combating AI-generated child sexual abuse material (often called “simulated” or “AI child porn”). DeWine and Attorney General Dave Yost highlighted predators using AI to create exploitative images of children, urging legislation to criminalize creation, possession, and distribution. This addresses a growing threat where legal gaps allow evasion of traditional child pornography laws. I expressed support, noting agreement despite past differences, such as when Yost was running against my supported candidate, Vivek Ramaswamy for governor.
This exchange wasn’t leverage-seeking. It prioritized common ground—protecting children—over grudges. Putting differences aside when opportunities arise fosters the emergence of truth, not manipulation through fear of lost friendship.
Politics amplifies these dynamics: RINOs vs. traditional conservatives, reform movements, religious clashes. Belief systems collide; scores settle. Yet, values about people shouldn’t depend on outcomes. I like or dislike based on character, not scoreboard.
Pursuing righteousness means respecting all sides, allowing truth to reveal itself through conflict’s “fog of war.” Hot tempers subside; smoke clears; good emerges. Manipulation—friendship withdrawal or intimidation—crowds ideas into small-mindedness. Independence enables macro focus: immortal existence over micro squabbles (marriages, divorces, family disputes).
A good friend of mine gave me some homework to do
I’ve built a life affording this luxury: secure positions, no fear of loss. Many seek friendship; time limits interactions. Some engage strategically to advance balls—purely functional, not manipulative.
It’s okay to like those who hate you, to be friendly with opponents, and to shake hands after battles. Truth often surfaces in conflict; observation reveals positions. By staying outside manipulation’s reach, one accomplishes greatly where others falter.
In the end, righteousness is rooted in truth, not personal desires or leverage. Respect others’ thoughts—even wrong ones. Good people come around; disputes fade. We shake hands, share hot dogs at picnics, and discuss lofty things as emotions drift.
George Lang is a great guy in all aspects, what a lot of people don’t know about him is he loves books. Something we share beyond the immediacy of politics
Bibliography
Overmanwarrior blog (overmanwarrior.wordpress.com) – Primary source for writings on politics, philosophy, and personal insights. Butler County Sheriff’s Office interactions – Public podcasts and events with Sheriff Jones (e.g., discussions on immigration, law enforcement). Ohio Governor Mike DeWine’s State of the State address (2026) – Focused on AI restrictions, including child exploitation; references from news coverage (e.g., Toledo Blade, ABC6). Attorney General Dave Yost’s efforts – Collaboration on bills like SB 217/SB 163 targeting AI-generated CSAM. The Art of War by Sun Tzu – Concept of invincibility through non-engagement with opponent strengths. Personal books: The Symposium of Justice, business guides – Available via Overmanwarrior platforms.
This framework allows engagement without compromise, advancing righteousness amid human complexity.
1. Hoffman, Rich. The Symposium of Justice. iUniverse, 2004.
2. Hoffman, Rich. Tail of the Dragon. CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2012.
Explores themes of freedom, law, and high-stakes conflict through a narrative rooted in real altercations and political activism and often described as “faction” (fact-based fiction).
3. Hoffman, Rich. The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business: A Skeleton Key to Western Civilization. Liberty Hill Publishing, 2021.
A practical and philosophical guide that draws parallels among gunfighting strategy, business, and life—offering a Western counterpoint to Eastern classics like The Art of War. Emphasizes invincibility through preparation and independence. Available on Amazon and referenced in Hoffman’s bio.
Daily posts on politics, culture, philosophy, personal stories, and current events in Ohio (e.g., Butler County issues, tax fights, and human dynamics). Includes author bio, reflections on early life, and discussions of books like The Symposium of Justice.
5. Sun Tzu. The Art of War. Translated by Lionel Giles (1910 edition) or modern versions (e.g., Everyman’s Library). Original ~5th century BCE.
Key concept from Chapter 4 (“Formation”): “Invincibility lies in oneself; vulnerability lies in the enemy.” The skilled make themselves invincible through self-preparation, rendering opponent tactics ineffective—directly echoed in the essay’s rejection of manipulation levers.
6. “DeWine calls for new AI regs, parental control rules in 2026 State of the State.” Cleveland.com (via various outlets, including Facebook reposts and Toledo Blade coverage), March 2026.
Covers Governor Mike DeWine’s final State of the State address, urging legislation on AI guardrails, including outlawing the creation, possession, and distribution of AI-generated child sexual abuse material (CSAM). Aligns with the essay’s mention of agreement on child protection despite past differences.
7. “Ohio struggles to combat AI-generated child porn amid legal gaps.” ABC6 On Your Side, January 29, 2026.
Details legislative efforts (involving DeWine and Attorney General Dave Yost) to close gaps in prosecuting AI-simulated child exploitation, highlighting the growing threat and push for criminalization.
8. Butler County Sheriff’s Office. “In The Saddle With Sheriff Richard K. Jones” (podcast series). Apple Podcasts and related platforms, ongoing.
Episodes featuring Sheriff Richard K. Jones on law enforcement, immigration (e.g., 287(g) agreements), and community issues. Includes collaborations and discussions with Rich Hoffman (e.g., Rumble episodes on ICE detainees and related topics).
9. Various public interactions: Butler County Sheriff’s Office Facebook posts and YouTube videos (e.g., “Ohio 287(g) with Butler County Sheriff Richard Jones,” November 2025).
Document friendly exchanges, podcasts, and joint appearances between Sheriff Jones and Rich Hoffman on topics like border security and prisoner handling.
Top Notes for Further Reading
• Start with Hoffman’s blog (The Overmanwarrior) for the most direct, unfiltered context—search archives for terms like “Sheriff Jones,” “DeWine,” “friendship,” “manipulation,” or “invincibility” to find raw reflections mirroring the essay’s monologue.
• For philosophical grounding on invincibility and non-manipulative strategy, read The Art of War Chapter 4 alongside The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business—Hoffman explicitly positions his work as a Western response to Sun Tzu.
• On Ohio politics and the examples: Follow coverage from Cleveland.com, Toledo Blade, and ABC6 for updates on AI/CSAM bills (e.g., potential SB 217/SB 163 analogs) and DeWine’s 2026 address. Sheriff’s Office social media provides real-time context on Jones’ work and public persona.
• For broader insights into human relationships and power dynamics: Explore related classics like Machiavelli’s The Prince (on manipulation) or Nietzsche’s ideas on the “overman” (influencing the blog’s name), though Hoffman’s approach emphasizes righteousness over conquest.
Rich Hoffman is an independent writer, philosopher, political advisor, and strategist based in the Cincinnati/Middletown, Ohio area. Born in Hamilton, Ohio, he has worked professionally since age 12 in various roles, from manual labor to high-level executive positions in aerospace and related industries. Known as “The Tax-killer” for his activism against tax increases, Hoffman has authored books including The Symposium of Justice, The Gunfighter’s Guide to Business, and Tail of the Dragon, often exploring themes of freedom, individual will, and societal structures through a lens influenced by philosophy (e.g., Nietzschean overman concepts) and current events.
He publishes the blog The Overmanwarrior (overmanwarrior.wordpress.com), where he shares insights on politics, culture, history, and personal stories. Active on X as @overmanwarrior, Instagram, and YouTube, Hoffman frequently discusses space exploration, family values, and human potential. An avid fast-draw artist and family man, he emphasizes passing practical skills and intellectual curiosity to younger generations.
The book Tail of the Dragon, which I wrote and published in 2012, remains one of the most personal and enduring statements I’ve ever made. At the time, I was deeply immersed in the political currents of the late 2000s and early 2010s—active in the Reform Party since the Ross Perot days, a supporter of Pat Buchanan’s ideas, an early Tea Party participant (even earning the nickname “Tax Killer” in my community for fighting tax increases), and someone who had long advocated for limited government against what I saw as growing tyranny. I began writing the novel around 2010, finishing it in 2012, during Barack Obama’s presidency, when frustrations with federal overreach, economic policies, and foreign entanglements were boiling over.
The story is framed as a high-octane action tale—a car chase thriller set on the real-life Tail of the Dragon, the legendary 11-mile stretch of U.S. Highway 129 straddling the Tennessee-North Carolina border in the Great Smoky Mountains. This road, with its 318 curves, has a storied history dating back centuries: originally a buffalo trail and Cherokee path, later used by hunters, trappers, and settlers in the 1700s and 1800s, it was paved in the 1930s and became a mecca for motorcyclists and sports car enthusiasts in the late 20th century.
I drew from my own experiences riding motorcycles across the U.S., immersing myself in the culture of independence and the open road—the raw desire for freedom unburdened by overbearing authority. The protagonist, Rick Stevens, a rebellious everyman whose NASCAR dreams have faded, becomes entangled in a high-stakes pursuit that pits individual liberty against a corrupt, tyrannical system. It’s packed with action, comedy in places, romance, and high-speed drama, inspired by classics like Smokey and the Bandit or The Dukes of Hazzard, but with a much darker, more serious edge. Unlike those lighthearted films where characters evade consequences, my story reflects real-world stakes: government overreach, loss of personal freedoms, and the moral cost of resistance.
Officially categorized as “philosophy in action” because that’s where my mind was—blending thrilling narrative with deep ideas about governance, justice, and human nature. I didn’t write it for quick sales or mass-market appeal; books, for me, are vehicles for ideas meant to endure for centuries, not fleeting articles or videos. They provide a framework—a complete world—to explore concepts that demand sustained thought.
At the time, the book puzzled people. Some saw it as just a car-chase novel; others recognized the anti-government manifesto woven in. It critiqued a system that enabled corruption, foreign meddling, and domestic tyranny. I distributed hundreds of copies to tourist spots near the Tail of the Dragon, where motor geeks and road warriors embraced it. The motorcycle community—fiercely independent—loved the authenticity. Online, it sold modestly, but it found a niche among Tea Party leaders, libertarians (though I’m not strictly one), and those disillusioned with the status quo.
The reception was mixed in mainstream circles. My connections—friends close to Glenn Beck, entertainment figures—hinted at potential for film adaptation, given the era’s boom in car-chase movies grossing billions. But Hollywood was shifting leftward, and my conservative, liberty-focused message was too explosive. Pre-Trump, pre-MAGA, it was taboo to openly challenge the Obama-era government so aggressively.
The ending is what many readers called “perfect”—and it’s the core of why the book feels prophetic today. Without spoiling it fully, the resolution isn’t a simple outlaw victory or easy escape. It grapples with justice, consequences, and optimism: even in chaos, there’s a path to something better. I am an optimist at heart; I see potential for good even amid fire. The characters face dire situations far beyond Bonnie and Clyde-style tragedy or Smokey and the Bandit hijinks, reflecting my real experiences with law, order, and government reform efforts.
Fast-forward to now, in 2026, and the world has caught up. People who read it years ago—Tea Party activists, early MAGA supporters, grassroots leaders—revisit it and say the arguments aged well. They ask: “You were anti-government then—why support crackdowns now on protesters, immigration enforcement, or actions against regimes like Iran?” The answer lies in that ending and the philosophy behind it.
In 2012, the government I opposed funded adversaries abroad while undermining constitutional principles at home. The Obama administration pursued policies toward Iran that included sanctions but also controversial elements—like the eventual JCPOA nuclear deal (finalized later in 2015) and cash transfers critics labeled as enabling terrorism.
It allowed influence from regimes in places like Venezuela, where China and others gained footholds through oil and alliances. Drug cartels and thugs thrived in hemispheric politics, enabled by weak borders and foreign policy that prioritized appeasement over strength.
My book was a call to fight back—violently, if necessary—against such tyranny. It was rough, angry, explosive. Mainstream folks shied away; motorcycle warriors and liberty-minded readers took it to heart.
Today, the shoe is on the other foot. A government aligned with the values I championed—freedom, upward mobility for the majority, cracking down on threats—holds power. Actions against violent protesters (like those in Minnesota scenarios), strong immigration enforcement, and decisive moves on Iran and Venezuela aren’t hypocrisy; they’re the fulfillment of what I advocated. A freedom-fighting government represents the people’s interests, not the old tyrannical one.
Recent developments illustrate this: U.S. operations targeting Iran’s nuclear sites and influence, combined with efforts in Venezuela to remove leaders like Nicolás Maduro, curb Chinese, Russian, and Iranian footholds in the hemisphere, and secure strategic resources like oil.
These are chess moves in a high-level game—eradicating threats that once thrived under the prior order, reducing adversarial footprints, and restoring American dominance in our sphere.
The difference isn’t anti-government absolutism (that’s libertarian territory, which I don’t claim). It’s defining tyranny versus legitimate authority. When “our side” wins, we fly the flag proudly, ensuring government serves freedom, not suppresses it. The former rulers now protest violently—borrowing our playbook but twisting it with force—because they’re on the outside.
Tail of the Dragon helped shape thinking among key influencers years ahead of the curve. It wasn’t a bestseller, but it has a cult following: people still seek copies, discuss it at rallies, reference it in conversations. It provided a philosophical framework for building a movement—one that took time (through Tea Party to MAGA, through investigations, COVID, and elections) but prevailed.
I’m proud of it. Books like this aren’t for immediate gain; they’re for longevity. The message endures: resist tyranny, but recognize when victory arrives and authority aligns with liberty. The world caught up, and that’s a good thing.
Bibliography
• Hoffman, Rich. Tail of the Dragon. Self-published/iUniverse, 2012. (Primary source; available on Amazon and Goodreads.)
• U.S. Department of State archives. “Iran–United States Relations During the Obama Administration.” Wikipedia summary drawing from primary sources, 2010–2016.
• FactCheck.org. “Obama Didn’t Give Iran ‘150 Billion in Cash’.” March 1, 2019 (updated context).
• Politico. “Obama’s Hidden Iran Deal Giveaway.” April 24, 2017.
• Foreign Affairs. “Trump’s Way of War: Iran, Venezuela, and the End of the Powell Doctrine.” Recent analysis, 2026.
• ABC News. “Trump Demands Venezuela Kick Out China and Russia.” January 6, 2026.
• Various Goodreads and Amazon reviews of Tail of the Dragon by Rich Hoffman, 2012–present.
Footnotes
1. Tail of the Dragon route history drawn from tailofthedragon.com and related sources.
2. Book details from Amazon and Goodreads listings.
3. Iran policy critiques based on archived Obama-era fact sheets and subsequent analyses.
4. Current geopolitical actions referenced from 2026 news reports on U.S. operations in Iran and Venezuela.
The mirror doesn’t lie. What looks back is the result of millions and millions of decisions, and most people don’t like what they see. So they construct social engagements accordingly. If they lean toward liberal politics, it is likely because they are ashamed of their decisions in life and look for social order to hide them from the realities of those bad decisions with a warm blanket of socialism to hide under. And the last thing they want to do is have some conservative come into their room and rip away that protection from even themselves, let alone the judgments of the world. But beyond the personal, the reflection prompts deeper contemplation about the state of the nation—particularly the visible unraveling among those who champion a progressive, collectivist vision for society. What some call the “warm blanket of socialism” provides comfort to those less inclined toward self-reliance, a psychological shelter against the uncertainties of individual responsibility and the harsh light of personal accountability.
Self-reliance has long been a cornerstone of the American ethos, embodied in figures who tie their own shoes at a young age, change their own tires, perform their own brake jobs, cook their own meals, and build their lives through initiative. Such individuals tend to align with Republican values, emphasizing limited government, free markets, and personal merit. In contrast, those who feel lost or overwhelmed often seek refuge in collective structures—government programs, social safety nets, group identities—where shared burdens mitigate individual risk. This isn’t mere preference; it’s a response to upbringing and circumstance. If early life lacked lessons in independence, if family structures fractured through divorce, remarriage, or instability, the world can feel perpetually threatening. The “blanket” becomes essential, and any policy pulling it away—lower taxes reducing social services, pro-capitalist reforms favoring entrepreneurs, immigration enforcement, or school choice—evokes terror, like yanking covers off a frightened child in the dark.
This dynamic explains much of the current unrest. With policies under the Trump administration prioritizing capitalism, family stability, homeschooling, and distrust of public education, and reducing dependence on public aid, those accustomed to collective coverage feel exposed. Fewer people relying on the system means less communal “blanket” to hide behind. Protests erupt not only from policy disagreements but also from existential fear: the loss of a parental government that shields from consequences. This mirrors historical patterns—East Berlin walls, Soviet barriers—designed to prevent defection from collectivism to individual freedom, lest the illusion of security crumble.
Psychological research illuminates these divides. Conservatives often exhibit higher self-control, greater emphasis on personal responsibility, and stronger physiological responses to threats in ways that reinforce stability-seeking behaviors. Liberals, by contrast, prioritize harm avoidance, fairness as equality, and openness to change, sometimes at the expense of binding structures like authority or tradition. One study found that conservatives outperform liberals in self-control tasks, particularly when free will is framed positively, suggesting that ideology shapes not only beliefs but also behavioral resilience. Happiness gaps also appear: conservatives report higher life satisfaction, potentially attributable to attitudes that value personal agency over systemic solutions.
Family structure plays a pivotal role. Decades of rising divorce, blended families, absent parents, and serial partners disrupt trust in foundational institutions. Children navigating weekends between homes—with new spouses, girlfriends, boyfriends—often internalize instability, leading to victimhood narratives and reliance on external support. Data show complex patterns: conservatives are slightly more likely to have ever divorced in some age groups, but remarry more readily and report happier marriages overall. Marriage rates have declined sharply among Democrats compared to Republicans since the 1980s, with liberals increasingly forgoing marriage altogether, viewing it as less essential for happiness. Conservative women tend to marry younger and desire more children, sustaining family-oriented values. In red states, higher teen birth rates historically contrast with lower divorce rates in blue states like Massachusetts, highlighting how cultural norms around family influence outcomes.
Public education, infused with progressive ideologies over generations, amplifies this. Marxist influences in curricula—from high school to university—promote collectivism over individual merit, framing society as oppressive rather than opportunity-rich. Turning away from this requires reclaiming education rooted in self-reliance and traditional values.
Visible markers often signal these divides. Protesters against conservative policies frequently display extensive tattoos, piercings (nose rings, large earlobe gauges), and other body modifications—symbols of rebellion against norms and a return to “primitive” or indigenous aesthetics that reject Western civilization’s emphasis on restraint. Biblically, Leviticus 19:28 prohibits cuttings or marks for the dead, often interpreted as rejecting pagan mourning rituals or idolatry rather than all body art. Many Christian scholars argue that the New Testament shifts focus to heart intentions and body stewardship (1 Corinthians 6:19-20), not absolute bans. The verse targeted cultural compromise with false gods, not modern self-expression. Still, some view extreme modifications as desecration of the “temple,” opening doors to parasitic influences—spiritual or psychological—that erode personal sanctity. This ties to anti-civilizational trends: embracing perversions destructive to family, promoting LGBTQ+ agendas that undermine traditional bonds, and feeding primal urges over ordered happiness.
Yet statistics nuance perceptions. A 2023 Pew Research Center survey found that 32% of U.S. adults have at least one tattoo (22% have more than one), with roughly equal rates: 33% among Democrats/Democratic leaners and 32% among Republicans/Republican leaners. No major partisan divide exists; differences vary more by age (higher among under-50s), gender (38% women vs. 27% men), and race/ethnicity. Visible, extreme modifications may cluster more among vocal progressive activists, creating a perceptual association, but broader data indicate that tattoos are mainstream across ideologies.
The anger on display—protests that block highways, defend open borders, and resist enforcement—stems from poor personal decisions compounded by cultural shifts. Tattoos and piercings become outward signs of inner chaos, a rejection of self-care mirroring societal rejection of meritocracy. When self-reliance prevails, those who hide behind collectivism feel judged; their resentment manifests as demands for “fairness” that serve as cover for mistakes. We can’t restructure society around resentment—help those open to change, but not at civilization’s expense.
This isn’t hatred of people but a critique of ideology: understanding roots—broken families, poor teachings, fear—fosters empathy without capitulation. Promote self-reliance, stable families, capitalist opportunity; rebuild through virtue, not mandates. Policies favoring doers—business starters, home maintainers, homeschoolers—create prosperity for all willing to participate. But what people believe politically, and act out socially, such as in the Minnesota riots, are reflections of their many bad decisions in life, and a transferance to society in general that they can pass off those mistakes through moral crusades that are always too little too late. And usually, the body piercings and tattoos are a clear reflection of a fragmented mind hiding behind social causes because they have wrecked their lives personally, and can only get redemption through collectivist enterprise.
2. Institute for Family Studies, “The Growing Link Between Marriage, Fertility, and Partisanship,” September 18, 2025.
3. Gallup, “When and Why Marriage Became Partisan,” July 11, 2024.
4. American Enterprise Institute, “The Republican Marriage Advantage: Partisanship, Marriage, and Family Stability in the Trump Era,” October 31, 2024.
6. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, “The self-control consequences of political ideology,” 2015.
7. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, “Conservatives are happier than liberals, but why? Political ideology, personality, and life satisfaction,” 2012.
8. PLOS ONE, studies on moral foundations and psychological motivations in liberalism vs. conservatism, 2020.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how positions evolve, especially now in early 2026, with the new Trump administration taking shape and the political order flipping in ways that feel like vindication for a lot of what I’ve fought for over the decades. People on the outside—those who once held power and now find themselves looking in—are quick to accuse me of changing my tune. “You’ve flipped,” they say. “You were anti-government back then, and now you’re cheering for it.” But the truth is more straightforward and more consistent than that: I’m still the same person who wrote The Symposium of Justice in 2004. I’ve learned, grown, and adapted based on real experience, but the core hasn’t shifted. What’s changed is the situation around me.
Fighting Evil
Back in 2004, when I published The Symposium of Justice, the world looked very different. George W. Bush was in office; the Patriot Act had just expanded federal reach in the name of security, and the government felt like it was ballooning out of control, regardless of who held the reins.[^1] I wasn’t writing as some detached observer; the book was semi-autobiographical, rooted in the raw anger of my thirties. I’d lived a whole, intense life by then—far more than most people my age. I’d been knee-deep in small-city and big-city battles, pushing for legislative fixes to corruption, getting tangled up in significant drug enforcement efforts, and even interacting directly with the FBI on fronts where things weren’t working right.[^2] When the system failed, I didn’t just complain—I acted. There were nights I ran around confronting drug dealers with a bullwhip, breaking up operations in self-defense mode that had been my primary mechanism since I was a kid. One time, I ended up in front of a drug house with about 40 young adults and teens caught in the crossfire of Grand Theft Auto-style chaos. I confronted them head-on, and it saved many of their lives because the police came and broke up the fight, but it wasn’t glamorous. It was vigilante justice born of frustration: if the authorities wouldn’t or couldn’t fix it, someone had to.
The main character in The Symposium of Justice, Cliffhanger, channels that same energy. He takes on a corrupt, centralized government intertwined with entertainment elites who play radical games in the arena. The book is about vigilante justice against tyranny—drawing from real experiences where I saw powerful forces profit off drugs, kickbacks, and control. I was angry, no apologies. It was the work of a man ready to fight back physically if needed. I thought about going full vigilante: mask on, discretion, punishing the bad guys in the shadows like Batman or Zorro, my all-time favorite. I was prepared for it. Law enforcement didn’t like me much—FBI cases I was involved in heavily made that clear—but politics tied their hands, and there wasn’t much they could do.[^3]
But something shifted after the book came out. It had enough impact to spark honest conversations. People reached out—film festivals, the Western arts community, and political circles. I started talking to influential people in entertainment who shared similar frustrations with centralized corruption. Instead of running around at night cracking skulls, I found a more powerful path: writing every day, putting my name to it, building a blog that became my daily weapon. The Overmanwarrior blog started as an extension of that 2004 anger but evolved into something sustained and influential.[^4] Blogging wasn’t as romantic as vigilante nights—no mask, no midnight drama—but it was far more effective. I could expose corruption, rally people, influence voters, and shape events without risking everything on force.
I had two clear options back then: either do the vigilante thing for real—rest in the world making things good through direct action—or worry about it and try to expire it indirectly through politics and persuasion. I chose the latter. Getting more involved in politics showed me that the drug dealers and corrupt players profited from the system because they had kickbacks and protection. Vigilantism might feel good in the moment, but it doesn’t dismantle the machine. Blogging, activism, running for office vibes (though I stayed independent), and fighting tax increases (earning me the “Tax-killer” nickname) did more damage to that machine.[^5] I influenced things in ways a masked figure never could—because when you take the mask off, own your name, and accept personal responsibility, you build real power. People know who you are; they can debate you, fight you if they want, but the ideas spread farther.
Fast-forward to now, 2026, and the difference is night and day. We have a government under Trump that aligns more with the orthodox, law-and-order society I always wanted. The Republican Party has become the vehicle for reform, not the expansion of tyranny. The people I wrote about in 2004—the radicals controlling entertainment, profiting off chaos—are on the outside looking in. Protests flare up, funded by background players causing trouble, but they’re losing. The bad guys scream and cry because good government is winning through elections, debate, free speech, and voter accountability—not through fear or intimidation.
That’s why accusations of “changing” miss the point. I didn’t just hope for a different government; I supported the mechanisms that put a better one in place. Elections, arguments, convincing voters—that’s how you win without masks. The other side can’t match it. They cry foul, blow up lines of communication, resort to violence or victimhood because their positions don’t hold up in open debate. Just enforce the law and order, win arguments, and replace the corrupt with a proper government. It’s better than running around at night with a bullwhip, taking frustrations out on faces. Expose them, beat them at the ballot box, and build something lasting.
My life trajectory proves it. In my thirties, I drew on personal experience: FBI interactions, legislative pushes that failed, vigilante moments that worked short-term but revealed their limits. After the book, film festivals opened doors—Western arts folks who got the Zorro vibe, entertainment people tired of radical agendas and wanted to work with me off the record, so long as I was willing to sign mine to the cause. I spoke at events, networked, and learned that influence through ideas trumps force.[^6] By the 2010s, with Tail of the Dragon in 2012 amid Tea Party energy, I was writing philosophy in action—motorcycle freedom symbolizing untethered resistance to overreach.[^7] Plans for bigger distribution (even ties to Glenn Beck circles) hit walls because the tone was too explosive against expanding federal power then. But it planted seeds.
Today, I’m happy with the trajectory. The Trump administration, Congress, and local and state governments are doing great work in places. No need for vigilantism when voters can pick leaders who enforce rules. The other side’s inability to argue substantively shows why they lose—they rely on emotion, not reason. Winning voters with good arguments builds longevity and a proper society.
Some look for ways to undermine my current stance, digging up the 2004 book to say I’ve contradicted myself. Fine—let the debates flourish. That’s why I put myself out there: to inspire thinking and to reject victimization cycles. The world isn’t heading toward the dystopia many feared in the early 2000s. People are upset, lashing out, but the system works best if people manage the government, avoiding becoming a vigilante, trying to conceal their identity so that the powerful can’t find them and punish them in real life. I found that it’s far more powerful to beat them where they can’t defend themselves, with ideas that you sign your name to. Let voters handle it. When government goes rogue, accountability through the ballot box fixes it—not shadows.
It does my heart good to see the bad guys suffer these days. I take showers with “liberal tears” from my tank—refreshing, cleansing the evil they proposed.[^8] Romantic as vigilante justice is in books and movies, real justice comes from winning wars openly: expose corruption, replace it with order, and manage government through accountability. That’s what I learned over 20+ years. The Symposium of Justice remains relevant—its perspective on tyranny holds, but now we have a government worth supporting. Huge difference. It may not be as exciting. But the the method I ended up using to fight bad guys has been very effective. And it works a whole lot better.
[^1]: Context from post-9/11 Patriot Act criticisms; Hoffman’s 2004 publication aligns with anti-government sentiment under Bush (e.g., blog retrospectives on overmanwarrior.wordpress.com).
[^2]: Personal accounts of FBI/drug enforcement involvement referenced in Goodreads author bio and blog posts on activism.
[^3]: Self-described tensions with law enforcement in tax/anti-corruption fights; “Tax-killer” nickname from local battles.
[^4]: Blog launch as evolution from book; daily writing as alternative to direct action (overmanwarrior.wordpress.com history).
[^5]: Activism details from Goodreads and blog; Reform Party/Tea Party ties.
[^6]: Film festival/Western arts community interactions inferred from transcript and broader activist networking.
[^7]: Tail of the Dragon (2012) publication amid Tea Party; motorcycle symbolism for freedom (Goodreads/author notes).
[^8]: Direct quote/paraphrase from transcript on “liberal tears” as metaphor for current satisfaction.
Bibliography
• Hoffman, Rich. The Symposium of Justice. Self-published, 2004. (Referenced in blog archives and Goodreads profile.)
• Hoffman, Rich. Tail of the Dragon. Cliffhanger Research and Development, 2012. (Goodreads; blog promotions.)
The Overmanwarrior 