But on one important point, I think we agree.

Government should not unnecessarily expose identifiable citizens to increased risk or public hostility.

According to a recent Fox News report⁠, Scott Galloway said he felt “doxxed” after New York City published a searchable property database that he believes effectively singled out affluent property owners. Whether one agrees with that characterization or not, his reaction raises a question worth asking.

Public Records vs. Public Targeting

New York City argues that these property records have been public for years and that state law requires their publication. That distinction matters and deserves to be acknowledged.

But another distinction matters just as much.

There is a difference between information technically existing in public records and government placing renewed attention on that information in the middle of a political debate over taxing a particular class of citizens.

Those are not necessarily the same thing.

In an era where political hostility sometimes escalates into threats or violence, government officials should ask not only whether something is legal, but whether it is prudent.

Transparency is an important principle.

So is restraint.

A Question for Scott Galloway

If Scott Galloway sincerely believes he was doxxed, I would simply say this:

Once you’re doxxed, you can’t be undoxxed.

Once personal information has been broadly highlighted, there is no practical way to put it back in the bottle.

That observation leads to another question.

Scott Galloway supports progressive taxation. That’s his right, and reasonable people can disagree about tax policy.

But where is the limiting principle?

How much is too much before you conclude that government has crossed the line?

At what point does a policy stop being about raising revenue and start becoming about identifying, separating, and politically targeting one group of citizens?

Power Requires Restraint

The issue here is larger than one mayor or one tax proposal.

Government should never lose sight of the fact that every citizen—wealthy or poor, liberal or conservative—is entitled to be treated with dignity.

The test of good government is not whether it has the legal authority to do something.

The test is whether it exercises that authority wisely.

A free society depends not only on laws that limit government power, but on leaders who recognize that just because government can do something doesn’t always mean it should.

That principle shouldn’t depend on whose name appears in the database today, because tomorrow it could be someone else’s.

About the author (Swlion): Swlion writes about how ideas and decisions move America—from governance and liberty to health and personal development. Read more of his work at swlion26.substack.com/archive. Subscribe at swlion26.substack.com/subscribe.

That is why the news that the Rocket Classic will leave Detroit Golf Club after the 2026 tournament feels like more than just the loss of a golf event. It represents the end of an eight-year run that gave Detroit something it had not had before: a PGA Tour event held within the city limits.

But this does not have to be the end of Detroit’s relationship with the PGA Tour. In fact, it may be an opportunity to create something different.

The end of the Rocket Classic era

The Rocket Classic arrived in 2019 and quickly became a meaningful part of the PGA Tour schedule. It brought some of the best golfers in the world to Detroit Golf Club and helped showcase a historic course in one of America’s most recognizable cities.

The tournament’s departure is not because Detroit failed as a host. Rocket Companies, the Detroit-based company that served as title sponsor, decided not to continue its sponsorship beyond 2026 amid changes in the PGA Tour’s evolving schedule. More details on the decision and the tournament’s final year can be found here⁠.

That distinction matters. Detroit did not lose a tournament because fans stopped caring or because players did not appreciate the event. The Rocket Classic built a strong reputation among competitors and spectators.

Players appreciated what Detroit built

The reaction from players shows the respect the tournament earned.

Rickie Fowler, who played in every Rocket Classic and won the 2023 event, reflected positively on his experience in Detroit, saying it had been “a lot of fun” to be part of what the tournament had built. Tony Finau, the 2022 Rocket Classic champion, was even more direct, saying he was “extremely sad” not to have a tournament returning to the “313.” Their comments were highlighted in this Yahoo Sports article about players hoping the PGA Tour returns to Detroit someday⁠.

Those comments are significant because professional golfers play tournaments all over the world. They understand which events have strong support, good atmosphere, and a connection with the community. Detroit earned that recognition.

Detroit’s golf history deserves another chapter

Detroit has a long relationship with professional golf. The Buick Open, held at Warwick Hills Golf & Country Club in Grand Blanc, was a PGA Tour fixture for decades before ending in 2009.

The Rocket Classic represented a new chapter by bringing PGA Tour golf directly into the city. It showed that Detroit could host a major sporting event and attract both players and fans.

The question now is not whether Detroit can support professional golf. It has already answered that question.

The question is what kind of event makes the most sense going forward.

A fall PGA Tour team event could be the answer

Instead of trying to replace the Rocket Classic with another traditional stroke-play tournament, Detroit should consider pursuing something unique: a fall PGA Tour team event modeled after the Zurich Classic of New Orleans.

A team event would give Detroit a different identity on the schedule. Rather than competing with dozens of other individual tournaments, Detroit could offer something that stands apart.

Team golf creates different storylines. Players form partnerships, friendships become part of the competition, and fans get a different way to connect with the golfers. It also gives the PGA Tour another opportunity to highlight personalities and build interest beyond the traditional format.

The timing could also work.

A fall event would provide a chance to attract players who are fighting for their place on the PGA Tour, trying to improve their standings, or looking to make an impression heading into the following season. A tournament built around opportunity and competition could become a valuable stop on the schedule.

Detroit should make the case

Detroit has always been a city that reinvents itself. From manufacturing to technology, from rebuilding neighborhoods to creating new attractions, Detroit’s history is built around adapting to change.

The departure of the Rocket Classic should not be viewed as the end of PGA Tour golf in Detroit. It should be viewed as a chance to create something new.

The PGA Tour is constantly evolving. Schedules change. Formats change. New ideas are being considered.

Detroit should be part of that conversation.

A fall team event would honor the success of the Rocket Classic while giving the PGA Tour something different: a passionate fan base, a major American city, a historic golf course, and an opportunity for players to compete in a format that continues to grow.

Detroit has earned another chance.

It is too early to say goodbye to Detroit golf on the PGA Tour.

About the author (Swlion): Swlion writes about how ideas and decisions move America—from governance and liberty to health and personal development. Read more of his work at swlion26.substack.com/archive. Subscribe at swlion26.substack.com/subscribe.

Fauci’s defenders argue that the entries reflect the normal process of science—experts debating possibilities, weighing uncertainty, and adjusting conclusions as new evidence emerges.

Paul argues that the diary reveals something more troubling: a gap between what officials were discussing privately and what Americans were being told publicly.

At the center of this debate is a question that reaches beyond COVID-19: when government officials ask citizens to trust their guidance, are they providing the full picture of what they know, what they do not know, and how certain they truly are?

The issue is not whether scientists should debate privately. They should. Scientific progress depends on questioning assumptions and considering competing explanations. The issue is whether those private discussions reflected a level of uncertainty that was not fully communicated to the public while policies affecting millions of lives were being implemented.

Science Evolves: The Argument From Fauci’s Defenders

The strongest argument from Dr. Fauci’s defenders is that science is not a fixed script. It evolves as new evidence becomes available.

During the early months of COVID-19, researchers were trying to understand a new virus with limited information. Scientists considered multiple possibilities, including different explanations for how the virus emerged. Public health officials had to make decisions while evidence was still developing.

Those who defend Fauci argue that private notes and scientific discussions should not be treated as final conclusions. Scientists routinely explore possibilities that are later rejected. A hypothesis being considered does not mean it has been proven, and a recommendation changing over time does not necessarily mean someone was dishonest.

As virologist Felicia Goodrum explained in NPR’s reporting on the Fauci diary controversy⁠, scientific conclusions often change as additional evidence becomes available.

That is an important point. A difference between what scientists discuss privately and what they later conclude publicly is not automatically a contradiction.

The question, however, is whether there were moments when the public was given a level of certainty that exceeded what officials privately understood.

Senator Paul’s Argument: Did the Private Record Differ From the Public Message?

Senator Rand Paul’s argument is that the Fauci diary provides evidence that some issues were more uncertain internally than they appeared publicly.

Paul released the diary package through his Senate website⁠, arguing that the entries raise questions about differences between Fauci’s private writings and his public statements.

Paul’s position is not simply that officials made mistakes during an unprecedented crisis. His argument is that some policies and public messages may have been presented with more confidence than the evidence justified.

The important question is not whether Paul’s interpretation should automatically be accepted. The question is whether the examples he highlights represent normal scientific uncertainty or whether they reveal that the public was given an incomplete picture of what officials knew.

COVID Origins: How Much Uncertainty Was There Behind the Scenes?

One of the major areas of disagreement involves the origins of COVID-19.

Paul points to diary entries from early 2020 that describe discussions among scientists about possible origins, including whether laboratory involvement should be considered. He argues that these private discussions demonstrate that the scientific community was not as certain about the origins question as some public statements suggested.

The counterargument is that early scientific investigations naturally involve competing possibilities. Considering a possibility does not mean accepting it as the most likely explanation.

This distinction is important. Science often begins with uncertainty and narrows conclusions as evidence accumulates.

The question is:

Was the public accurately informed about the level of uncertainty surrounding COVID origins, or did public messaging create an impression of greater confidence than existed at the time?

Vaccine Messaging: Were the Benefits and Limitations Both Clearly Communicated?

Another major issue involves vaccine communication. The question is whether the public was given a complete understanding of what vaccines could and could not accomplish.

As the pandemic progressed, it became clear that vaccination did not completely prevent infection or transmission, particularly as new variants emerged.

Critics argue that public messaging sometimes emphasized certainty about preventing spread when the reality was more complicated. Supporters argue that recommendations reflected the evidence available at the time and were adjusted as the virus changed.

The broader question is:

When government officials encourage citizens to make major decisions based on public health guidance, should the public also be given a clear explanation of the limitations and uncertainties behind that guidance?

When Precaution Becomes Presented as Certainty

The six-foot distancing recommendation illustrates a broader issue about transparency.

Physical distancing had a reasonable scientific basis. Increasing distance from an infected person can reduce exposure risk. But the more specific question is:

Why six feet?

The six-foot recommendation became one of the most recognizable policies of the pandemic, affecting schools, businesses, and everyday interactions.

During congressional testimony, Fauci acknowledged that he did not recall a specific study establishing six feet as the precise distance required and described the recommendation as an empirical decision rather than the result of a definitive study.

The issue is not whether officials should make precautionary recommendations during emergencies. Sometimes they must.

The issue is whether the public was clearly told the difference between:

• a policy supported by strong evidence,

• a precautionary measure based on incomplete information,

• and a judgment call made during an uncertain situation.

A reasonable public can accept uncertainty. What damages trust is when uncertainty is not acknowledged.

The Role of the Media: Were the Right Questions Asked?

A healthy democracy depends not only on government transparency but also on independent scrutiny.

One basic question that deserved attention was:

What evidence supports this specific recommendation?

That does not mean journalists should oppose a policy. It means they should examine the assumptions behind it.

The media’s role is not to serve as an advocate for government policy or against it. Its role is to challenge claims, investigate evidence, and make sure the public understands the difference between established facts and evolving judgments.

When a policy affects millions of people, asking “Why?” is not an attack on science. It is part of accountability.

The Senate Hearing and the Questions That Remain

The Senate hearing added another layer to the debate.

Fauci invoked the Fifth Amendment 111 times during questioning. Invoking that constitutional protection does not by itself prove wrongdoing. Individuals may invoke the Fifth Amendment based on legal advice and concerns about potential legal exposure.

However, it also meant that the public did not receive direct answers from Fauci on some of the questions surrounding his diary entries and decision-making.

That leaves the central issue unresolved:

Were the differences between private discussions and public statements examples of normal scientific uncertainty, or were they examples of officials communicating more confidence than the evidence justified?

The Bigger Question: Can We Trust Government Communication?

The Fauci diary debate is ultimately about more than one person.

Government officials will always face situations where decisions must be made before every fact is known. The public does not expect perfection. It expects honesty.

Trust is strengthened when officials clearly explain:

• what is known,

• what is uncertain,

• what evidence supports a decision,

• and what tradeoffs are being considered.

Trust is weakened when citizens feel that uncertainty was hidden, debate was discouraged, or precautionary decisions were presented as unquestionable facts.

The Same Standard Must Apply to Government

The pandemic demonstrated that government has significant authority to influence and restrict individual behavior during a crisis.

The question going forward is whether government institutions are equally willing to accept meaningful transparency requirements and accountability for themselves.

If citizens are expected to accept extraordinary measures during emergencies, officials should accept extraordinary scrutiny of their own decisions.

The lesson should not be that government can never act during a crisis. Emergencies require leadership.

The lesson should be that authority and transparency must go together.

A government that asks for public trust must also earn it. That means being honest about what is known, what remains uncertain, and why decisions are being made.

Because the greatest challenge in any crisis is not only responding effectively.

It is preserving the public’s confidence that those in charge are telling the truth.

About the author (Swlion): Swlion writes about how ideas and decisions move America—from governance and liberty to health and personal development. Read more of his work at swlion26.substack.com/archive. Subscribe at swlion26.substack.com/subscribe.

The concern is understandable. A closer alignment between Russia, China, and Iran would combine enormous natural resources, industrial capacity, energy influence, and strategic geography. Such a partnership could create a significant challenge to American interests and the current global order.

But there is another question worth considering:

If the concern is a stronger Russia-China-Iran partnership, could a different relationship with Russia actually reduce the likelihood of that outcome?

The unintended consequences of permanent confrontation

Marazzo argues that Russia’s resources, China’s industrial strength, and Iran’s strategic position could eventually form a more integrated Eurasian system capable of operating outside American financial and military influence.

That possibility deserves serious consideration.

However, the response also deserves scrutiny. Policies designed to isolate Russia may be producing an unintended consequence: pushing Moscow closer to Beijing and Tehran.

When a major power loses access to traditional economic partners, financial institutions, technology markets, and trade relationships, it naturally seeks alternatives. Russia has increasingly expanded its relationships with China because its relationship with the West has deteriorated.

The question is not whether Russia and China have differences. They do. The question is whether continued pressure from the West makes cooperation between them more necessary.

The nuclear reality cannot be ignored

The United States and Russia possess the two largest nuclear arsenals in the world. That fact alone should make maintaining a stable relationship between the two countries a strategic priority.

A conflict between nuclear powers does not have to begin with a deliberate decision for catastrophe. It can result from miscalculation, misunderstanding, or escalation during a crisis.

Reducing hostility between Washington and Moscow should not be viewed as weakness. It should be viewed as risk management.

Diplomacy does not require friendship. It requires communication, stability, and recognition that some disagreements are too dangerous to manage only through confrontation.

History shows adversaries can cooperate

History provides an important example.

During World War II, the United States and the Soviet Union became allies against Nazi Germany. They were not natural partners. They had profound ideological differences and deep distrust of one another.

But they recognized a shared interest.

Their cooperation did not mean America approved of Soviet communism. It did not mean the two countries had suddenly become friends. It meant leaders understood that cooperation in certain areas served a greater purpose.

After the war, those differences returned and the Cold War began.

The lesson is not that the United States and Russia must become allies today. The lesson is that even bitter rivals can find ways to cooperate when the alternative carries unacceptable risks.

Understanding Russia’s security concerns

Acknowledging Russia’s security concerns does not require approving of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine or dismissing Ukraine’s sovereignty.

Those issues can be discussed separately from the broader question of U.S.-Russia relations.

However, if the goal is a lasting peace, understanding how Russia views its security environment is necessary.

From Moscow’s perspective, NATO has expanded closer to Russia’s borders, Ukraine’s potential future membership in NATO has been discussed for years, and Western military support for Ukraine represents a growing security concern.

Whether one agrees or disagrees with that perspective, ignoring it does not make it disappear.

Successful diplomacy often begins with understanding the concerns of the other side, even when those concerns are disputed.

The strategic argument for normalization

A policy of normalizing relations with Russia would not mean abandoning American values or accepting every action taken by the Russian government.

It would mean recognizing that the United States has strategic interests that include reducing nuclear risks, preventing unnecessary escalation, and creating conditions for greater stability.

If Washington’s concern is a stronger Russia-China-Iran alignment, then perhaps the long-term strategy should be to reduce the reasons Russia depends on that partnership.

A Russia that has more stable relations with the West may have less incentive to become increasingly integrated with China and Iran.

A permanently isolated Russia, by contrast, may have fewer alternatives.

Stability is not surrender

The goal of diplomacy is not to declare one side completely right and the other completely wrong.

International relations are rarely that simple.

The goal is to create conditions where conflict becomes less likely and cooperation becomes more possible.

The United States and Russia will continue to have disagreements. Their interests will not always align. But when two nations possess enough nuclear weapons to threaten global catastrophe, finding ways to reduce hostility is not merely idealistic—it is practical.

A more stable U.S.-Russia relationship could lower nuclear risks, reduce the strategic incentives for a deeper Russia-China-Iran alignment, and create a better environment for economic cooperation, prosperity, liberty, and peace.

In a nuclear age, diplomacy is not a sign of weakness.

It is a recognition of reality.

About the author (Swlion): Swlion writes about how ideas and decisions move America—from governance and liberty to health and personal development. Read more of his work at swlion26.substack.com/archive. Subscribe at swlion26.substack.com/subscribe.

Women’s sports are called women’s sports for a reason. They exist to give female athletes a fair competitive category, and that purpose should not have to be defended like some radical idea. When a basic distinction becomes difficult to state plainly, something has gone wrong in the public conversation.

That is why the recent comments around Indiana Fever star Sophie Cunningham stand out. Cunningham said it was “common sense” to keep transgender athletes out of women’s sports, arguing that girls “shouldn’t have to go against biological men.” Whether one agrees with her tone or not, the underlying point is not especially complicated.

When clarity gets punished

The trouble is that clear speech now seems to invite instant backlash. In the same public discussion, Fever coach Stephanie White said she was not “educated enough” from a scientific standpoint to answer the question, but also said she does not believe exclusion is the answer. That kind of answer may sound careful, but it also avoids the central issue: if women’s sports are a protected category, then they have to mean something.

This is where critical thinking enters the picture. A society that cannot define a category without fear of offending someone is not practicing nuance; it is retreating from logic. Women’s sports were created because sex matters in competition, and that reality has not changed just because the culture has become more hesitant to say so out loud.

Why clarity matters

This is not about denying anyone dignity. It is about honesty, fairness, and the basic purpose of athletic categories. If the standard becomes “exclusion is never an answer,” then no category is left with any real boundaries, and women’s sports cease to be a distinct space for women.

That is what makes the Cunningham example worth using in a column. She said in plain language what many people are afraid to say: that women’s sports should be for women. Agree or disagree, that is at least a direct answer to a direct question. The larger problem is that direct answers now seem rare.

Why Washington stalls

If the issue is as straightforward as many people believe, then the political bottleneck is hard to ignore. The House passed the Protection of Women and Girls in Sports Act of 2025, which would amend Title IX so that sex in athletics is recognized based on reproductive biology and genetics at birth and would bar males from women’s and girls’ teams. The vote was 218-206-1, and 206 Democrats voted against it.

Meanwhile, polls continue to show that most Americans do not want biological males competing in women’s sports, including a New York Times survey that found 79% opposition. That makes this more than a sports debate. It is a test of whether elected officials will say what a lot of voters already think: women’s sports should mean women’s sports.

The midterm effect

This is the kind of issue that can show up in campaign ads before it shows up in legislation. Republicans already see it as a reliable contrast issue, while 206 vulnerable House Democrats are likely to face pressure from both activists and ordinary voters who think the answer should be obvious. Reporting has also suggested that Republicans see the issue as a useful campaign message, and that some Democrats are starting to walk a careful line as public sentiment keeps running ahead of their party’s caution.

If that happens, the debate will not be about one player or one coach. It will be about whether politicians trust the public enough to say that sex-based categories still matter. If they do not, the midterms may remind them that voters are often ahead of Washington on basic common sense.

What the solution is

The solution is not mysterious. Congress should write the rule clearly, states should enforce it clearly, and sports bodies should stop pretending that biology is an offensive concept. The House bill itself defines the standard in plain terms, saying that school athletic programs receiving federal money may not permit a person whose sex is male to participate in programs designated for women or girls.

If inclusion requires a separate category, then create one without weakening the female category. That would resolve the central problem without all the rhetorical fog. It would also restore something our public life badly needs: the ability to say what is true without acting as if truth itself is rude.

The bigger problem

What used to be obvious no longer is, and that should concern anyone who still believes public life works better when people can think clearly and speak plainly. We do not improve discourse by pretending all questions are too delicate to answer. We improve it by being honest about what a category is for, and by having the courage to say so.

If women’s sports are to remain meaningful, then they must remain women’s sports. That is not a slogan. It is the point of the category.

About the author (Swlion): Swlion writes about how ideas and decisions move America—from governance and liberty to health and personal development. Read more of his work at swlion26.substack.com/archive. Subscribe at swlion26.substack.com/subscribe.

Debates Are Not Optional, And the Best Debate Format

The whole point of a debate is that nobody gets to know the questions in advance. Candidates have to think on their feet, defend their record, and explain their positions without a script in front of them. That is not a gimmick; it is one of the few tools voters have for seeing how a person performs under pressure.

The best debates are not rigid question-and-answer sessions with a dozen moderators and tightly scripted follow-ups. The ideal format is one moderator, a fair set of rules, and as much direct interaction between the candidates as possible across a range of issues. That gives voters the best chance to compare judgment, knowledge, and temperament in real time.

When candidates decline to debate, they often say they are avoiding “political theater.” That line sounds reasonable until you think about what is being avoided: scrutiny. If someone wants public office, I do not think it is too much to ask that they sit across from an opponent and answer questions publicly.

Hobbs Has Made a Pattern of Avoiding Debates

Arizona governor Katie Hobbs has now said she will not debate Republican Andy Biggs. Her campaign manager said the decision was made because “face-to-face engagement with Arizonans is more effective than a stage designed for short soundbites and political theater.”

That may be a smart campaign line, but it still leaves voters without a debate. And this is not the first time. Hobbs also declined to debate Kari Lake in 2022, and the last televised debate she participated in was in October 2018, when she was running for secretary of state.

Money Is Not the Same Thing

The other piece of this is money. In 2022, Hobbs campaign spent about $14.7 million, and outside groups spent another $5.8 million on her behalf. That kind of spending can flood the airwaves and dominate the conversation, but it does not replace direct accountability.

This cycle looks familiar. Hobbs again has a well-funded operation and has been running an aggressive media campaign while avoiding a live debate with Biggs. That may be effective politics, but voters should not confuse message control with openness.

My View

I do not think any candidate who avoids debates should be rewarded with support. Hobbs, in particular, appears to be trying to do an end run around scrutiny, and I do not think that is something voters should overlook.

If you want the office, you should be willing to earn the office in front of the public, under pressure, without knowing exactly what is coming next. That is especially true when the candidate is already asking for a second term. At that point, the bar should be higher, not lower.

The Bottom Line

Katie Hobbs should not be rewarded for trying to bypass the debate stage and the scrutiny that comes with it. If a candidate will not debate, I think that candidate is asking for trust without earning it. And I do not think that is a bargain voters should accept.

About the author (Swlion): Swlion writes about how ideas and decisions move America—from governance and liberty to health and personal development. Read more of his work at swlion26.substack.com/archive. Subscribe at swlion26.substack.com/subscribe.

In last week’s column, New Jersey’s 6,600 Non‑Citizen Voters: The Case for SAVE‑Act Audits of DMV Voter Rolls, I walked through New Jersey’s own admission—covered by outlets like CNN and NBC New York—that a “serious software error” at the Motor Vehicle Commission added about 6,600 self‑identified non‑citizens to the voter rolls, with nearly 400 casting ballots.

The core point there was simple: this wasn’t just a rumor about “illegals voting”; it was a formal, on‑the‑record admission from a Democratic governor in a deep‑blue state that an automatic DMV‑to‑voter pipeline had failed in exactly the way skeptics have been warning about.

Since then, the story has taken an important turn. The same French tech vendor the governor blamed—IDEMIA—is now telling reporters at outlets like USA Today and the nonprofit site NOTUS that there was no glitch in its code, that there is “no evidence of a software error” on their side, and that the data they sent to the state correctly flagged those applicants as non‑citizens all along.

In other words, the story is shifting from “the software went haywire” to “the software did what it was told, and the state failed to use the information it had.” That’s a different kind of problem—and it actually strengthens the case for SAVE‑style audits and proof‑of‑citizenship rules.

What IDEMIA Just Told Us

According to reporting in USA Today and NOTUS, IDEMIA’s spokeswoman now says “the characterization that a glitch occurred is not accurate.” She explains that IDEMIA simply captured the answers given at the Motor Vehicle Commission—whether someone wanted to register, and whether they said they were a U.S. citizen—and that those answers were stored and transmitted correctly, with non‑citizen status clearly indicated on the records.

IDEMIA also emphasizes, in those same interviews, that voter registration data it collects “must still be validated and adjudicated by the Division of Elections,” meaning the final responsibility for deciding who actually belongs on the voter rolls sits with the state, not the vendor.

Put in plain English: IDEMIA is saying its system did exactly what New Jersey asked it to do. It recorded that 6,600 people said “yes” to registering and “no” to being U.S. citizens, stored those answers accurately, and passed them along in a form that showed non‑citizen status. The step where things went wrong was not the database flipping a bit; it was the state’s process for deciding what to do with clearly labeled non‑citizen records.

From “Glitch” to Design Failure

If IDEMIA’s account is right, then this wasn’t some invisible gremlin in the code secretly turning non‑citizens into citizens; this was a design choice about how New Jersey used the data it was getting from its own DMV. The vendor is telling NOTUS and USA Today that the records for those 6,600 people already showed “non‑citizen,” and that New Jersey’s pipeline still transmitted them to Elections and treated them as valid voter registrations.

That’s a crucial shift from the governor’s initial “serious software error” framing reported by CNN and NBC New York. Instead of “the software glitched and hid the truth from us,” the story becomes “the software flagged non‑citizens, and the state used a process that allowed those flags to be overridden in practice.” At minimum, that means officials knew what the data said and went forward with a setup that put non‑citizens on the rolls anyway.

To be clear, IDEMIA is not accusing New Jersey of deliberately trying to register non‑citizens to vote. But by insisting the data were correct and that eligibility validation was the state’s job, the company is effectively saying: “We told you who a non-citizen was; your process still pushed those records through.” That’s not a comforting explanation for anyone who cares about clean voter rolls, regardless of party.

Two Years of Known Bad Data

There’s also a timing issue that hasn’t gotten as much attention but matters a lot for public trust. IDEMIA told NOTUS that New Jersey’s Motor Vehicle Commission asked the company in June 2024 to change the configuration so that non‑citizens who said “yes” to registering would be automatically treated as declining to register—a change that stopped new non‑citizens from being added via that path going forward.
Local coverage from outlets such as WHYY and NBC New York has noted that the pipeline’s underlying defect was identified and patched in 2024. Still, the roughly 6,600 non‑citizens already on the rolls were only disclosed and removed in 2026, after the governor’s public announcement.

So the sequence looks like this: New Jersey discovers a problem that has already allowed thousands of non‑citizens onto the rolls, asks the vendor to change the configuration to prevent new cases, and then leaves the existing non‑citizen registrations sitting in the voter file for roughly two years before telling the public what happened and cleaning them up. Once you’ve quietly fixed the pipeline but left thousands of known ineligible registrants on the rolls, it gets harder to argue this was just an innocent mistake that officials scrambled to correct as soon as it came to light. It starts to look more like a tolerated failure that only became urgent when it landed in the headlines.

How Big Is the Real Number?

One uncomfortable question that almost asks itself is: how do we know it’s only 6,600? By the state’s own timeline, this problem went on for a full year before the pipeline settings were changed, and then the bad registrations sat on the rolls for roughly two more years before being disclosed and removed. We’re being told that 6,600 is the number, but in the absence of full transparency and outside auditing, the public has no independent way to verify that every affected record has been identified.

It also matters that it took New Jersey roughly two years to publicly report this figure. When a number arrives that late, from the same institutions that missed the issue for years, we shouldn’t automatically treat it as the final truth; it’s a claim, not yet a verified cap. Right now, there is no independent confirmation of whether 6,600 captures every affected registration, just as there is no outside verification that “about 400” is the full count of ineligible ballots cast. Until outside auditors can examine the underlying data and methods, the honest position isn’t “the problem is exactly this big”; it’s “this is what the state says it has found so far.”

The DOJ Probe, Conflicting Stories, and “No Evidence”

The federal government has now stepped in. Civil‑rights officials at the Justice Department have demanded that Gov. Mikie Sherrill supply detailed data on the 6,600 non‑citizens—names, addresses, nationalities, registration history—as described in reports by outlets like Reuters.

New Jersey, however, has asked a judge to dismiss the case and has refused to hand over the full unredacted voter data the DOJ wants, including the detailed records of the 6,600 non‑citizens, a stance noted not just by conservative outlets like National Review but also by voting‑rights‑focused sites such as Democracy Docket.

At the same time, we now have the state saying “software glitch” and the vendor saying “no evidence of a glitch—our data correctly showed non‑citizens,” as reported by Fox News. When the state and the software company are giving conflicting accounts of what went wrong, that alone is a compelling reason to let independent investigators see the voter rolls and the underlying DMV data: the best way to resolve contradictions is to look at the records themselves.

Instead, Sherrill and other officials continue to emphasize that “there is no evidence that elections were swayed,” even as they concede that nearly 400 ineligible ballots were cast and that thousands of non‑citizen registrations persisted on the rolls for years. If this really were nothing more than a harmless glitch that never changed an outcome, you would expect the state to welcome transparency, hand over the data, and let outsiders confirm that story. The refusal to share full information—especially in the face of contradictory narratives—looks, to any reasonable observer, like an attempt to keep something from the public, even if the motive is simply embarrassment rather than anything more sinister.

As you don’t need to be a partisan to see, you can’t have it both ways: you can’t insist there’s “no evidence” of deeper problems while resisting the very disclosure and auditing that would reveal whether those problems exist. At a minimum, New Jersey’s stance sends the message that preserving control over the narrative is more important than reassuring voters that the system has truly been cleaned up.

Why This Strengthens the Case for SAVE‑Style Audits

In my earlier piece, I argued that New Jersey’s motor‑voter failure was Exhibit A for the logic behind the Safeguard American Voter Eligibility (SAVE) Act: documentary proof of U.S. citizenship up front for federal registration, and systematic use of existing data—DMV legal‑presence codes, passport types, immigration status—to keep non‑citizens off the rolls. National coverage in outlets like ABC News and the New Jersey Globe has already connected the dots, noting that the New Jersey case has been seized on in Washington as a late‑stage argument for the SAVE Act’s core ideas.

What IDEMIA is now saying to NOTUS and USA Today actually strengthens that case. The problem here is not that New Jersey lacked data about citizenship; it’s that New Jersey was collecting answers like “non‑citizen” and then failing to act on them, allowing those records to move through an automatic pipeline and land on the rolls. SAVE‑style reforms and basic DMV pipeline audits would force states to use the data they already have—to treat “non‑citizen” as an automatic stop sign on the front end, and to go back and remove non‑citizens who are already on the rolls on the back end.

And even if there isn’t consensus on every line of the SAVE Act—photo ID rules, exact documentation requirements—New Jersey’s experience makes at least the core provisions very hard to argue with. Requiring proof of citizenship for federal registration, instructing states to use existing legal‑presence and passport data to verify eligibility, and mandating periodic audits of DMV‑generated registrations are not exotic demands; they are straightforward safeguards targeted exactly at the kinds of failures we’ve now seen exposed. The New Jersey case doesn’t just support those ideas in theory; it shows what happens when they’re absent.

Even if someone isn’t sold on every single provision, the events in New Jersey make a basic compromise position almost obvious: pass the provisions that force states to use the citizenship data they already collect, and require regular audits of DMV‑linked voter registrations. That’s the low‑hanging fruit, and this scandal is the warning label that tells us why leaving it on the tree is a bad idea.

Clean Rolls Shouldn’t Be a Partisan Position

In a healthy republic, everybody ought to be able to agree on two simple ideas: make it easy for every eligible citizen to vote; make it hard for any non‑citizen to vote. Cleaning up voter rolls—removing dead voters, duplicates, people who have moved, and non‑citizens—is just the practical extension of that second sentence. It’s not a right‑wing identity marker; it’s a maintenance task for a core public system.

When we see documented cases in places like New Jersey, and when we see a tech vendor now saying “we flagged the non‑citizens; the state still registered them,” it becomes harder to argue that tighter standards and stronger audits are some kind of extremist project. If the systems are as safe as we’re told, then thorough SAVE‑style audits and proof‑of‑citizenship checks should confirm that and build confidence. If they’re not, then the New Jersey case is exactly the sort of warning sign we ought to act on—starting with the DMV pipelines we now know have failed.

About the author (Swlion): Swlion writes about how ideas and decisions move America—from governance and liberty to health and personal development. Read more of his work at swlion26.substack.com/archive. Subscribe at swlion26.substack.com/subscribe.

What the FairTax is, and how it works

The FairTax would replace federal personal income taxes, corporate income taxes, payroll taxes, and estate and gift taxes with a national retail sales tax. In plain English, Americans would keep their paychecks and pay federal tax when they spend money on new goods and services instead of when they earn it. The current proposal is commonly described as a 23% tax-inclusive rate, which is roughly 30% if you think in the way most sales taxes are shown at the register.

For the specifics, readers can go to the FairTax website, where the plan is laid out in plain language and the prebate is explained in detail.

The plan also includes a monthly prebate for legal resident households. That rebate is meant to offset the sales tax on basic consumption up to the poverty level, so necessities are not taxed in the same way as discretionary spending.

Why it could help all Americans

This is the part that matters most to ordinary people. Lower-income households are supposed to be protected because the prebate covers basic consumption. Middle-income households would keep more of each paycheck because federal income and payroll taxes disappear. And higher-income households would still contribute more in absolute terms because they generally consume more overall.

Just as important, a tax system that rewards production instead of punishing it should encourage more investment, more hiring, and more private-sector growth. That matters to people at the bottom because the best way to help them is not just through rebates or transfers, but through more jobs and more opportunity in the first place.

Why it matters now

There is a reason this argument keeps coming back. The federal income tax only became possible after the 16th Amendment was ratified in 1913. Before that, the federal government relied much more heavily on tariffs and excise taxes. But the government is far larger now than it was in the pre-income-tax era, so those old revenue sources alone would not realistically fund today’s federal budget.

Why critics miss the point

Critics are right to ask whether a FairTax can fully replace current revenue at a 23 percent rate. But that same criticism can be leveled at the current system, which is already loaded with complexity, loopholes, and massive deficits. So the real question is not whether the FairTax is perfect. It is whether it is a meaningful improvement over a tax code that already fails fairness, simplicity, and efficiency.

A broader base

One of the strongest arguments for the FairTax is that it captures spending from everyone who participates in the American economy. That includes people who are here temporarily, tourists, and even people who are outside the formal income-tax system. If someone consumes in the United States, they contribute to government revenue. That is a simpler and, in my view, more honest way to fund government than trying to chase income through a maze of forms, exemptions, and loopholes.

The political hypocrisy

This is where I think the GOP often talks one way and governs another. Republicans like to say they support lower taxes and less government meddling, but they often stop short of backing a real system that would treat production more fairly across the board. Democrats, on the other hand, are more comfortable with graduated taxation, so at least they are usually honest about that philosophy. The FairTax should be judged on whether it works, not on whether it fits a partisan habit.

What Congress should do next

The next step is simple: Congress should vote on the FairTax before the midterms. There is no defensible argument that Americans would not be better off under the FairTax. All Americans would be better off because it would create greater economic liberty and prosperity while rewarding work, saving, and investment instead of penalizing them. Yes, deficits would still have to be managed. But deficits are already a problem under the current system, and that is not a reason to dismiss a better one. It is a reason to reform now.

The case for action

The argument for the FairTax is not that it solves every fiscal problem overnight. The argument is that all Americans would be better off because it creates greater economic liberty and prosperity, while rewarding work, saving, and investment instead of penalizing them. It also broadens the base to consumption in a way that is simpler and more transparent. If lawmakers are serious about fairness and opportunity, they should be willing to put it to a vote. A proposal that promises a more pro-growth tax system deserves that test.

About the author (Swlion): Swlion writes about how ideas and decisions move America—from governance and liberty to health and personal development. Read more of his work at swlion26.substack.com/archive. Subscribe at swlion26.substack.com/subscribe.

The way the story is framed

The problem with a lot of coverage is not that it’s factually empty. It’s that it comes with a built-in moral frame. Putin is usually portrayed in sharply negative terms, while Zelenskyy is often portrayed in very favorable ones. That may be understandable in wartime, but it also means readers get less of the kind of reporting that asks harder questions about policy, strategy, and cost.

I’m not saying Zelenskyy should be demonized or Putin should be lionized. I’m saying that once the coverage settles into a hero-and-villain pattern, it becomes harder to talk honestly about what each leader is doing and how those choices affect ordinary people. That matters because war is not just fought on a battlefield. It is also fought in the lives of civilians, in the economy, and in the way governments make people endure sacrifice.

What Washington signaled

The question of NATO is where this gets especially important. Under Obama, the U.S. position on Ukraine and NATO was cautious and ambiguous rather than categorical, and Obama himself said Ukraine was a core interest for Moscow in a way that it was not for the United States. Under Biden, the door was still not shut, but the answer was still conditional and unresolved. Under Trump, the message has been much clearer that Ukraine will not be joining NATO.

That difference matters. I’m not saying ambiguity alone caused the war. I’m saying it was part of the backdrop. Russia had long warned that Ukraine’s NATO alignment would be a red line, and Moscow has consistently treated NATO expansion as a security threat. If I am sitting in Moscow and see NATO members on my border, with the United States at the center of the alliance, that changes the way every move is read.

Why Russia saw danger

Again, none of this makes the invasion right. But it does help explain why Russia framed the war the way it did. The invasion did not come out of nowhere. It followed the 2014 seizure of Crimea and then escalated into a full-scale invasion in February 2022. Russian officials cited NATO, security concerns, and other claims as justification.

I can reject those claims and still admit they were part of the rationale Moscow used. And if we’re being honest, the United States would not shrug off a hostile military bloc moving closer to its borders either. Great powers usually do not. They call it a security threat, and they act accordingly. That’s not a defense of invasion. It’s just a recognition of how power politics works.

Obama, Biden, Trump

It’s also worth being precise here. Obama and Biden did not issue a blunt, final “no NATO membership for Ukraine” in the way Trump has. They left room for interpretation, and that ambiguity became part of the strategic environment. Trump’s position is more explicit, but that does not automatically make it wiser. It just makes it clearer.

The larger point is that the U.S. has often spoken in the language of principle while leaving the practical question unresolved. Ukraine was told it had a future, but not a timetable. That kind of half-open door may feel diplomatic in Washington, but from Moscow it can look like pressure without resolution.

What a better ending might look like

If this column is going to be more than an argument about blame, it should end with a solution. In my view, one of the few realistic solutions is normalization of relations between the United States and Russia. That would not mean approving of the invasion. It would mean recognizing that two nuclear powers should not be locked in permanent hostility if there is any way to avoid it.

There are economic reasons for that. Sanctions, trade, and diplomatic isolation all matter to Russia. But the bigger reason is global. The world is safer when Washington and Moscow are not treating each other as permanent enemies. There’s historical precedent for that too. The U.S. and the Soviet Union were allies in World War II, and despite the ugliness of the larger relationship, they worked together because the stakes were enormous.

Final thought

So the column, for me, is really about three things. First, how media coverage shapes what people think they know. Second, how ambiguity over Ukraine and NATO mattered in the run-up to war. And third, how the way out of this mess probably involves more than military victory or moral outrage.

If we want a serious end to the war, we probably need to think about normalization, security, and a settlement that gives the United States, Russia, Ukraine, and the world a way to step back. That may not be satisfying. But it may be the only thing that actually works.

About the author (Swlion): Swlion writes about how ideas and decisions move America—from governance and liberty to health and personal development. Read more of his work at swlion26.substack.com/archive. Subscribe at swlion26.substack.com/subscribe.

I spend a fair amount of time reading around the diabetes and nutrition space, and it sometimes feels like a theological war. Low‑carb vs. high‑carb, keto vs. vegan, “carbs are poison” vs. “carbs are fuel.” Into that noise step two guys who, at first glance, don’t look like they’re living with type 1 diabetes at all: Cyrus Khambatta and Robby Barbaro, co‑founders of the Mastering Diabetes coaching program and authors of the Mastering Diabetes approach laid out in their book.

I’ve been watching the Mastering Diabetes approach for a while, and what interests me isn’t just the diet prescription. It’s the fact that both of them are long‑term type 1 diabetics who’ve staked their own lives and A1c numbers on a very high‑carb, very low‑fat, plant‑based way of eating. That makes them unusually compelling messengers—especially if, like me, you’re skeptical by default.

What the Mastering Diabetes Approach Actually Advocates

Strip away the branding and the podcasts, and the Mastering Diabetes approach is straightforward:

• Eat a low‑fat, whole‑food, plant‑based diet.

• Let unrefined carbohydrates—fruit, whole grains, legumes, starchy vegetables—do most of the caloric heavy lifting.

• Push animal products, added oils, and processed foods to the margins, if not off the plate entirely.

If you’ve spent years hearing that people with diabetes should cut carbs to the bone, this sounds almost reckless. They’re aware of that. The short version of the Mastering Diabetes approach goes like this: the root problem in type 2 diabetes and prediabetes isn’t “too many carbs”; it’s insulin resistance driven by excess fat clogging up liver and muscle cells. Lower that fat—especially saturated fat—and those tissues become more responsive to insulin, so the same amount of carbohydrate causes smaller excursions in blood sugar.

In practice, that means a day of eating on the Mastering Diabetes approach might look like big bowls of oatmeal and fruit, potato‑and‑bean lunches, rice‑and‑lentil dinners, all without oils, with higher‑fat plant foods (nuts, seeds, avocado) kept modest. It’s not a joyless diet—there are plenty of recipes in their Mastering Diabetes book—but it is very disciplined about fat.

Why They’re Strong Representatives for the Mastering Diabetes Approach

What makes Cyrus and Robby different from a lot of plant‑based advocates is that they’re not preaching the Mastering Diabetes approach from the sidelines. Cyrus has been living with type 1 diabetes since the early 2000s; Robby was diagnosed around age 12 and has spent most of his adult life as a “mindful diabetic” on this kind of diet.

They’re injecting insulin daily. They’re not claiming to “cure” type 1; they’re arguing that you can dramatically improve insulin sensitivity and long‑term risk profiles while still needing insulin.

They put their own numbers out front—A1c in the mid‑5s to low‑6s, high time‑in‑range, relatively modest insulin doses, all while eating what most endocrinologists would call a very high‑carb version of the Mastering Diabetes approach. That doesn’t make them infallible, but it does give them skin in the game. If this plant‑based, low‑fat approach were metabolically unsound, they’d be the first to pay the price.

There’s also a credibility factor that comes from repetition and scrutiny. They’ve taken the Mastering Diabetes approach onto mainstream platforms—the Rich Roll podcast, “Exam Room” with the Physicians Committee, “The Happy Pear” podcast—and they keep getting asked the same hard questions: What about type 1? What about hypoglycemia? What about cardiovascular disease? They don’t duck those questions; they lean into mechanism and data.

How Long the Mastering Diabetes Approach Has Been Around—and How Many Have Tried It

Mastering Diabetes as a formal program has been around for years now; the book came out in 2020, but the coaching ecosystem behind the Mastering Diabetes approach predates that and has grown substantially since. They now run structured challenges and group coaching programs that bring in thousands of participants at a time—one recent “Blood Sugar Transformation Challenge” advertises “thousands of people in this 6‑week challenge” alone.

Over the broader lifespan of their work, it’s fair to say that many thousands of people with type 2, prediabetes, and even type 1 and 1.5 have at least test‑driven the Mastering Diabetes approach through their materials.

We’re not just dependent on self‑reported success stories, either (though there are plenty of those on their success stories page). There’s a retrospective study of their online Mastering Diabetes program that found participants who completed it reported significant reductions in A1c and body weight, decreased medication use, and a sense of improved health and adherence to lifestyle change.

It’s not a randomized controlled trial, but it does suggest that when real people actually follow the Mastering Diabetes approach over time, measurable changes show up. You don’t have to buy their entire narrative to acknowledge that thousands of people have used the Mastering Diabetes approach and that, at least in that cohort, blood sugars, weight, and med lists have moved in the right direction.

What Results They Claim for the Mastering Diabetes Approach

Their claims vary depending on the type of diabetes they’re talking about:

• For type 2 and prediabetes, they talk openly about “reversing insulin resistance”—meaning lower A1c, normalized fasting glucose, reduced or eliminated medication, and improved cardiometabolic markers, sustained over time on the Mastering Diabetes approach.

• For type 1 and 1.5, the language is more cautious: you’re not curing diabetes, but you may dramatically improve insulin sensitivity, which translates into lower insulin requirements, better glycemic control, and potentially lower complication risk.

They back this up with case stories: people dropping A1c from the 8–9% range down into the 5s and 6s, losing substantial weight, and sometimes coming off insulin or multiple oral agents under medical supervision while following the Mastering Diabetes approach. The retrospective evaluation of their program found that the majority of surveyed participants had reductions in A1c and body weight, along with decreased medication use and high satisfaction.

Is that the same as saying the Mastering Diabetes approach will work for everyone? No. But it’s a long way from “this is just an internet fad.” There’s a pattern, and it repeats often enough to take seriously.

What They Say to the Skeptics of the Mastering Diabetes Approach

This is the part I find most interesting, because they know they’re up against strong priors. When someone asks, “Why should I trust the Mastering Diabetes approach over my low‑carb doc?”, they tend to fall back on a few themes.

First, they ask people to focus on mechanism rather than diet labels. Their main point: you can manage blood sugar by removing carbohydrates, but that doesn’t necessarily improve insulin resistance—your tissues may still be marinated in excess fat, you’re just not challenging them with carbs. In their view, that’s symptom management, not root‑cause work.

Second, they push people to think in time horizons. They acknowledge that keto or very low‑carb can flatten CGM graphs quickly, but they argue that the long‑term risks—cardiovascular disease, fatty liver, certain cancers—are higher on a diet that’s rich in saturated fat and animal products, even if glucose looks good for now. Their counter‑offer is the Mastering Diabetes approach, which they see as a diet that not only improves glycemic control but also lines up with broader evidence on heart health and chronic disease risk.

Third, they invite people to treat the Mastering Diabetes approach as an experiment, not a conversion experience. Rather than “join our tribe,” the pitch is: try strict, low‑fat, whole‑food plant‑based eating for a defined period—say 8–12 weeks—track A1c, fasting glucose, CGM data, meds/insulin, lipids, blood pressure, weight, and subjective measures like energy and digestion, and then compare those results to whatever you were getting on your previous approach. It’s “don’t believe us; run the numbers.”

Finally, they’re honest about tradeoffs. They don’t pretend the Mastering Diabetes approach is easy. They concede that for many people, dramatically lowering fat and cutting out oils, cheese, and meat is a heavy psychological lift. Their argument to skeptics is not “this is the only way,” but “this is one coherent, mechanistically grounded way, with data behind it, that you can test against the alternatives.”

Where I Land on the Mastering Diabetes Approach

I don’t come at nutrition as a zealot for any one camp. I eat an omnivore diet myself, with a high percentage of calories from carbohydrates and a decent amount of daily animal protein. In that sense, I’m philosophically adjacent to what the Mastering Diabetes approach is arguing—high‑carb, disciplined about fat—but I haven’t gone all the way to their version of plant‑exclusive, oil‑free eating.

What I appreciate in the Mastering Diabetes approach is that they’ve tried to build a coherent story: a clear mechanism, a consistent dietary template, a visible personal example, and a growing pile of real‑world outcomes. You can disagree with pieces of it. You can raise legitimate questions about protein, micronutrients, or sustainability. But it’s not just “eat plants, be well” hand‑waving.

If you’re someone living with diabetes—or just someone watching your numbers creep from “normal” into “pre‑”—and you’re exhausted by the nutrition wars, the Mastering Diabetes approach offers one more data‑driven path to consider. Not a doctrine, but an experiment: what happens to your body if you stop fearing fruit, cut back on fat, and let whole‑food carbohydrates back into the center of the plate?

About the author (Swlion): Swlion writes about how ideas and decisions move America—from governance and liberty to health and personal development. Read more of his work at swlion26.substack.com/archive. Subscribe at swlion26.substack.com/subscribe.

The Minnesota Tesla vandalism story is a perfect lens for that problem.

A felony-level crime that never became a felony case

Start with the bare facts. A Minnesota state employee is caught on video, repeatedly keying Teslas around Minneapolis, allegedly causing more than $20,000 in damage (local TV report). Under Minnesota law, that’s felony‑level property damage. If you or I did that to six random cars in a parking lot, we’d expect to see “felony” in the charging documents.

Instead, the local prosecutor steered him into a pre‑charge diversion program—no filed felony counts, no public criminal record, so long as he completes the program and pays restitution (news coverage of the diversion decision). In other words, the conduct was treated as a felony in the damage estimate—but not in the way the justice system responded.

That’s not just mercy; it’s a very specific kind of mercy.

Side-by-side: same office, different treatment

The easiest way to see how strange that choice is, is to compare it to how the same office handles other cases.

In the same jurisdiction, a 19‑year‑old woman with no prior record reportedly keyed a coworker’s car, causing roughly $7,000 in damage, and was charged with first‑degree felony property damage.

So we get a very uncomfortable contrast:

• One keyed car, with thousands in damage: felony charge.

• Six keyed Teslas, with over $20,000 in damage: diversion, no charges—for now.

Same law. Same prosecutor’s office. Very different outcomes. It’s hard to explain that purely with neutral language about “accountability” or “public safety.” The numbers aren’t on the prosecutor’s side.

The politics riding on a Tesla badge

To see what might be on their side, you have to look at the politics that cling to Tesla and Elon Musk in 2026. These aren’t just cars; they’ve become rolling symbols of:

• Tech‑elite wealth and culture.

• Climate and energy policy wars.

• Musk’s role in the Trump administration and the Department of Government Efficiency.

• Broader fights over “woke capital,” social media, and federal downsizing.

In that environment, vandalizing a Tesla is easy for some people to recast in their minds as a form of protest or resistance, not just petty destruction. You can almost hear the rationalizations: “It’s not just a car; it’s a symbol.”

But the statute doesn’t care about your feelings. It doesn’t say “felony damage, unless you really dislike the CEO.” The body shop doesn’t give you a discount because you did it for political reasons. The law is supposed to treat the victim the same whether they drive a Cybertruck or a rusted Corolla.

When a prosecutor quietly treats the Tesla vandal as diversion‑worthy and the non‑political vandal as felony‑worthy, the symbolism has clearly entered the room.

Discretion is necessary—but it’s not a blank check

To be fair, discretion isn’t inherently sinister. We need prosecutors to have room to:

• Decline weak cases.

• Offer diversion to truly low‑risk defendants.

• Avoid branding people with felonies when the law technically allows it but justice doesn’t demand it.

The issue isn’t that the Minnesota prosecutor used discretion. It’s how it was used and who it benefited.

When discretion consistently flows toward defendants whose crimes can be wrapped in political language—and away from ordinary people who commit non‑symbolic offenses—it stops looking like mercy and starts looking like favoritism. When the hammer lands on the 19‑year‑old coworker vandal, and not on the state employee with a Tesla vendetta, you’re well within your rights to suspect that “feelings” had more weight than the felony statute.

This isn’t just one quirky DA

It would be comforting to write this off as one outlier in Minneapolis. But the tension you’re seeing here echoes across the country.

In other states, Tesla vandalism that involves Molotov cocktails, arson at charging stations, or gunfire at dealerships has drawn serious charges—sometimes from federal authorities. Those prosecutors looked at the same brand, the same political backdrop, and said, “This is crime, not protest.”

When Minnesota looks at a clear‑cut, high‑damage vandalism spree and says, “Diversion,” it’s not just disagreeing on tactics; it’s sending a very different message about whose anger is excusable and whose isn’t.

Zoom out further and the pattern gets more familiar: charging decisions that seem harsher when they align with one set of political talking points, and softer when they align with another. You see it in protest cases, in politically connected white‑collar matters, and now, in which cars get keyed and who pays for it in court.

What this does to people who don’t live in law reviews

Most people don’t read guidelines and law review articles. They read stories like this and draw straight‑line conclusions.

If you’re an ordinary defendant—or just an ordinary citizen—you notice that:

• Some people’s crimes get rebranded as activism and quietly diverted.

• Other people’s mistakes get maximized into felony charges and permanent records.

You don’t have to be a partisan to see the problem. It doesn’t take a legal education to feel that the playing field is tilted.

Once you believe the system cares more about the politics around an offense than the offense itself, you stop seeing the law as a neutral referee. You start seeing it as another participant in the culture war, picking winners and losers.

That’s a dangerous place for any justice system to live.

So what do we do with a case like this?

The Minnesota Tesla saga isn’t going to be fixed by one column, or one outrage cycle. But it can be useful for something bigger.

It gives us a clear, concrete example to point to when we talk about:

• The difference between legitimate prosecutorial discretion and selective mercy.

• The way political symbolism can sneak into decisions that are supposed to be grounded in statute and evidence.

• The need for transparency and accountability when a prosecutor declines charges in cases that obviously meet the legal threshold.

At minimum, it should force us to ask for more than soothing language about “public safety” and “restorative justice” when high‑damage, politically tinged crimes are quietly kept off the books.

Why I think this story is worth telling

Some will say this is small potatoes: a few keyed cars, one prosecutor, one city. I think that’s exactly why it matters.

If we can see political favoritism at work not just in marquee national cases, but in everyday property crimes, it tells us something uncomfortable: the tilt isn’t reserved for presidents and billionaires. It reaches all the way down to the level of whose car gets keyed, and whether the person who did it ever sees the word “felony” in print.

The Minnesota Tesla vandal may not be a household name. But he’s a very clean example of a bigger problem: when feelings and politics decide who gets charged, and who gets a second chance, the “rule of law” becomes more slogan than reality.

Once you’ve seen that dynamic up close, it’s hard to unsee. And I’d argue that’s exactly why this case—and others like it—belongs in the center of our conversation, not at the margins.

About the author (Swlion): Swlion writes about how ideas and decisions move America—from governance and liberty to health and personal development. Read more of his work at swlion26.substack.com/archive. Subscribe at swlion26.substack.com/subscribe.

In case you missed it, New Jersey’s Democratic governor has acknowledged that a “serious software error” at the state Motor Vehicle Commission added about 6,600 people who had actually indicated they were non‑citizens to the voter rolls, and that nearly 400 of them went on to cast ballots in recent elections (Politico, CNN, NBC News). That’s not a rumor or a partisan blog; it’s an on‑the‑record admission from a Democratic governor in a deep‑blue state.

The detail that should bother everyone is this: many of these people explicitly marked themselves as non‑citizens at the DMV. The system still registered them to vote. This isn’t a case of someone lying to sneak onto the rolls. It’s a case of an automatic registration pipeline effectively overriding the “not a citizen” answer and dropping them onto the voter list anyway.

This Isn’t Just One Glitch in One State

If this were an isolated “oops” in a single office, we could chalk it up to local incompetence and move on. But it isn’t.

California’s DMV admitted in 2018 that a processing error may have incorrectly registered at least one non‑citizen and possibly as many as 1,500, with tens of thousands of other registrations mishandled in various ways (AP News). Oregon has disclosed that more than 300 non‑citizens were mistakenly registered to vote through its motor‑voter system since 2021, after DMV staff miscoded foreign passports as U.S. passports; at least two of those non‑citizens cast ballots before the problem was found (KGW, AP News).

Now New Jersey has joined the list with thousands of non‑citizens on the rolls and hundreds of illegal votes (New Jersey Globe, Washington Times). These are all Democrat‑run states with automatic or semi‑automatic DMV‑to‑voter registration. Different places, same pattern: the motor‑voter pipeline keeps producing the very outcome we were told “doesn’t happen”—non‑citizens being put on the rolls and some number of them voting.

Why This Strengthens the Case for the SAVE Act

I’m not interested in turning every policy discussion into a tribal shouting match. But I do think this New Jersey story seriously strengthens the argument for the basic ideas behind the Safeguard American Voter Eligibility (SAVE) Act.

At its core, the SAVE Act would amend federal law to require documentary proof of U.S. citizenship to register for federal elections, and it would push states to use the data they already have—DMV legal‑presence codes, immigration records, and other status information—to verify that only citizens end up on the federal voter rolls (see the bill text on Congress.gov and the CRS overview). In plain English: before you get added to the list for federal voting, the system has to see some actual evidence that you’re a citizen.

If New Jersey had been operating under a SAVE‑style regime—proof of citizenship on the front end, systematic checking of DMV‑generated registrations—the odds of 6,600 self‑identified non‑citizens being auto‑registered and hundreds voting would have dropped dramatically. The pipeline would need a verified “yes” on citizenship, not just a glitchy software path from the DMV to the voter file.

A Minimum Step: Audit Every State’s DMV Pipeline

Even if someone isn’t sold on every line of the SAVE Act, this New Jersey episode makes the bare‑minimum reform look blindingly obvious: audit the DMV‑to‑voter pipeline, in every state, for non‑citizen registrations.

We now know that in multiple states, people have literally marked “not a citizen” and still ended up registered to vote. We know that DMV coding errors—like treating a foreign passport as a U.S. passport—can quietly flip non‑citizens into voters. When those systems are tied to automatic registration, those mistakes scale.

So the minimal, non‑partisan question is: why wouldn’t we tell every state, “Take your motor‑voter data, compare it against your own legal‑presence and citizenship codes, and remove anyone who isn’t a citizen from the voter rolls”? Not to hunt for theoretical fraud, but to fix the very errors officials themselves have now admitted. That’s common‑sense maintenance. It’s not “Jim Crow,” and it’s not a secret plot; it’s an audit of a pipeline that has demonstrably failed.

The “No Evidence” Argument vs. Blocking Investigation

There’s another piece of this that’s worth talking about honestly, and it’s more about logic than ideology.

For years, the standard line from many Democratic leaders has been, “Where is the proof? Where is the evidence of non‑citizens voting or serious problems?” At the same time, those same leaders line up to denounce bills like the SAVE Act, vow they will “never” support proof‑of‑citizenship requirements, and resist efforts to give federal investigators or outside auditors full access to statewide voter rolls and DMV‑linked registration data (CNBC, NBC News, Senate Democrats).

You don’t get evidence without investigation. Evidence doesn’t fall out of the sky; it comes from looking—auditing systems, cross‑checking data, and being willing to publish uncomfortable results. If a party spends years saying “there’s no proof” while simultaneously fighting the very measures that would generate proof, that’s not reassuring. It’s circular.

I don’t pretend to know what every official is trying to hide or protect. But I do know this: if you oppose removing non‑citizens who are already known to be on the rolls, and you oppose auditing the pipelines that keep putting them there, you are functionally defending the status quo that allows illegal votes to happen. Motives aside, that’s the practical effect.

Clean Rolls Shouldn’t Be a Partisan Position

In a healthy democracy, everybody ought to be able to agree on two simple ideas:

• Make it easy for every eligible citizen to vote.

• Make it hard for any non‑citizen to vote.

Cleaning up voter rolls—removing dead voters, duplicate entries, people who have moved, and non‑citizens—is just the practical extension of that second sentence. It’s not a right‑wing identity marker; it’s a data‑quality issue.

When we see documented cases in California, Oregon, New Jersey and elsewhere of non‑citizens on the rolls and some voting, and when we see organized resistance to deeper investigation and SAVE‑style reforms that would tighten those systems, I think it’s fair for voters in the middle to start asking harder questions. If the systems are as safe as we’re told, let’s prove it. If they’re not, let’s fix them—starting with the DMV pipelines we now know have failed.

About the author (Swlion): Swlion writes about how ideas and decisions move America—from governance and liberty to health and personal development. Read more of his work at swlion26.substack.com/archive. Subscribe at swlion26.substack.com/subscribe.

Let’s strip away the legal Latin and talk about what the Supreme Court just did in plain English. Under the Court’s reading of the Fourteenth Amendment in Trump v. Barbara, if you can get to an American delivery room, your child is an American citizen—no matter how you got here, or how long you plan to stay. That is just as true for the baby of a long‑time green‑card holder as it is for the baby of someone who slipped across the border last week, or who flew in on a tourist visa for the purpose of giving birth.

The Court didn’t invent the phrase “born in the United States and subject to the jurisdiction thereof.” It reaffirmed the broad, jus soli (right‑of‑the‑soil) interpretation that judges and agencies have mostly applied for more than a century. But it did make a conscious choice to lock that reading in at a moment when the realities of mass migration, illegal entry, and global travel look nothing like 1868. And that choice has real‑world consequences we shouldn’t pretend are minor.

The Incentive Nobody Wants to Talk About

We can be honest about something without demonizing anyone: rules create incentives, and people respond to them. When our law says, in effect, “If your baby is born here, that baby is an American—full stop,” it inevitably creates an extra reason for some people who are here illegally, or who are here only temporarily, to try to give birth on U.S. soil. It doesn’t mean every migrant woman is planning her pregnancy around the Fourteenth Amendment. It does mean that, at the margins, having a U.S.‑citizen child becomes one of the few ways to plant a long‑term family stake in this country.

Parents don’t get a magic green card because their baby is a citizen, and sometimes they get deported anyway, leaving U.S.‑citizen kids behind. But over the long arc, a citizen child can petition for parents, shape enforcement decisions, and enjoy opportunities the parents never will. If you live in a place with violence or no future for your kids, or if you’re already here without status, that’s not an abstract legal detail—it’s a powerful pull. We shouldn’t be surprised when coyotes, smugglers, and “birth tourism” outfits build that promise into the sales pitch. We wrote it into the rulebook.

Did the Founders Really Want This?

Here’s where I part ways with the Court. I don’t believe the people who risked their lives to found this country—or the generation that wrote the Fourteenth Amendment after the Civil War—ever intended the system we’ve built on top of their words. The original Constitution of 1787 doesn’t even define who is a citizen. The framers talked about citizens all the time, but they left the mechanics to later lawmakers. They were focused on apportionment, war powers, and separation of powers, not on designing a 21st‑century immigration framework that would cover tourist visas, overstays, and illegal crossings.

A lifetime later, the Reconstruction Congress that drafted the Fourteenth Amendment had a very specific, righteous project: overturn Dred Scott and secure citizenship for formerly enslaved people and their children. They drew on broad English common‑law ideas about birth on the soil and allegiance, and they chose sweeping language—“all persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof.” But their debates center on freedmen, Native peoples, and lawful residents. They were arguing about whether Black Americans would ever belong fully in the political community, not about whether, 150 years later, someone could fly in on a two‑week visa, give birth, and fly home with a brand‑new American.

So when I hear people insist that the framers “intended” a world in which anyone who manages to enter illegally or temporarily can time a delivery and produce a U.S. citizen, I just don’t buy it. We’re projecting our present fights onto people who never debated them. I cannot imagine Madison, Hamilton, or the Reconstruction framers nodding along with the idea that the United States should effectively advertise to the world: “If you can get to one of our hospitals—whether you crossed the border illegally or flew in for a few weeks—your child will walk away an American.” Their fight was for a self‑governing republic of citizens and equal protection under law, not for an incentive structure that treats birth on U.S. soil as a loophole to be exploited.

What Americans Think They’re Supporting

When you look at the polling on birthright citizenship, it’s tempting to conclude that the public has already decided. Some surveys find a majority saying they want to keep birthright citizenship. Others, especially when they mention parents who “immigrated illegally,” show the country almost perfectly split. On one level, that sounds like a close, informed call. On another, it tells me something very different.

Pollsters almost never describe the issue the way real life presents it. They ask questions like, “Should a person born in the United States to parents who immigrated illegally be a citizen?” or “Should the Constitution continue to guarantee citizenship to all children born here, regardless of their parents’ status?” Most people hear those questions as tests of decency and patriotism: Don’t punish the baby. Respect the Constitution. Don’t sound extreme. They are not being asked the more concrete, uncomfortable question that bothers so many of us.

I find it hard to believe that if you phrased the question the way it actually works on the ground—“Do you think people who are here illegally, or here only as tourists or on temporary visas, should be able to have children in the United States and have those children become U.S. citizens?”—you’d get the same level of support. My own bet is that support for the status quo would crater if voters heard it that way. That’s why I read current polling less as a ringing endorsement of “fly in, have a baby, leave with a citizen,” and more as a sign that most Americans have never really been walked through what this system does in 2026. They’re reacting to a broad principle, not to the specific incentive structure the Court has just locked in.

Congress Isn’t Just a Bystander

Whatever you think of the Court’s decision, it hasn’t ended the political fight—it’s moved it. Within days of the ruling, Republicans in Congress started introducing bills built on the opening Justice Kavanaugh left when he suggested that Congress, not the president, would have to change the rules. These aren’t hypothetical white papers; they’re actual bills with numbers, sponsors, and cosponsors that your representative can sign onto or oppose.

One of the most prominent is the Birthright Citizenship Act of 2025 (H.R. 569), introduced in the House by Rep. Brian Babin of Texas and backed by dozens of Republican cosponsors. The bill would amend our immigration law so that a person born here is only a citizen at birth if at least one parent is already a U.S. citizen or national, a lawful permanent resident living in the United States, or a non‑citizen lawfully serving in our armed forces. In other words, it would keep birthright citizenship for the kids of citizens and green‑card holders, but stop granting it automatically to the children of people who are here illegally or on ordinary temporary visas. You can read the text yourself on Congress.gov or via the official govinfo summary.

More recently, Rep. John McGuire of Virginia introduced the Birthright Citizenship Clarification Act of 2026 (H.R. 9633), which tries to write into statute exactly who counts as “subject to the jurisdiction” of the United States. His bill preserves the traditional narrow exceptions for children of foreign diplomats and enemy occupiers, but then adds new ones so that a baby born here is not a citizen at birth if the mother is unlawfully present and the father is not a citizen, national, or permanent resident—or if the mother is here lawfully but only temporarily and the father lacks any real legal status. McGuire’s own description is on his House site at mcguire.house.gov, and the bill text is posted at govinfo.gov.

There’s also an “Anchors Away Act” (H.R. 9562) from Rep. Andrew Ogles of Tennessee, which uses a similar parent‑status test and even aims at “birth tourism” up front by making some pregnant women inadmissible as tourists if they aren’t married to U.S. citizens. The text is available through govinfo. In the Senate, the Citizenship Act of 2026 (S. 4954) from Sen. Jim Banks of Indiana would go further in rhetoric, labeling people who cross illegally or come for birth tourism as “invaders” and excluding their U.S.‑born children from birthright citizenship; the introduction and text are posted at govinfo.gov and covered in outlets like USA Today.

You don’t have to like any of these bills. You might think they go too far, or not far enough, or that they’re symbolic gestures. My point is simpler: Congress is not helpless. It is already writing down, in black and white, alternative definitions of who should be a citizen at birth.

Put Every Member on the Record Before November

If Republicans are going to argue that the current system was never what the framers intended, and Democrats are going to defend it as a constitutional birthright, then both sides owe the country more than talking points and tweets. The House should bring the Birthright Citizenship Act of 2025 to the floor for a clean, up‑or‑down vote before the midterms, and the Senate should have to take up a companion. No more hiding behind the robes of the Court. No more vague statements about “respecting the rule of law” without saying which law you actually support.

Every representative and every senator should have to answer, in public, a concrete question: Do you support granting automatic U.S. citizenship to the children of people who are here illegally, here as tourists, or here only on temporary visas? Not “Do you respect the Fourteenth Amendment?” Not “Do you love immigrants?” Just that. A recorded vote on H.R. 569 and its Senate counterpart would finally tell us where they stand.

I don’t doubt that most Americans want to be fair to children and respectful of the Constitution. I do doubt that most, fully informed, would endorse a system that tells the world: “If you can get here and give birth—by illegal crossing, overstayed visa, or birth‑tourism package—your child is in forever.” Before we treat the Court’s decision as the last word, we deserve an honest debate and a Congress that is willing to go on the record. Voters have a right to know how their own member answered that question before they step into the voting booth this fall.

About the author (Swlion): Swlion writes about how ideas and decisions move America—from governance and liberty to health and personal development. Read more of his work at swlion26.substack.com/archive. Subscribe at swlion26.substack.com/subscribe.

If you’re a Democrat who still instinctively supports Israel, this is a rough political moment. You can feel your own party drifting toward positions that narrow what Israel is “allowed” to do in the name of self‑defense, even as you watch a war that, to you, looks existential from Israel’s side.

The old bargain: Israel’s security first

For a long time, the working assumption in both parties was simple: Israel’s security came first, and the details came later. You could complain about settlements, about Netanyahu, about missed peace talks, but when a big aid package was on the floor, almost every Democrat voted yes. “Support for Israel” was treated as a moral litmus test and a foreign‑policy constant, not an open question to be argued from scratch every time.

That mindset framed self‑defense in very broad terms. If Israel said it needed a certain weapon system or a certain level of force, Washington largely took that at face value. The idea that U.S. lawmakers would openly argue over whether specific Israeli military operations were legitimate self‑defense, disproportionate retaliation, or something worse just didn’t have much space inside the party.

Biden and Bibi: “I love you, but…”

Joe Biden’s relationship with Benjamin Netanyahu is almost a caricature of that older posture. At a White House Hanukkah reception in late 2023, Biden retold a favorite story about an old photograph of the two men where he had written, “Bibi, I love you but I don’t agree with a damn thing you had to say.” He added that the line still applied “today,” as the war in Gaza raged, and you could hear the mix: affection, loyalty, and exasperation all in one breath.

An Israeli write‑up of that moment ran under the headline “Bibi, I love you but I don’t agree with a damn thing you had to say,” and that framing is telling. Biden’s instinct is still to wrap his differences with Netanyahu inside a declaration of love and an affirmation of Israel’s right to exist and defend itself. The criticism is there—but it’s carefully folded into a story about friendship, not a direct challenge to the underlying idea of what self‑defense can look like.

Two Democratic stories about “self‑defense”

Where Democrats are really splitting is over what follows that initial agreement that Israel has a right to self‑defense. One camp essentially says: after a terror attack like October 7, Israel has wide latitude to use overwhelming force to destroy Hamas, even when that produces catastrophic damage in Gaza, as long as there is some acknowledgment of humanitarian concern and talk of minimizing civilian casualties. In their view, to second‑guess that too aggressively is to deny Israel the same rights any state would claim.

The other camp says: no, the right to self‑defense doesn’t include an open‑ended license to bombard a trapped civilian population, starve people, or destroy the basic infrastructure that makes life possible. From this perspective, once the scale of destruction in Gaza reached a certain point, you were no longer “just” talking about self‑defense; you were talking about collective punishment, and possibly violations of international law. They may still affirm Israel’s right to exist, but they draw a much sharper line on what can be justified in the name of protecting it.

Why younger Democrats sound different

Age and experience matter here. Older Democrats—Biden’s generation in particular—came up in an era when Israel was still widely seen as a small, embattled democracy surrounded by enemies. Their default story is 1967 and 1973, not the occupation, the wall, or repeated Gaza wars. When they hear “self‑defense,” they hear survival in a hostile region, and they are inclined to give Israel broad benefit of the doubt on how it exercises that right.

Younger Democrats grew up with a different set of images: checkpoints, settlement expansion, periodic Gaza bombardments, and now months of ruin in Gaza on their social feeds. Their instinct is to see the power imbalance first and ask hard questions about proportionality, human rights, and the moral limits of military force. They may not reject Israel’s right to self‑defense outright, but they are far less willing to treat that phrase as a blank check.

A wider war, a wider shadow

There’s also a bigger shadow on this argument that Democrats can’t really ignore: the shooting war between the United States, Iran, and key Gulf states. For the part of the party that still sees Iran as the main regional threat, every drone strike on a Gulf oil facility and every missile launch across the Strait of Hormuz becomes another reason to think of Israel as an essential piece of a larger security puzzle, not just one actor in a bilateral conflict with the Palestinians.

From that angle, closer quiet cooperation between Israel and Gulf monarchies looks almost inevitable. Shared fear of Iran pushes them toward intelligence sharing, air‑defense coordination, and back‑channel ties, even when public opinion and post‑Gaza anger make open normalization harder. For Democrats in that world, Israel’s “self‑defense” is bound up with keeping a nervous, energy‑rich neighborhood from tipping into chaos—so they’re more inclined to tolerate a broader range of Israeli military actions as part of that containment strategy.

The flip side is that a lot of rank‑and‑file Democrats don’t buy that framing anymore. They see a U.S.–Iran–Gulf war as one more example of how Washington keeps getting dragged into open‑ended regional fights, and they’re not eager to fold Israel’s Gaza campaign into some grand, stabilizing project. If anything, it makes them more skeptical that “regional security” is a good enough reason to keep writing a blank check for what they’re watching happen in Gaza.

From “the Squad” to City Hall: the anti‑Israel pole

On the other end of the spectrum are the Democrats who have built a brand on being as tough on Israel as possible. In Congress, that includes the familiar progressive names—the members who were early to call Israel’s campaign in Gaza “genocide,” who demanded cutting off all military aid, and who speak in terms of apartheid and sanctions rather than recalibrating an alliance. They frame their position as a human‑rights absolutism: if a state is committing atrocities, you don’t fine‑tune the weapons pipeline, you close it.

New York City’s mayor has become the local face of that same current. Zohran Mamdani has described Israel’s actions in Gaza as genocidal, pledged to honor an international warrant for Netanyahu if he sets foot in the city, and even skipped the traditional Israel Day parade while promising a strong police presence to protect it. He says he supports “the state of Israel as a state with equal rights,” but he’s equally clear that he won’t back any state that privileges one religion over another, Israel included. For many pro‑Israel Democrats, that starts to feel less like criticism of a government and more like skepticism about the idea of a Jewish state as such.

Fetterman as the exception, not the rule

Now put that next to John Fetterman. He has been almost unique among Senate Democrats in openly and repeatedly backing the U.S. and Israel’s wider war with Iran, describing the campaign as “remarkable” and voting against efforts to limit the president’s war powers. He talks about Israel and Iran like someone who believes you can’t flinch with a regime that sponsors terror and chases nuclear weapons, and he’s willing to take the heat from his own side for saying so out loud.

Most of his colleagues aren’t suddenly in love with Tehran. They’re just far more wary of open‑ended escalation and far less willing to sign off on every strike and every war plan that gets wrapped in the language of self‑defense. And between those two poles—the Mamdanis and “Squad” members on one end, Fetterman on the other—is where most of the party is now trying, and often failing, to find a coherent line.

What pro‑Israel Democrats should think about

If you’re a Democrat who still instinctively supports Israel, this all lands like a double bind. You may feel like your own party is drifting toward positions that hem Israel in at exactly the moment you think it needs room to act. You look at calls to condition aid, support for ceasefires, and talk of international investigations, and you hear people you usually agree with lining up against what Israeli leaders say they need to win.

It’s worth sitting with a couple of things. First, most Democrats are not arguing that Israel has no right to defend itself; they are arguing that there have to be meaningful limits on how that right is exercised—limits grounded in civilian protection and in some long‑term political horizon for Palestinians as well as Israelis. Second, the polling is not an illusion: the center of gravity in your own party really has shifted toward narrower definitions of acceptable force, more skepticism of the current Israeli government, and more willingness to say “no” when Jerusalem asks for something.

That doesn’t mean you have to abandon your support for Israel. It does mean that if you stay in the Democratic coalition, you’re signing up for a world where your party will routinely back measures—conditions on aid, criticism at the U.N., pressure for ceasefires—that Israel’s government insists are dangerous or unacceptable. At some point you have to decide which you care more about: preserving maximal Israeli freedom of action in the name of self‑defense, or shaping a party that still supports Israel’s existence and security but is no longer going to give a blank check for whatever any Israeli government demands.

It’s easier from far away

If you care about Israel’s survival, it is very easy to sit in the United States and tell Israelis where their red lines should be. You’re not in Sderot or Kiryat Shmona, you’re not sending your kids into reserve duty, and you’re not listening for sirens at three in the morning. From that distance, saying “Israel must stop here, but not there” can feel like a luxury, and a lot of pro‑Israel Democrats instinctively recoil from that.

The uncomfortable truth, though, is that distance cuts both ways. Being outside the blast radius also makes it easier to see when a government is driving itself into a strategic and moral ditch. You can care deeply about Israel’s well‑being and still believe that some of the things being done in its name are not actually making Israelis safer over the long haul. In that sense, putting limits on what Israel does isn’t about second‑guessing people under fire; it’s about asking whether the way they are defending themselves now leaves anything worth defending ten or twenty years from today.

Where this leaves pro‑Israel Democratic voters

If you strip away the labels and the shouting, the question that keeps coming back is simple: how far can Israel go in the name of defending itself and still expect unqualified support from Democrats? Some in the party are prepared to say “not this far,” and to attach conditions or even consequences when those lines are crossed. Others are still standing where Biden’s inscription stands—“I love you, but I don’t agree with a damn thing you had to say”—and hoping that private pressure and public affection can somehow move Netanyahu without changing the basic rules of the relationship.

If you’re a pro‑Israel Democrat, that’s the conflict you’re voting inside now. You can try to pull your party closer to your own sense of what self‑defense requires, or you can accept that the party is moving toward a version of support that builds in more explicit limits and more weight on Palestinian lives and rights. What you probably can’t do, at least not honestly, is pretend that nothing has changed—and that backing “any Democrat” will mean the same thing for Israel that it did a decade or two ago.

About the author (Swlion): Swlion writes about how ideas and decisions move America—from governance and liberty to health and personal development. Read more of his work at swlion26.substack.com/archive. Subscribe at swlion26.substack.com/subscribe.

Most of the chatter right now circles the same drain: the United States is once again mired in an open‑ended conflict in the Middle East, this time with Iran, with no clear exit ramp and mounting risks to U.S. forces and interests. The language is familiar—“quagmire,” “forever war,” “escalation spiral”—and it invites a kind of fatalism about American involvement. What that framing misses is that this is no longer a tidy bilateral confrontation between Washington and Tehran; the Iranian regime has chosen to hit the territory of states that host U.S. assets, and those states are steadily hardening against it.

When missiles and drones hit Bahrain, Qatar, Kuwait, Jordan, the UAE, and Iraq, they don’t just land on “U.S. bases.” They land in sovereign countries whose governments now have both the legal and political basis to redefine their relationship with Iran’s rulers. A Yahoo News overview of Iranian attacks on five Gulf nations and the closure of Hormuz makes this plain: Oman condemned the strikes just hours after hosting Iran’s foreign minister for talks on Strait of Hormuz security, Qatar raised its threat level to high and urged residents to shelter after calling the attacks a “dangerous escalation” and a “flagrant violation” of its sovereignty, Kuwait’s army reported intercepting “hostile aerial targets” over its territory, and Bahrain activated air‑raid sirens and told civilians to remain calm. That’s a very different dynamic from a simple U.S.–Iran showdown.

It’s worth remembering that the people of Iran have been effectively hijacked for more than forty years by a theocratic, brutal regime that makes these decisions in their name, often against their interests and without their consent.

Iran’s campaign is punishing its neighbors, not just the United States

The regime presents its missile and drone strikes as retaliation against American military action and U.S. power projection in the Gulf. In practice, those strikes have repeatedly crossed into the territory of states that, until recently, preferred to hedge—hosting U.S. forces while keeping economic ties and diplomatic channels with Tehran. Each launch that slams into a Kuwaiti base, flies over Doha, threatens Bahrain’s naval facilities, or forces Jordanian and Emirati air defenses to scramble reminds these governments that Iran’s leaders are treating them as acceptable collateral.

The Yahoo reporting underscores that this isn’t limited to one or two unlucky neighbors: Qatar’s Interior Ministry urged residents to stay in safe places, Kuwait openly acknowledged its air defense systems were intercepting incoming Iranian fire, and Oman, which had been playing host and mediator, suddenly found itself condemning an attack that undercut its own diplomatic efforts. These are states whose economies are deeply integrated into global energy markets and shipping routes, and whose cities function as financial and logistics hubs. They are not interested in becoming the regime’s buffer zone. By pushing the conflict onto their soil, the Iranian leadership is eroding whatever patience remained for the idea that it can be managed quietly and indefinitely.

Gulf outrage is turning into Gulf alignment: From condemnation to a right to respond
Early responses from Gulf states leaned heavily on diplomatic language: “heinous attacks,” “criminal aggression,” “dangerous escalation,” “flagrant violation of sovereignty.” Foreign ministries issued statements, summoned Iranian envoys, and lodged complaints in international forums. The Yahoo account of Oman and Qatar’s reactions captures this pattern: Muscat condemned and “denounced” the attacks despite having just hosted Iran’s foreign minister, while Doha called them a “blatant breach of international law” that undermines efforts toward regional stability.

Over time, the rhetoric has sharpened and broadened to include explicit assertions of a right to self‑defense and retaliation. Kuwait’s army publicly stated that explosions heard by residents were the result of its systems intercepting “hostile aerial targets,” and Bahraini authorities announced the activation of sirens and civil‑protection measures. The message is no longer just “we condemn this”; it’s “our territory is being attacked, and we are entitled to hit back.”

A quiet convergence with Washington’s interests
As Iran’s attacks stack up, the interests of the United States and these states converge more tightly. Washington wants to degrade the capabilities of the Iranian regime and its IRGC security apparatus and deter further strikes. Gulf capitals want to protect their territory, energy infrastructure, and reputations as secure hubs for investment and trade. They may not advertise coordinated planning, but the incentives line up.

A House of Saud analysis of the UAE’s July 12 condemnation illustrates how this convergence evolves. The UAE Foreign Ministry didn’t just condemn the strikes; it explicitly named Bahrain, Kuwait, Qatar, Jordan, and Oman as victims of “renewed hostile missile and drone attacks,” called those operations a “flagrant violation” of their sovereignty, and issued the statement as Emirati air defenses reportedly engaged Iranian missiles and drones near Emirati airspace. According to the same reporting, that statement effectively collapsed a bilateral backchannel senior Emirati officials had kept open with IRGC interlocutors even after earlier strikes Abu Dhabi had labeled a “dangerous escalation” and “terrorist attack.” The regime’s behavior is burning through the last reserves of Gulf patience and trust, nudging these states toward Washington’s view that Iran’s rulers are a structural threat, not a manageable irritant.

The Iranian Regime is turning hesitant partners into potential co‑belligerents

For years, many of these governments tried to maintain a careful posture toward Iran—firm but not confrontational, concerned about the regime’s behavior but open to dialogue, wary of being seen as simply lining up behind Washington. That posture reflected domestic politics, economic calculations, and a realistic assessment of Iran’s reach. The irony is that the regime itself is dismantling that hedging strategy.

When a state like Kuwait or Qatar can credibly say, “Our territory has been attacked; our population is at risk; our sovereignty has been violated,” its leadership has far more room to justify tighter alignment with the United States. The Yahoo account of Qatar raising its threat level and urging residents to shelter captures this shift from abstract concern to tangible fear. The same logic applies to Bahrain, where sirens sounded amid Iranian strikes, and to Oman, whose condemnation carries extra weight because it had been acting as a host for Iranian diplomacy on maritime security. What might once have been a reluctant hosting arrangement becomes, over time, an active security partnership against a common adversary. The IRGC and the clerical establishment are doing the one thing these regimes cannot tolerate: making them look weak and vulnerable at home.

The Iranian regime’s strategic error is simple but profound. It treats neighbors as appendages of U.S. power, not as independent actors with their own red lines. The more it punishes them for hosting U.S. assets, the more it incentivizes them to help those assets hit back harder and more systematically.

Coordinated Gulf–U.S. action and the long arc of pressure

If this pattern continues, we shouldn’t be surprised to see ties between the United States and key Gulf states move from reactive coordination to something more deliberate. The legal and political groundwork is already there: states that have been attacked have the right to defend themselves; the United States has security commitments; and both sides share an interest in keeping regional shipping, energy exports, and financial systems functioning.

The next phase could include:

• Joint planning on IRGC missile, drone, and naval infrastructure.

• Explicit or tacit participation by Gulf air forces in select strikes, framed as self‑defense.

• Expanded efforts to protect maritime routes and energy infrastructure, with the regime clearly identified as the principal threat.

The House of Saud piece on the July 12 UAE statement suggests that the diplomatic bridge Abu Dhabi tried to maintain—facilitating billions in sanctions relief in return for restraint—is now broken. When that kind of backchannel collapses, quiet de‑escalation becomes harder, and coordinated deterrence and punishment become the remaining tools. From the regime’s perspective, the battlefield shifts from a confrontation with the United States to a confrontation with a ring of states that possess modern air forces, advanced defenses, and the legitimacy that comes from being on the receiving end of attacks.

None of this guarantees a neat, cinematic outcome in which a coalition sweeps in and topples Iran’s rulers in one stroke. History rarely obliges. But sustained military and economic pressure applied by neighbors that have been directly targeted can slowly strip the regime—and its IRGC backbone—of key advantages: the ability to project power, the confidence of its own elites, and the economic oxygen it needs to sustain patronage and coercion. Progressive degradation of the IRGC’s external infrastructure, increased diplomatic and material support for opposition movements, and a narrowing set of international partners willing to overlook cross‑border attacks all move the conversation away from “Is America trapped?” and toward “How long can Iran’s current rulers sustain a strategy that turns virtually every neighbor into a potential partner in their undoing?”

If the Iranian regime continues on its current path, the story of this war may not be about an American quagmire at all. It may be about a leadership that misread its environment so badly that it forged the very coalition that will one day be strong enough—and motivated enough—to force it out and finally give ordinary Iranians a chance to choose something different.

About the author (Swlion): Swlion writes about how ideas and decisions move America—from governance and liberty to health and personal development. Read more of his work at swlion26.substack.com/archive. Subscribe at swlion26.substack.com/subscribe.

The Senate parliamentarian has become one of those inside-Washington figures whose influence far exceeds public visibility. The office is not mentioned in the Constitution, and its authority comes from Senate procedure rather than constitutional command. That is why I believe the time has come to eliminate the position entirely and return responsibility where it belongs: to the elected Senate itself.

A Senate invention

The modern Senate parliamentarian traces back to 1935, when the Senate formally created the office during a period of Democratic control. Before that, procedural advice existed in informal form, and Charles L. Watkins had already been serving as the Senate’s unofficial parliamentarian beginning in 1923. The official title came later, but the purpose was always the same: to help the chamber manage its rules, precedents, and procedures.

That history matters because it tells us what the office is — and what it is not. As an explainer on the constitutional status of the role notes, the parliamentarian is a staff adviser, not a constitutional officer, and the office’s power derives entirely from Senate rules: The Senate Parliamentarian Explained. It is not a branch of government. It is not a check written into the founding charter. It is a Senate-made procedural role, created because the chamber wanted a specialized adviser on its internal rulebook.

Advice, not authority

One of the strongest arguments for eliminating the office is also the simplest: the parliamentarian does not actually rule. The parliamentarian advises. The presiding officer rules. The Senate then decides whether to sustain or overturn that ruling. That distinction is important, because it means the power people often attribute to the parliamentarian is in practice borrowed power — authority the chamber has chosen to vest in an unelected adviser.

That is why the office has become so controversial in moments of high-stakes legislative conflict. Once a procedural adviser is treated as the final word, the Senate begins to look less like a deliberative body and more like one that has outsourced its own judgment. The chamber can do better than that.

Why it matters now

The current debate over the SAVE America Act has made this issue impossible to ignore. Recent coverage has noted renewed pressure around Senate procedure and filibuster rules as lawmakers try to determine how far legislation can move through reconciliation and what should happen when the parliamentarian objects. You can see that broader discussion reflected in this article.

Senator Mike Lee has made the core argument bluntly in remarks posted on X. In one post, he said, “Every noncitizen vote disenfranchises a citizen. That’s why we need the SAVE America Act. And why Americans overwhelmingly support it.” His broader point is that the parliamentarian does not rule; she advises. He argues that the real authority rests with the presiding officer and, ultimately, with the Senate itself. Lee’s comment along with video excerpt are here.

Why I would end it

I think the case for eliminating the parliamentarian is rooted in basic democratic accountability. If senators believe a rule should stand, they should own it. If they believe a rule should change, they should vote to change it. The present arrangement lets the chamber hide behind procedure while pretending the outcome came from somewhere neutral and permanent. That may be convenient, but it is not honest.

The Senate has changed its rules before, and it can do so again. It does not need to preserve a procedural office just because the office has become familiar. The parliamentarian may be useful as an adviser, but usefulness is not the same thing as necessity. A body that claims to represent the people should not allow its most consequential decisions to be filtered through an unelected gatekeeper whose role exists only by habit.

A better standard

The Senate should keep the responsibility, the accountability, and the vote where they belong: with senators. That would not end disagreement, but it would make the disagreement clearer and more democratic. It would also force the chamber to stop treating process as a substitute for principle.

The parliamentarian is a Senate creation, not a constitutional mandate. It was born from convenience, elevated by habit, and turned into a symbol of procedural authority it was never meant to hold. For that reason, I think it is time to eliminate the position and let the Senate speak for itself.

About the author (Swlion): Swlion writes about how ideas and decisions move America—from governance and liberty to health and personal development. Read more of his work at swlion26.substack.com/archive. Subscribe at swlion26.substack.com/subscribe.