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A DIVERSIONARY WAR

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You Can’t Bomb Your Way Out of Rent: What Really Forces Leaders Back to Domestic Reform

When domestic problems pile up—rising costs, broken institutions, political paralysis—leaders have a familiar escape hatch: look outward. Foreign crises, military posturing, and talk of national security can temporarily drown out questions about wages, housing, healthcare, and democratic accountability. History shows this tactic works just long enough to be tempting—and just long enough to do real damage.

The harder question isn’t why leaders distract. It’s what actually forces them back to governing at home. The answer is uncomfortable for those in power and clarifying for everyone else: leaders return to domestic reform only when avoidance becomes more costly than change.

That pressure does not come from speeches or slogans. It comes from forces that, when activated together, are impossible to ignore—starting with economic reality and electoral accountability.

Domestic economic pain—higher rents, stagnant wages, debt burdens—cannot be spun away. Foreign policy adventures are expensive, and even when wrapped in patriotic language, they rarely deliver quick relief for ordinary people. Eventually, budgets strain, infrastructure decays, and voters notice that the money spent abroad could have fixed things at home.

Elections also matter when they genuinely determine political fate. Voters may rally around flags and crises for a short time, but they care more about grocery bills and job stability. When people believe leadership can change and that their vote counts, domestic issues reassert themselves.

Nowhere is this dynamic clearer than in the Trump administration’s recent actions in Venezuela. The U.S. military operation that captured President Nicolás Maduro in early January, framed as a strike against narco-terrorism, seized global attention and deeply divided Americans along partisan lines. Many Republicans cheered the move as a bold assertion of U.S. strength; many Democrats and independents condemned it as an illegal intervention that bypassed Congress and violated international norms. Early polling shows a stark split: roughly two-thirds of Republicans support the action, while only about one in seven Democrats do—and most Americans believe Congress should have been consulted first.

Critics on both the left and right have accused the White House of using Venezuela as a diversionary tactic—a way to shift public attention away from deep economic anxieties, congressional dysfunction, corruption scandals, and domestic policy failures. Comparisons have been made to historic cases where foreign policy was used to try to deflect from internal problems, with strategists explicitly suggesting that dramatic military moves can serve as a political smoke screen.

Oil makes diversion more effective because it affects everyone’s life. Oil is uniquely useful in this context. Gas prices, heating costs, and inflation are immediately felt by voters. Linking a foreign action to the diversion gives leaders a concrete justification that resonates more than abstract ideology.

The timing and presentation of the Venezuela operation fit a pattern seen in U.S. politics before: rally support with talk of national security, justify extraordinary action with moral language, and hope that media cycles focus on external enemies more than internal failures. When oil reserves—like Venezuela’s vast fields, which are now at the center of strategy and controversy—enter the mix, foreign policy gains an economic gloss that resonates with some voters even as it distracts from domestic debates about inflation and labor conditions.

 The diversion never lasts. What forces leaders back to domestic reform—economic pain that cannot be ignored, elections that matter, elite repudiation, institutional resistance, and public exhaustion—cannot be sidestepped by spectacle alone. People don’t want permanent resistance; they want competence and stability. Housing, healthcare, and wages become paramount. When voters connect foreign spending to domestic neglect, reform becomes unavoidable—or leadership changes.

Elite defection is decisive when it happens: when business leaders, military professionals, and bureaucratic insiders quietly conclude that diversion costs more than accountability. Institutions like courts and legislatures don’t need to “win”—they only need to slow, expose, and delay. Public exhaustion matters too; permanent crisis politics collapses once citizens demand competence over chaos. Oil companies recognize the distractive nature of this action and are not willing to participate at this point.

What doesn’t work alone are moral outrage, hashtags on X, or viral moments. These fade unless they are connected to material consequences and institutional leverage. But the murder of an American citizen by an ICE agent could be that material consequence. Renee Nicole Good, a 37-year-old U.S. citizen and mother of three, was fatally shot by a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agent Jonathan Ross during a federal immigration enforcement operation in south Minneapolis.  The incident has sparked widespread protests and political debate across the U.S., with thousands demonstrating against ICE’s presence and tactics, and lawmakers calling for independent investigations and greater accountability.

The uncomfortable truth is that domestic reform happens not because leaders “see the light,” but because: the cost of not reforming becomes higher than the cost of trying another diversion. Democracy survives when citizens, institutions, and economic realities make avoidance a non-starter. Change arrives because the country insists on it—and makes every other option impossible.

You can’t bomb your way out of rent or partisan dysfunction. You can’t sanction your way to affordable healthcare. And you can’t distract forever from a system that no longer delivers for working families.

Domestic reform comes when citizens make avoidance more costly than accountability. That’s when leaders are forced back to work on the problems that matter most.

T. Michael Smith

wwwtmichaelsmith.com

Are We Losing the Free Press?

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The question sounds alarmist, until you look closely at what’s happening.

The United States still has newspapers, cable networks, podcasts, newsletters, and social feeds overflowing with information. Journalists still expose corruption and challenge power. And yet something essential is eroding. Not all at once, not by government decree, but through pressure, consolidation, intimidation, and a growing public tolerance for lies.

The greatest threat to the free press today is not outright censorship. It is slow suffocation.

A free press depends on three pillars: independence, economic viability, and public trust. All three are under attack.

Start with economics. Local journalism, the unglamorous backbone of democratic accountability, has been gutted. Thousands of local newspapers have disappeared. Many survivors are “ghost papers,” skeletal operations where a handful of reporters cover entire regions.  The Roanoke Times is a prime example. Hedge funds and private equity firms have treated newsrooms as assets to be stripped rather than civic institutions to be sustained. When school boards, police departments, and city halls go uncovered, corruption doesn’t need to be hidden. It simply goes unnoticed.

At the national level, market pressures take a different form. Ratings, clicks, and virality increasingly drive coverage decisions. Outrage outperforms nuance. Conflict spreads faster than context. Even responsible outlets feel pulled toward spectacle, crowding out the slow, expensive investigative reporting that holds power to account.

Then there is politics—and here the danger becomes explicit. In recent years, journalism itself has been deliberately delegitimized. “Fake news” is no longer a critique of errors; it is a cudgel used to discredit any reporting that threatens those in power. Reporters are labeled “enemies of the people.” Media outlets are targeted for retaliation. Lawsuits are filed not to win, but to intimidate.

This rhetoric has consequences. When journalists are cast as traitors, harassment and threats follow. When lies are rebranded as “alternative facts,” truth itself becomes partisan. The aim is not to persuade the public of a single false narrative, but to exhaust people into cynicism—to convince them that no source is trustworthy, that nothing can be known. In that fog, accountability collapses.

Media consolidation compounds the damage. A shrinking number of corporations control much of what Americans see and hear, narrowing perspectives and increasing vulnerability to political and advertiser pressure. At the same time, social media platforms—now primary news sources for millions—are governed by opaque algorithms that reward engagement over accuracy and amplify misinformation at scale. These companies are not bound by journalistic ethics, yet they function as gatekeepers of public discourse.

The final pillar, public trust, has fractured along partisan lines. Too many Americans now choose news the way they choose teams—seeking affirmation rather than understanding. This breakdown did not happen by accident; it has been cultivated. When trust collapses, the press loses not just credibility, but its democratic function.

So, are we losing the free press? Not yet. But we are testing how much damage it can absorb.

History shows that press freedom rarely vanishes overnight. It erodes gradually—through economic starvation, legal intimidation, consolidation, algorithmic distortion, and the normalization of lies. Democracies do not usually silence journalists first; they teach citizens to stop listening to them.

Defending a free press requires more than ritual praise. It means supporting local journalism, enforcing antitrust laws, protecting reporters from harassment, demanding accountability from social media platforms, and cultivating a public culture that values truth even when it is uncomfortable.

A free press is not a partisan weapon or a cultural luxury. It is democratic infrastructure, as essential as courts or elections. When it weakens, every other institution becomes easier to corrupt.

The real question is not whether we are losing the free press. It is whether we will recognize what is happening—and act—before the loss becomes irreversible.

T. Michael Smith

wwwtmichaelsmith

Chief Justice John Roberts

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OLD and QUIRKY

From Conservative Strategist to Chief Justice of a Court He Can No Longer Control

For years, Chief Justice John Roberts was hailed—mostly by Beltway moderates desperate to find a “reasonable” conservative—as the last adult in the room. The sober institutionalist. The guardian of the Court’s legitimacy. The conservative who understood that you don’t burn the house down just because you finally got the matches.

But the truth is far less flattering: John Roberts didn’t save the Court from extremism. He midwifed it. He curated it. And now, like Dr. Frankenstein watching his monster rampage through the village, he’s horrified that he’s no longer the one in charge.

Roberts’ evolution isn’t a story of a principled jurist tempering his ideology. It’s the story of a Republican operative who spent decades dismantling democratic safeguards—voting rights, campaign finance limits, corporate accountability—only to recoil when a more radical generation of conservatives used those very tools to push the country off a cliff.

The Strategist Who Mistook Himself for a Statesman

Roberts rose through the conservative legal movement carefully, methodically, strategically. He wasn’t the bomb-thrower; he was the man smoothing the shrapnel, packaging hard-right outcomes in pretty, technocratic prose. His entire judicial philosophy was camouflage: causing massive ideological shifts, but made them look modest.

His decision in Shelby County v. Holder—gutting the Voting Rights Act—was a masterpiece of this dreary craft. He pretended that racial discrimination in voting had magically evaporated, then acted shocked when states sprinted to reinstate voter suppression laws.

This was Roberts’ signature: deregulate the powerful, weaken protections for vulnerable communities, and then express mild surprise when the powerful seize even more power.

Then Came the Monster He Helped Build

For a decade, Roberts controlled the Court by managing Justice Kennedy’s ego and projecting a veneer of institutional neutrality. But once the far-right legal movement captured the Court outright—with Gorsuch, Kavanaugh, and Barrett—Roberts became irrelevant.

And nothing infuriates a man like Roberts more than being irrelevant.

Suddenly he was the “moderate,” not because he changed, but because the rest of the conservative bloc stopped pretending. They didn’t care about incrementalism. They didn’t care about public trust. They didn’t care about Roberts’ obsession with legitimacy. They wanted maximalist rulings, and they wanted them now.

Dobbs was the humiliation heard round the world. Roberts begged for a “compromise,” a middle-ground fantasy where abortion rights could be gutted but not eradicated. The new majority waved him off like an annoyed parent. They had the votes, and they were done with Roberts’ slow-drip revolution.

Roberts Wants to Save the Court From a Crisis He Caused

Roberts keeps warning that the Court risks losing the public’s trust—as if he had no role in setting the stage for its collapse. It was Roberts who weakened the Voting Rights Act. Roberts who empowered billionaire donors in Citizens United. Roberts who shielded corporate interests repeatedly. Roberts who insisted, with a straight face, that the Court is not political even as he stacked the deck for conservative victories.

And now he wants to play umpire while the game burns down.

Roberts didn’t lose control of the Court because he’s a moderate; he lost control because the right-wing legal movement he nurtured no longer needs his caution or his respectability. They have the majority. They have power. And the mask—his mask—is off.

Roberts’ Legacy Is the Court’s Crisis

History won’t remember Roberts as the savior of judicial legitimacy. It will remember him as the architect of the Court’s collapse into partisanship—a man who spent years quietly eroding the foundation of democracy only to be shocked when the roof finally caved in.

He wanted to steer a conservative revolution from the comfort of technocratic respectability. Instead, he built a machine that outran him. He fed the beast, and now it answers to someone else.

John Roberts evolved, all right—not into a moderate, but into a cautionary tale: a conservative who played with fire, insisted it was safe, and now stands in the ashes pretending not to smell the smoke.

T. Michael Smith

wwwtmichaelsmith.com

How Citizens United Broke America’s Democracy

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OLD and QUIRKY

Why the Billionaires Want You to Forget It

There are a lot of villains in the slow-motion sabotage of American democracy, but few have done more damage—with such smug self-righteousness—than the Supreme Court’s conservative majority in Citizens United v. FEC. With a single ruling, they didn’t just unleash corporate money into politics. They handed the keys of American democracy to the ultra-wealthy and told the rest of us to enjoy the ride.

The right loves to blame polarization, misinformation, even “wokeness” for the chaos in politics. But let’s be honest: the rot set in when the Court declared that corporations are political actors with constitutional rights and billionaires can drown the public square in money if they call it “independent spending.”

It was the judicial equivalent of opening all the vaults on Wall Street and telling the bankers, “Go wild.” And they did.

A Democracy of Donors, Not Voters

Since the ruling, politics has become a playground for the richest Americans—a system where a handful of billionaires can bankroll entire elections, sculpt policy, and effectively decide who even gets a shot at running for office. Working people donate in $20 increments: Sheldon Adelson and Michael Bloomberg toss in $100 million like they’re tipping a bartender.

This isn’t free speech. It’s financial dominance.

The conservative justices insisted that unlimited spending would not corrupt politics because it was technically “independent.” That’s like claiming a hurricane isn’t dangerous because the wind and water don’t officially coordinate. The reality is obvious: when politicians know a super PAC can vaporize their career with a tsunami of attack ads, they behave accordingly. It’s silent extortion, baked into the system.

Dark Money: The Shadow Government

Worse still, Citizens United opened the floodgates for dark money—funds from anonymous donors funneled through nonprofits that exist solely to hide who’s really pulling the levers.

These groups bankroll everything:

  • judicial confirmation blitzes
  • anti-union campaigns
  • disinformation networks
  • climate denial operations
  • statewide ballot fights
  • and candidate-centered propaganda masquerading as “issue ads”

It’s a shadow government with no accountability and no transparency, operating because five justices thought disclosure requirements might “chill speech.” What it chills is democracy.

Policy Written for the Few, Paid for by the Few

There’s a reason Congress can’t pass wildly popular policies like taxing billionaires, raising wages, strengthening unions, or protecting abortion rights. Donors don’t want them.

There’s a reason fossil fuel companies keep winning legislative battles even as the planet burns. Donors pay handsomely for political insulation.

There’s a reason health care remains a corporate profit engine instead of a public good. Dark money groups fueled by insurance executives spend tens of millions to ensure nothing changes.

This is not dysfunction. It’s design.

Public Trust Has Collapsed—and That Was the Point

Americans know the system is rigged. They feel it every time a policy with 70–80% support dies in committee while billionaires get another round of tax cuts. They see it when candidates who appeal to grassroots voters get buried under a flood of super PAC money.

The right often accuses the left of being cynical about institutions. But cynicism didn’t break our faith in democracy. Citizens United did.

The Billionaires Don’t Want Reform—They Want Silence

Every time someone proposes overturning Citizens United, strengthening disclosure laws, or implementing public financing, the same chorus emerges: “You’re trying to limit speech.”

No. We’re trying to resurrect democracy from the ruins your “speech” left behind.

The truth is simple: the only people who benefit from Citizens United are the people with enough money to buy political power. Everyone else pays the price—in weaker protections, broken institutions, and a political system that treats citizens like spectators instead of participants.

It Has to End

A democracy cannot survive when the wealthiest Americans have more political influence than millions of voters combined. The idea that corporations are people with constitutional rights is a lie. The idea that billionaires’ spending is harmless is a fantasy. And the idea that this system is sustainable is delusional.

Citizens United must be overturned—by constitutional amendment, by new disclosure laws, or by a Court that finally remembers democracy matters more than donor privileges.

Until then, the United States will remain a country where elections are technically free, but political power is anything but.

T. Michael Smith

wwwtmichaelsmith.com

Who Won the Shutdown?

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OLD and Quirky                                 

Republicans claimed victory. Democrats claimed pragmatism. But the real loser is democracy itself.

After 41 days of paralysis, furloughs, and fury, the federal government is finally lurching back to life. But while Washington congratulates itself for reopening the doors, Americans deserve to ask the real question: Who actually won the shutdown? The short answer is the same as it’s been for years—Republicans played hardball and Democrats blinked. The longer answer is more troubling: democracy itself lost ground.

The shutdown began as a standoff over something as basic as keeping the government funded and health care affordable. Republicans, emboldened by Trump’s renewed grip on Congress, refused to pass a budget that continued the Affordable Care Act subsidies millions rely on. Democrats, for once, stood their ground—at least at first—insisting that health care wasn’t a bargaining chip. For a moment, it seemed like they might hold together. But that moment passed.

As the weeks dragged on, pressure mounted: federal workers without paychecks, veterans missing benefits, food aid paused, airports in disarray. The human cost became unbearable. And when the breaking point came, it wasn’t the Republican leadership that cracked—it was the Democrats. Seven of them, along with an Independent, crossed the aisle to vote for a temporary deal that funded most agencies but postponed the health-care fight until December. The right called it pragmatism. The left called it surrender. Both were right.

Republicans walked away with the win they wanted. They reopened the government on their terms, without restoring the ACA subsidies that had triggered the crisis in the first place. They also sent a message: when Democrats talk about “no negotiation with hostage-takers,” they don’t really mean it. The GOP knows this game, and they play it well, manufacture a crisis, hold the economy hostage, and wait until moderates fold. It’s governing by brinkmanship, and it works because Democrats keep rewarding it.

But the political scoreboard isn’t the only thing that matters here. This shutdown exposed something deeper about the state of our democracy: we’ve normalized dysfunction. Americans barely flinched as the government shut its doors for over a month—the longest in U.S. history. The headlines were predictable, the outrage short-lived. Shutdowns are supposed to be unthinkable; now they’re routine. That’s not just bad politics; it’s a failure of civic imagination. We’ve come to expect chaos, and in that expectation, we’re losing the will to demand better.

Democrats will say they ended the shutdown to protect working families—and to a degree, that’s true. The public needed relief. But a deal that buys peace at the price of principle isn’t a victory; it’s a truce before the next defeat. By agreeing to revisit the ACA subsidies in December, they’ve simply postponed another crisis. Republicans, meanwhile, have every incentive to repeat the tactic. Why negotiate in good faith when obstruction pays dividends?

Still, this isn’t a story without hope. The divide within the Democratic Party—the progressives furious about capitulation and the moderates who claim to be realists—may yet lead to a reckoning. If Democrats want to stop losing these hostage situations, they need to stop accepting the terms. That means learning how to frame these fights not as “Washington dysfunction,” but as deliberate Republican sabotage of government itself. It means talking less about bipartisanship and more about accountability. The party that believes in government must finally learn to defend it with the same zeal that the other side shows in tearing it down.

Who won the shutdown? In the short term, Republicans. In the long term, no one—unless Democrats start treating governance not as a concession, but as a cause worth fighting for. The shutdown wasn’t just a budget dispute; it was a test of conviction. And once again, Democrats settled for survival instead of victory.

If there’s any lesson to draw, it’s this: the GOP is united by grievance, but Democrats can still be united by purpose. Ending this cycle requires courage—not just to reopen the government, but to rebuild faith that government matters. Until then, every shutdown will end the same way: with Republicans celebrating, Democrats rationalizing, and Americans paying the price.

T. Michael Smith

wwwtmichaelsmith.com

WE THE PEOPLE, MUST FIGHT FASCISM

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Old and Quirky       NOVEMBER 6, 2025

As We Face Fascism, Americans Must Find New Ways to Help Each Other

As we face fascism, Americans must find new ways to help each other. That word—fascism—is not hyperbole anymore. When one major political party excuses political violence, undermines elections, and pledges loyalty to a single man over the Constitution, the danger is no longer theoretical. Donald Trump and his allies have spent years testing how far they can push American democracy before it breaks. The answer, it turns out, depends on whether the rest of us stand together or stand aside.

Trumpism has always thrived on fear and resentment—turning citizens against each other while the powerful grow richer and more unaccountable. The movement’s latest phase is darker: purges of civil servants, vows to weaponize the Justice Department, promises of “retribution” against critics, and a growing chorus of politicians and pundits who echo authoritarian language with chilling ease. This isn’t just political rhetoric—it’s preparation. We’ve seen this movie before in history, and it never ends with freedom.

But here’s what fascism can’t survive: community. When Americans refuse to abandon one another—when we refuse to let cruelty become normal—the authoritarian project collapses. That means helping the neighbor targeted by hate, supporting local reporters exposing corruption, defending teachers who teach honest history, and protecting election workers from harassment. It means showing up, loudly and consistently, for the rights of people who don’t look or vote like us.

Republicans who still believe in democracy must find the courage to say so publicly. Silence is complicity. Too many have traded principle for proximity to power. Democrats, meanwhile, can’t assume that technocratic policy wins will save the republic. What will save it is solidarity—rooted not just in ideology but in moral clarity. The fight ahead is not between left and right; it’s between democracy and authoritarian rule.

America has faced this darkness before. From the labor strikes of the 1930s (my grandfather was in the camp of WW1 veterans that Douglas McArthur overran) to the Freedom Riders of the 1960s, ordinary people defied fear through mutual aid and moral conviction. When government failed, communities rose. When demagogues tried to divide us, compassion became a weapon of resistance. We can do it again—but only if we refuse to normalize what we know is wrong.

Every era demands its own form of courage. Today, courage looks like defending truth in an age of lies, decency in an age of cruelty, and democracy in an age of apathy. It means organizing, donating, volunteering, and speaking out even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially when it’s uncomfortable.

As we face fascism, Americans must find new ways to help each other—not just out of kindness, but out of survival. The next election will decide more than who governs; it will decide whether America remains a democracy at all. The time for polite hesitation is over. The time for solidarity has arrived.

What New Ways Can Americans Help Each Other?

As Americans, we must learn again how to help one another—not just in theory, but in practice. Authoritarian movements thrive on fear, isolation, and despair. The antidote is solidarity, rebuilt from the ground up. We cannot wait for institutions alone to save us; we must start saving each other.

1. Build local networks of care.
When people are targeted—immigrants, journalists, teachers, LGBTQ+ youth—neighbors should be the first line of defense. Mutual aid groups, community watch networks, and local support circles can provide food, rides, childcare, safety, or simply presence. Small acts of care create a shield against dehumanization.

2. Protect truth and share information.
Fascism depends on lies. Support local newspapers, public libraries, and independent journalists who still tell the truth. Learn to verify before sharing. Talk with neighbors rather than yelling online. Democracy begins with informed trust.

3. Defend democratic participation.
Volunteer as a poll worker. Help people register to vote. Offer rides on Election Day. Confront voter intimidation peacefully but firmly. The right to vote is meaningless if fear keeps people home.

4. Practice visible solidarity.
Show up publicly for those under attack—at school board meetings, protests, court hearings, or workplaces. When someone is harassed for who they are, make sure they know they’re not alone. Authoritarians rely on silence; courage is contagious.

5. Organize, don’t just agonize.
Talk politics at the dinner table. Join local advocacy groups. Donate to organizations defending rights and freedoms. True democracy isn’t passive—it’s built by people who refuse to give up their agency.

6. Care for yourself and each other.
Fighting authoritarianism is exhausting work. Rest, art, humor, and community meals are not distractions—they’re acts of resistance. A hopeful person cannot be ruled by fear.

Fascism feeds on despair; democracy feeds on connection. Americans can still choose to be the country that cares for its people, even when its politics fail them. The new ways we help each other may look ordinary—sharing food, standing together, telling the truth—but at this moment, they are revolutionary.

 T. Michael Smith

wwwtmichaelsmith.com

The Supreme Court’s Shadow Docket: Democracy in the Dark

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The Supreme Court was once the guardian of reasoned justice — a deliberative institution where arguments were heard, opinions were written, and the public could see the logic behind the law. But that vision of the Court is fading fast. In its place stands a majority that increasingly prefers to rule from the shadows, using a secretive mechanism known as the shadow docket to impose sweeping policy decisions without explanation or accountability.

The “shadow docket” sounds mysterious because it is. It refers to the Court’s use of emergency orders — often unsigned, unexplained, and issued in the dead of night — that bypass the normal judicial process. No hearings. No briefs. No transparency. Yet these shadow rulings have decided some of the most consequential issues of our time: immigration, voting rights, reproductive freedom, and public health.

And the justices most eager to use this power sit on theCourt’s conservative wing.

Under Chief Justice John Roberts and his Trump-appointed colleagues — Gorsuch, Kavanaugh, and Barrett — the shadow docket has become a tool for ideological activism masquerading as judicial restraint. Time and again, the conservative majority has used it to quietly deliver victories for right-wing causes while avoiding the public scrutiny that comes with full opinions.

Consider how the Court let Texas’s infamous abortion law, SB 8, take effect in 2021. Without a single oral argument or written justification, the Court’s conservative bloc allowed a law that effectively banned abortions after six weeks to stand. Women’s rights were stripped away overnight — not through a landmark ruling, but through a midnight order.

Or look at voting rights. The shadow docket has been used to reinstate gerrymandered maps and restrictive election laws, often just before an election. Each time, the Court hides behind procedural language about “emergency relief,” but the effect is unmistakable: less access to the ballot for communities of color and more entrenchment for Republican-controlled legislatures.

And while conservatives decry “unelected judges” when liberal rulings displease them, they have no problem using unelected justices to reshape American life from the shadows. This is not judicial humility — it’s power politics cloaked in Latin.

The danger of the shadow docket is not only that it produces bad rulings, but that it erodes public trust in the Court itself. When the majority uses unsigned, unexplained orders to make major legal changes, it sends a clear message: the Court’s power is absolute, and the public has no right to question it. That’s not the rule of law. That’s judicial supremacy.

Democracy cannot function when the most powerful court in the country operates like a political backroom. If the conservative justices believe their decisions are justified, they should have the courage to explain them. Hiding behind the shadow docket betrays both the spirit of the Constitution and the trust of the people.

The Supreme Court’s authority depends on legitimacy — on the belief that its rulings flow from law, not ideology. But every time the conservative majority governs from the shadows, that legitimacy fades a little more. The justices may win their battles for now, but in the long run, they are burning down the very credibility that gives their power meaning.

It’s time to drag the Court back into the light.

T. Michael Smith

wwwtmichaelsmith.com

INSIDERS RULE

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Behind the public drama of politics, three powerful insiders—Russell Vought, Stephen Miller, and Pete Hegseth—are quietly reshaping how America is governed. Through budgetary control, ideological messaging, and military command, they are centralizing executive power and transforming democratic institutions from within.

The Impact of Russell Vought, Stephen Miller, and Pete Hegseth

In American politics, power often hides behind the curtain. The figure at the podium is rarely the only force directing the show. Today, three men—Russell Vought, Stephen Miller, and Pete Hegseth—are shaping the contours of government in ways more consequential than any press briefing or campaign rally could convey. They are the insiders of a movement that seeks to refashion not just policies but the very machinery of governance. Together, they represent a new breed of political operator: ideological, disciplined, and determined to subordinate the federal bureaucracy, the military, and the rule of law to a single, commanding vision of executive supremacy.

Russell Vought: The Bureaucratic Revolutionary

Russell Vought, Office of Management and Budget (OMB) director and current architect of the administration’s institutional redesign, operates with a precision born of bureaucratic mastery. His influence extends beyond spreadsheets and budget charts; he is the administrative mind behind what might be called the “restorationist” project—an effort to reclaim the executive branch from what he calls the “deep state.”

Vought has made no secret of his disdain for the permanent civil service. He once said that career bureaucrats should “wake up demoralized,” viewing them as obstacles to the will of the people rather than instruments of democratic governance. His Center for Renewing America, a policy hub that grew out of the Project 2025 blueprint, preaches a mission of cultural and bureaucratic purification—firing, defunding, or dismantling agencies that resist ideological alignment.

Through OMB’s power of the purse, Vought wields quiet but devastating influence. By redirecting grants, freezing disfavored programs, and using impoundment tactics that test the boundaries of congressional authority, he can starve the government’s watchdogs while feeding politically compliant agencies. His budgetary maneuvers operate in the shadows, invisible to the public but transformative in effect. It is governance by attrition—a war on the bureaucracy fought with spreadsheets and rulebooks.

The danger in Vought’s project is not just its ideological bent but its structural audacity. If the executive branch can starve parts of itself without oversight, Congress becomes ornamental. The balance of powers begins to tip, not through coup or crisis, but through the slow erosion of institutional muscle.

Stephen Miller: The Ideologue as Architect

If Vought is the tactician, Stephen Miller is the ideologue. For nearly a decade, Miller has supplied the movement with its defining rhetoric—its story of siege, crisis, and moral war. His fingerprints are on nearly every hardline immigration and security policy of recent years, but his influence runs deeper than policy. He is the voice that tells a particular faction of America that they are losing their country, and that only strongmen and exceptional measures can save it.

Miller’s genius lies in framing every policy dispute as a battle for civilization itself. Court rulings, media criticism, or congressional oversight are not seen as democratic processes but as existential assaults. In this narrative, compromise becomes betrayal, and resistance is treason.

This rhetoric has policy consequences. When officials are described as “enemies within,” it justifies purges. When judicial constraints are recast as “insurrection,” it legitimizes executive defiance. Miller’s language—once dismissed as campaign bluster—now shapes the tone and tenor of actual governance. His worldview defines who belongs and who doesn’t, who deserves protection and who must be punished.

Even within Republican ranks, Miller’s absolutism has provoked anxiety. Some strategists warn that his style of politics—driven by confrontation rather than persuasion—risks alienating allies and moderates. Yet Miller’s influence persists because he has mastered the emotional grammar of populism. He gives moral urgency to the machinery Vought is re-engineering.

Pete Hegseth: The Soldier-Politician

Where Vought manipulates budgets and Miller molds narratives, Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth embodies the movement’s muscle. A former Army officer and Fox News commentator, Hegseth has redefined the Pentagon’s mission to align with culture-war politics. His rhetoric is steeped in calls for a return to “warrior ethos” and a purge of what he derides as “woke” ideology.

Under Hegseth’s leadership, the military’s focus has shifted from global alliances toward internal purification. He has removed diversity, equity, and inclusion offices, disciplined officers deemed politically disloyal, and re-centered defense discourse around patriotism, masculinity, and obedience. In public speeches, Hegseth often warns that the “real threats” to America are not foreign adversaries but internal decay—an argument that edges dangerously close to politicizing the military itself.

Recent controversies surrounding leaked internal communications—revealing the sharing of sensitive operational details on private channels—highlight the erosion of professional norms within the defense establishment. The line between civilian control of the military and partisan mobilization is thinning. When the Pentagon becomes a stage for ideological cleansing, the apolitical character of the armed forces—the bedrock of American stability—comes under strain.

Hegseth’s impact is not only operational but symbolic. He represents the militarization of political identity—the idea that loyalty and strength outweigh process and pluralism. That ethos, once confined to cable talk shows, is now shaping command decisions and promotions.

The Triad of Power

Individually, Vought, Miller, and Hegseth wield immense influence within their domains. Collectively, they represent a coherent strategy: to consolidate executive authority, neutralize bureaucratic resistance, and reframe democracy as a struggle between patriots and traitors.

Their methods intersect. Miller provides the moral justification; Vought designs the bureaucratic architecture; Hegseth enforces the cultural and military discipline. The result is a kind of ideological fusion—one that sees government not as a pluralistic arena of negotiation, but as a unified instrument of will.

In this configuration, checks and balances are not safeguards but obstacles. Independent agencies, congressional oversight, and judicial review are recast as forms of sabotage. The traditional American notion of governance—built on deliberation and dispersed power—gives way to a more centralized, combative model: rule by command rather than consent.

The Risks Ahead

The genius of this insider movement lies in its subtlety. There is no overt coup, no tanks in the streets. Instead, there is administrative attrition, rhetorical escalation, and institutional corrosion. It is power exercised through procedures, not proclamations.

The immediate consequence is polarization, but the long-term danger is institutional fatigue. A government demoralized and distrusted cannot sustain itself indefinitely. Bureaucrats stripped of independence become servants of the moment. Generals politicized by ideology lose credibility with the public. And when every opponent is treated as an enemy, democracy becomes indistinguishable from permanent war.

There are, of course, countervailing forces—career officials who resist unlawful orders, courts that push back, and citizens who still believe in pluralism. But the burden of resistance has shifted from institutions to individuals. The system that once protected itself now depends on the courage of those within it.

Conclusion: The Architecture of Control

Russell Vought, Stephen Miller, and Pete Hegseth are not fringe figures; they are the governing class of a movement intent on remaking the American state in its own image. They wield ideology as strategy and bureaucracy as weapon. Their goal is not just to win elections but to rewire government itself—to replace institutional balance with ideological purity.

The story of these insiders is a reminder that democracies rarely fall in dramatic fashion. More often, they are remodeled from within—one regulation, one firing, one speech at a time. The question now is not whether their influence will endure, but how much of the old constitutional order will remain when they are done.

Trump’s Takeover Attempt

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The Constitution Is The LAST Line of Defense

OLD and QUIRKY Michael Smith

When the framers wrote the U.S. Constitution in 1787, they weren’t designing a government for angels. They built a system for ambitious, flawed, and power-seeking human beings — precisely to prevent the rise of a single man who might try to rule like a king. Today, as Donald Trump openly vows to use a second term to exact “retribution” on his enemies and weaken constraints on presidential power, that 18th-century framework has become our last line of defense. The Constitution — if we have the courage to uphold it — remains America’s strongest bulwark against an authoritarian takeover.

A Government of Divided Power

The Founders’ most brilliant invention was the separation of powers. No single person, not even a president, was meant to dominate. Congress makes the laws, the president enforces them, and the courts interpret them — a system built to force compromise and prevent tyranny. That design ensures a president cannot simply rule by decree or loyalty.

During Trump’s first term, this balance was tested — and in some cases, it held. Courts struck down the most sweeping version of his “Muslim ban,” blocked his attempts to redirect funds for a border wall, and resisted executive overreach. State officials, under tremendous pressure, refused to falsify election results. These acts of defiance were not partisan gestures; they were affirmations of the Constitution’s core principle that power must remain divided and accountable.

The Rule of Law, Tested but Alive

The Constitution promises that no person is above the law — a principle now facing its hardest test. Trump, indicted in multiple jurisdictions, has built his campaign around the claim that accountability itself is illegitimate. If judges and juries uphold their constitutional duty despite political pressure, they will reaffirm that the rule of law is more than a slogan. If they falter, the entire foundation of our democracy will crack.

But the rule of law doesn’t live only in the courts. It lives in the character of those who swear an oath to uphold it — from soldiers to civil servants. Every official in this country pledges allegiance not to a leader, but to the Constitution. That distinction is what separates a republic from a regime. When senior military officers reminded Trump in 2020 that their loyalty was to the Constitution, not to him, they were echoing that sacred promise.

The People’s Power

Ultimately, the Constitution’s greatest safeguard is us — the people. It entrusts power not to kings or generals but to citizens who speak, vote, and act. Free elections, free speech, and a free press are not ornaments of democracy; they are its beating heart. The First Amendment guarantees the right to challenge authority, expose corruption, and protest injustice.

Trump and his allies have tried to convince Americans that elections can’t be trusted and that truth itself is negotiable. That cynicism is corrosive — and deliberate. If citizens lose faith in their own institutions, the paper protections of the Constitution will mean little. The antidote is civic participation: voting in every election, defending factual journalism, volunteering in communities, and refusing to surrender truth to conspiracy.

Federalism and the Limits of Power

Another constitutional strength lies in federalism — the division of power between the national government and the states. This structure makes it extraordinarily difficult for one person to control every lever of authority. When Trump pressured state officials in 2020 to “find votes,” they refused. When he mused about deploying the military to silence protests, generals and governors resisted. That was federalism at work: a reminder that sovereignty is shared, not seized.

A Fragile Line Between Republic and Rule

Still, the Constitution is not self-enforcing. It is a set of promises that rely on human courage to survive. If Congress abdicates oversight, if courts bow to political intimidation, or if citizens stop paying attention, the republic can be hollowed out from within. History teaches that democracies rarely die in a single moment — they erode through exhaustion, cynicism, and fear.

Trump’s public vows to use the presidency as an instrument of vengeance should alarm anyone who still believes in limited government. But outrage alone won’t save the republic. What will save it is constitutional courage — lawmakers willing to say no, judges willing to rule on principle, citizens willing to act when democracy is under threat.

The Oath We All Share

Every public servant swears to “preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.” In times like these, that oath belongs to all of us. The Constitution is not just a relic of parchment; it is a living agreement between the governed and those who govern. It gives us tools — elections, courts, and checks on power — but it also gives us responsibilities.

If Americans choose apathy, the Constitution cannot save us. But if we choose engagement, courage, and truth, it will. The Founders never promised that freedom would be easy — only that it would be possible. The question now is whether we will use the system they built to defend it.

Because in the end, constitutional patriotism means loyalty not to a man, but to the rule of law itself — and to the idea that no one, not even Donald Trump, is above it.

T. Michael Smith

wwwtmichaelsmith.com

A BETRAYAL OF AMERICAN IDEALS

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OLD and QUIRKY                                                                               09/12/2025

What happens when the institution meant to protect justice becomes the architect of injustice?”

The Supreme Court has at key moments in history and today, betrayed core American ideals such as equality, liberty, and democratic accountability.

 The Supreme Court and the Betrayal of American Ideals

The United States Supreme Court was envisioned as a guardian of justice, a bulwark against tyranny, and a neutral arbiter of the Constitution. Yet in recent years, its rulings have increasingly sparked outrage, confusion, and a sense of betrayal among many Americans. Far from upholding the foundational principles of democracy, equality, and transparency, the Court has issued decisions that appear to undermine them—raising the question: Has the Supreme Court betrayed American ideals?

 Undermining Democratic Accountability

One of the most troubling developments has been the Court’s growing reliance on the “shadow docket”—a process by which major decisions are made without full briefing, oral arguments, or public explanation. These emergency rulings have shaped national policy on immigration, voting rights, and public health, often with minimal transparency. This practice erodes the democratic ideal that government decisions should be made openly and with public input. When unelected justices issue sweeping rulings in the dark, the people lose their voice in the judicial process.

 Abandoning Equal Justice Under Law

The principle of equal protection is enshrined in the Fourteenth Amendment, yet recent rulings have chipped away at civil rights protections. The Court’s decision in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, which overturned Roe v. Wade, eliminated federal protections for reproductive rights—disproportionately affecting low-income and minority communities. Similarly, the rollback of affirmative action in college admissions has been criticized for ignoring the persistent racial disparities in education. These decisions suggest a retreat from the ideal that all Americans deserve equal treatment under the law.

Below are some powerful Supreme Court decisions that are widely viewed as betrayals of American ideals, especially those of equality, liberty, and justice. The betrayal of American ideals isn’t new—it’s a recurring challenge that demands vigilance and reform. These cases aren’t just legal missteps—they’re moral failures that shaped American society in lasting ways.

 Dred Scott v. Sandford (1857)

  • Dred Scott, an enslaved man, sued for his freedom after living in free territories. The Court ruled that African Americans “had no rights which the white man was bound to respect,” denying citizenship and legal standing to all Black people—even free ones.
  • Chief Justice Roger Taney’s opinion also invalidated the Missouri Compromise, claiming Congress had no authority to ban slavery in U.S. territories.
  • Impact: This ruling emboldened pro-slavery forces, enraged abolitionists, and accelerated the path to the Civil War. It stands as a stark betrayal of liberty, equality, and the promise of citizenship.

Plessy v. Ferguson (1896)

  • Homer Plessy, a man of mixed race, deliberately violated Louisiana’s Separate Car Act to challenge segregation. The Court upheld “separate but equal” accommodations, legitimizing racial segregation nationwide.
  • Justice Harlan’s lone dissent warned that the decision would become a “badge of servitude” for Black Americans.
  • Impact: This ruling entrenched Jim Crow laws for over half a century, institutionalizing racism and denying equal access to public life. It mocked the Equal Protection Clause of the 14th Amendment.

Korematsu v. United States (1944)

  • Fred Korematsu, a U.S. citizen of Japanese descent, refused to comply with internment orders during WWII. The Court upheld his conviction, citing “military necessity” over racial discrimination6.
  • Over 120,000 Japanese Americans—most of them citizens—were forcibly relocated to internment camps without due process.
  • Impact: The ruling sanctioned racial profiling and mass incarceration. Though later denounced, it wasn’t formally overturned until 2018. It remains a chilling example of civil liberties sacrificed in the name of national security.

 Buck v. Bell (1927)

  • Carrie Buck, a young woman institutionalized in Virginia, was forcibly sterilized under a state eugenics law. The Court upheld the law, with Justice Holmes infamously declaring, “Three generations of imbeciles are enough”.
  • The decision legitimized forced sterilization of thousands deemed “unfit,” often targeting poor, disabled, and minority women.
  • Impact: This ruling violated bodily autonomy and human dignity, reflecting the darkest impulses of pseudoscience and state control. It was never formally overturned.

 Civil Rights Cases (1883)

  • The Court struck down the Civil Rights Act of 1875, which banned racial discrimination in public accommodations like hotels and theaters.
  • The majority ruled that the 14th Amendment only applied to state actions—not private discrimination—effectively legalizing segregation in private businesses.
  • Impact: This decision gutted Reconstruction-era protections and laid the groundwork for Jim Crow laws. It denied Congress the power to protect Black Americans from private racial injustice.

Concentrating Power, Weakening Checks and Balances

The American system of government is built on the separation of powers, yet the Court has increasingly deferred to executive authority. Rulings that expand presidential powers—such as allowing broad use of emergency declarations or limiting the independence of regulatory agencies—threaten the balance intended by the Founders. By weakening the ability of Congress and federal agencies to act as checks on the executive, the Court risks enabling authoritarian tendencies.  As the Court and Congress continue to cede power, the executive branch is becoming the ruling entity.

Ignoring the Will of the People

Perhaps most alarming is the Court’s apparent disregard for public consensus. Polls consistently show that most Americans support abortion rights, gun safety measures, and environmental protections—yet the Court has issued rulings that contradict these views. With several justices appointed by presidents who lost the popular vote and confirmed by a Senate representing a minority of Americans, the legitimacy of the Court’s decisions is increasingly questioned. When the judiciary becomes disconnected from the people it serves, it ceases to reflect the democratic spirit of the nation.                   

Conclusion: A Crisis of Faith

The Supreme Court was never meant to be infallible, but it was meant to be principled. Its recent trajectory suggests a departure from the ideals that define American democracy: transparency, equality, accountability, and respect for the will of the people. This is not merely a legal crisis, it is a moral one. If the Court continues down this path, it risks becoming an institution that no longer protects the Constitution but instead reshapes it to serve narrow interests. In doing so, it betrays the very ideals it was created to uphold.

T. Michael Smith

Wwwtmichaelsmith.com