I disagree completely — and that’s strange, because I think the reason Thomas Massie is getting flak is the same reason Mamdani won.
I’m a New Yorker. I’ve seen every layer of this city — the grit of the Bronx and the glass towers of Midtown, the preachers and the traders, the liberals and the cops. My wife and I logged more than ten years in New York’s colleges; I even attended the same ultra-progressive gifted high school as Lina Khan. At one point, debates couldn’t even happen unless I showed up — because without me, there was no one to take the conservative side.
I’ve lived among the poorest in the Bronx, where my mother worked as a nurse in the projects — and I’ve sailed with Manhattan’s elite.
My grandfather was a Methodist minister. My father, a devout Catholic. My godfather is Jewish. I worked for an all-Hindu company in India and an all-Muslim one in Boston. I’ve read every sacred text — not because I wanted to prove any of them right, but because I wanted to understand why so many people are willing to die for an idea.
And I learned early what ideas can cost.
My father died from Agent Orange when I was a kid — a casualty of both Communism and our own government’s incompetence. Since then, I’ve spent a lifetime studying how nations rise and rot. I’ve worked with people from every end of the spectrum — from one of the most liberal senators in America, Mark Kelly, to the Heritage 2025 team — all trying to rebuild the same sinking ship.
So enough about me. Let’s get to the heart of it. 1/4
The Real Divide Isn’t Left vs. Right — It’s Chaos vs. Order
Trump won in 2016 — and again in 2024 — for the same reason he lost in 2020.
It’s the same reason de Blasio failed where Bloomberg thrived.
The same reason Rudy Giuliani could command a city, and Mamdani could win one.
This isn’t about Epstein, or Israel, or inflation. It’s about order and following a systemic plan.
Giuliani tore corruption out of New York. Bloomberg tore sloth out of its bureaucracy.
Trump in 2016 promised to bring in the “best and brightest” to drain the swamp — but by 2020 those “best and brightest” had revealed themselves as the swamp itself.
Chaos killed him. He was fighting an internal battle and didn’t have a plan for the next four years.
Americans want a plan, preferably an extreme plan because we all know centrist plans won’t work today
Trump came back in 2024 not with slogans, but with Project 2025 (and several other great plans) — a blueprint to re-engineer the American machine. Ruthlessly. Without taking prisoners.
De Blasio and Biden failed not because of ideology — but because of entropy. No plan. No structure. Just drift.
Mamdani won because he has a plan — to dismantle capitalism and replace it with Communism.
And he’s backed by sharp minds like Lina Khan, who see not markets or morals, but systems. Systems to be broken and rebuilt. 2/4
⸻
The Dangerous Beauty of the Blueprint
I loathe Communism. I’ve read Marx, Lenin, Mao. I know the language, the promises, the poison. It is evil.
But it is also efficient — frighteningly efficient — at one thing: systematically destroying existing orders.
That’s the common ground between MAGA and Mamdani.
Both movements are fueled by disgust — with corruption, with waste, with the permanent class of parasites who run Washington and Wall Street alike.
Both sides want to burn the rot out of the system.
And here’s the uncomfortable truth: many on the Left quietly admired Trump’s first promise to “drain the swamp.” And many on the Right today secretly respect Mamdani’s willingness to wield a scalpel — or a hammer — where others use talking points.
Because deep down, we all know it: the system is broken.
And broken systems don’t reform — they collapse or get rebuilt.
MAGA offers a drastic rebuilding. Communism offers a total barn fire we can rebuild from. 3/4
Two Plans, One Fire
For MAGA, the blueprint is Project 2025 and a complete unrelating restructuring of government
For the Left, it’s Communism rebranded.
Both are movements of architects with axes — one shouting “Drain it!”, the other “Burn it!”
Both will fail for the same reason: the Deep State, that vast self-defending organism of bureaucracy, will smother anything too radical to control.
But the winner of the next major election will be whoever gets closer to that plan. Whoever does more to destroy the grift and government bottlenecks and waste.
Problem for us is it’s a lot easier to destroy one city and show progress than restructure a federal government.
That’s why to win we need to be bolder, move faster, fire WAY more people, and go further than ever.
If we don’t communism will win the 2028 election because Mamdani will show he CAN destroy huge swaths of government and the average voter won’t care that it’s on a much smaller scale.
Americans want people with the guts and the plan to tear the old system out, root and branch — and build something clean in its place.
That’s the battlefield now. Not Left vs. Right. Not Capital vs. Labor.
It’s Engineers vs. Decay.
And whichever side can wield the axe with purpose, not chaos — that’s the side history will remember.
P.S. that’s the chess border: the winner is whichever side can take more government pieces off the board. The QUEEN piece in this game are immigrants. Mamdani got them to the polls.
All of this is not critical of Trump for the simple reason he spend YEAR 1 closing the border and is deploying ICE to move on the queen. But he has to captivate that queen and put YEAR 2’s focus on a FULL drain of the swamp…
Do that and maga will win the midterm and can YEAR 3 restructure a new lean mean government and YEAR 4 reindustrialize and supercharge the economy
Those are the stakes.
And I pray to JESUS the communists do not win because America is strong enough to survive and rebuild after both plans… but communism cannot destroy (and later rebuild like china and vietnam did) without mass pain, suffering and death.
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Yesterday, for the first time, I turned my back on a liberal neighbor and walked away. For Charlie.
I get asked daily by conservatives how I can possibly live in the most liberal town of the most liberal state.
Truth is, I’ve always been fascinated by how they think. I usually just laugh at the irrational takes.
But a single gunshot drained all curiosity and humor out of me.
He simply asked how I was. I said I was sad. He asked why.
“It’s 9/11. My dad was FDNY. And yesterday I lost a friend.”
His face softened. “I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t want to cry, so I backpedaled. “It’s ok, we weren’t close. Just spoke a few times but he felt like a good friend.”
“Who was it?” he asked.
“Charlie Kirk.”
Empathy turned to anger. Like I’d tricked him.
“Well, I don’t know him, and I don’t care what happens to him.”
“But he was my friend. I’m your friend. Isn’t that enough to care?”
He pivoted to politics. Gun violence. Assault weapon bans. “You people.”
I said it was a bolt-action rifle. He didn’t care. He said he didn’t care about Charlie.
Even though Charlie was a father? A friend? A believer?
“No,” he said. But his body language betrayed him. He did care.
Then: “I don’t want to talk politics.”
“I’m not,” I said. “I lost a friend. A friend with a wife and two beautiful daughters.”
Again: “I don’t care.”
So I turned and walked away.
He could have changed the subject, asked me about my Dad and 9/11 instead. But he was fixated on political drama not true empathy.
Some Republicans will say I should’ve stood my ground, yelled, fought back, told him off.
Some Democrat friends will say I should’ve leaned in harder with empathy and spent time getting him to understand my point of view.
But here’s the truth: I’m done.
Done debating. Done convincing. Done trying to “win” them over.
Charlie lived that. He spoke truth with compassion, even behind “enemy lines.” He never saw Democrats as the enemy. He saw Americans missing key pieces of the truth. He gave empathy and respect coupled with hard truths until his last dying breath.
He was a better man than me. Better than most of us.
And now he’s gone.
I’m not a great men Charlie, I’m a Captain in the U.S. Merchant Marine. We don’t talk, or seek glory & fame, don’t ask for thanks or forgiveness. We just move cargo. LOTS of cargo.
Our motto is simple: Acta Non Verba.
Actions, not words.
So why don’t I fight harder in my own neighborhood? Why do I let it go when a neighbors took down my flag on “no kings day”? Why do I remove the Trump magnet on my tesla when I get home.
Because the consequences are real. They don’t just punish me my kids will suffer for the sins of the father. But as the man said, he doesn’t care. That’s the line I won’t let them cross.
And because I do not have the courage of Charlie.
But gratitude for Charlie demands something more. Something bigger than my town which isn’t going to change. Debate is over. Tears are over. The time for action is here.
Not violence. Not riots. Not theatrics.
Political action.
Votes. Campaign cash. Pink slips across DC. Crowds of conservatives in every GOP office in congress demanding they stop doing TV appearances and start playing hardball.
Laws flipped at local, state & federal levels.
A dozen Scott Preslers in every California & Vermont farm town & every NYC church, rising Christians to vote out Sanders, Newsom, AOC & Mamdani.
An army of white hats exposing criminal NGOs, with Mike Benz, Data Republican, and a phalanx of lawyers volunteering for Will Chamberlain to get convictions.
Mass action against every Marxist policy.
We will not out-scream them. We will out-organize them. You can literally debate them until your last dying breath and nothing will change.
They don’t care and there is no way to change the mind of an apathetic man.
The time for debate is over.
We must speak softly and start carrying a big stick.
Acta non verba.
For Charlie.
tldr
They have the best theater kids. They have top Ivy league debaters. They have most MSM pundits.
What do we have in abundance?
Protestant Work Ethic
We can’t replace Charlie. But you can couple your individual talent with the work ethic of Charlie Kirk.
How can you start living Acta Non Verba?
1) Close X
2) List your best talents & skills
3) Match those with people (like @AndrewKsway & @ScottPresler) doing real boots on the ground (or really cyberwork like @DataRepublican) work
The danger isn’t new. As early as September 1753, near the end of a 2-month voyage to Virginia, Captain Thomas Francis warned of smoke in the hold of the Pearl, identifying sulfur-rich coal as the culprit. It was a harbinger of disaster to come.
By the 1860s, the scope had escalated: British and Australian Royal Commissions and reports, including one from the Salvage Association of Lloyd’s, flagged spontaneous combustion and poor ventilation as major causes of coal-cargo calamities and one of the biggest risks to ships at sea.
The Trump Administration just issued a potential death blow to the UN’s most ambitious and consequential Green initiative proposed by their powerful maritime arm @IMOHQ in London
This is a marked shift. Normally the United States ignores this body and sends a small delegation of USCG SES and relatively Jr state department diplomats over just for committee meetings.
While other nations have full time Maritime Ambassadors snd teams of delegates permanently stationed in London.
Prior the last voting session State, DHS and @JerryHendrixII’s maritime team at NSC issued a letter warning the IMO to back off extreme measures.
Measures so extreme that one proposal suggested any ship that makes “ocean sounds” be banned from entering port.
Several sources told @gCaptain that a DHS team under @Sec_Noem called for the resignation of the chief U.S. delegate to the IMO before the vote. Many were shocked when she still appeared at the IMO Maritime Safety Committee meeting after agreeing to resign.
Medina, born in Panama, became a U.S. citizen after marrying a U.S. Coast Guard officer she later divorced.
Rumors swirled after Panama secured the powerful Secretary-General post with China’s backing—and without Medina’s objections.
It was the first time in IMO history that a flag of convenience with a record of registering shadow-fleet ships captured the top spot.
In 1973, this French Navy warship steamed into NYC, guns out, to haul away tons of America’s gold.
In her wake, the global economy was changed forever. 🧵
The French frigate De Grasse quietly docked, crew crisp in dress uniforms. Below decks?
Empty space soon to be packed with crates worth hundreds of millions.
This wasn’t a heist. It was the legal, deliberate execution of a plan Charles de Gaulle set in motion years earlier: trade in France’s reserve of U.S. dollars for physical gold.
Alright, I’ll admit it—I was a fat kid. Not 2025 fat, but early 1980s fat, thanks to off-brand processed food because we were poor.
Here’s how the Presidential Fitness Test SAVED me from bullying. Strap in, this is a long story!
I was also uncoordinated, so uncoordinated that the gym teacher gave me a 30-minute head start just so I wouldn’t get roasted by the other kids.
I also got laughed off little league and soccer teams.
And boy did I dread the Presidential Fitness test.
But you have no idea how much that motivated me. I did sprints and shuffles in my backyard.
Problem was I couldn’t do a single pull up and there was no way to practice the rope climb.
Dad was the best dad ever in some ways and not at all supportive in others. He built me a pull-up bar and after to weeks watching me hang there trying, he cane out with hard advice only a Vietnam vet could
“You’re too fat. You’ll never get up there hanging. You need to jumpstart the pull-up”
So I got a little stool and jumped up half way pulling myself the rest of the way up.
After a few weeks I got my first pull-up.
YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW GOOD THAT FELT
The confidence doing something hard and succeeding got me to new levels.
Then the Fitness Test came and there was just no way I was going to get the Presidential award for being in the top 85%
But I was fairly certain my practice could get me the National Award for the top 50%
Boy was I wrong. You had to climb a rope and touch the ceiling of the gym. It was about two stories up but felt like five.
I couldn’t climb 10 feet.
I wasn’t good enough in the other events to get in the top 50% without the rope climb points.
PLUS, if you made the rope climb you got your picture on the wall in the hallway.
That certificate and picture was important because I was getting bullied a lot for being fat and poor. And I’m not just talking verbal abuse, I got into many fights.
The worst bullies weren’t the most motivated kids and I figured when they called me fat I could just shrug and say “I don’t see your picture on the wall”
I ran all the way home, over a mile, that afternoon and begged dad to buy a practice rope. He said no.
I knew I could pass if I practiced as hard as I did for the pull-up but you can’t practice without a rope.
So I did two things.
I climbed the tallest tree and sat up there for hours one weekend until the fear of heights left.
And for however many weeks the fitness test was open I did nothing else in gym class but the rope.
Then I had to spend all day with my fists clenched to hide the sores on my hands from the teachers so they didn’t ban me from getting it.
Almost everyone who accomplished the rope climb did it in the first couple of days so well before the testing period was over the photo wall had been set. It was a done deal.
But I kept going. By the last day of the test I could get halfway up. That’s it. But I set my sights on the rope and refused to back down.
10 minutes of climbing agony I touched the ceiling. Problem was I was exhausted and nobody saw me do it.
So I yelled “look at me” and everyone laughed. “Where is John” they were looking all around the gym for me but nobody thought to look up.
Finally one kid did. Then they all started look. Then the gym teacher looked and just stared red.
I was in agony.
“Did I win the award?”
“YES,” she said. “You made nationals, now come down!”
“I want my photo!”
“We turned the camera back to the media department yesterday. Just come down.”
I refused. The principal was called and a frantic school wide search for a camera (these were the print days) ensued.
After about 15 minutes they found one.
I GOT MY PICTURE
Next problem was I didn’t have any practice descending from that height and my hands were raw.
I showed them to the teacher and she shrugged.
So slowly, very slowly, I made my way down and when I reached the mat the entire class clapped and cheered.
One of the best feelings of my life!
1/4
Fast forward to High School and I get into a magnet track for smart kids.
Problem was I’m dyslexic and not nearly as smart as the kids in my class.
I’m not joking either, WAPO wrote a book about the class and my best friend Adrian Cavalieri now is now a lead scientist at the proton accelerator in Switzerland. Unbelievably smart kids.
Most were unbelievably wealthy and could afford tutors too.
As puberty hit I became rail thin but I was still only one of the few poor kids snd the ONLY republican and one of the few from a military family.
There was no question I was joining the military and the one and only place I did really well was on the water sailing… so I was absolutely determined to get into the Naval Academy
It became my mission. Problem was I was at the bottom of my, albeit brilliant, class and I still wasn’t great with ball.
No way I was getting in with sports and extracurriculars.
I was extremely shy and a teacher suggested I apply for a magnet theatre and modern dance program. I was accepted.
I can not even begin to describe how much I hated it. BUT I got through it. Extracurricular done.
I still needed a varsity letter. I tried out for Lacrosse and didn’t even make the freshman team. Not even the fencing geeks would have me.
But the cross country coach offered me a tryout. Not only was I a fat kid but I have short legs. I also couldn’t lift them high enough.
But I could do one thing nobody else could: not stop. Ever.
End of freshman season I was the very fist kid in my class to get a varsity jacket. At the awards dinner my coach showed a photo of me running and said
“This kid is clearly in pain. He looked like this whenever I saw him. We just had to give him a letter.”
I got 7 more.
All that effort, and god knows how many hours struggling to study for four years, all for one goal:
To attend Annapolis.
Problem was Annapolis had a presidential fitness test too. And I failed it bad.
I could do everything except throw a simple medicine ball overhead with both hands.
I came nowhere close to the minimum standards. Problem was the coaches back then discouraged long distance runners from bulking up with weights. My arms were noodles.
But the Presidential fitness test taught me the secret. Practice until you physically can’t.
Months I spent on the basketball court in my knees throwing the MF’n medicine ball. I just kept throwing until my knees started to bleed.
And I passed. And I got I to Annapolis.
I want to say I lived happily ever after.
I did not. My life went horribly wrong.
2/4
Most of my classmates didn’t enjoy being in Annapolis but I loved every second.
It was far from easy but I tried out and was accepted to the varsity sailing team.
Studying was still painful but I got to sail and had a purpose in life. I loved it.
The Dad got terminally ill with cancer from Vietnam.
My little brother was only 12, I had two other siblings and mom worked two jobs.
There’s a lot more to the story but soon I found myself in the Superintendent’s office where the 4 star Admiral said “you’ll thank me later for sending you home to spend the last days with your dad.”
I was devastated and, to this day I’m still not happy he did that.
I enrolled in @MaritimeCollege, a Merchant Marine academy close to home. It was much harder. The school wasn’t hard to get into but had the highest attrition rate in the nation.
It took 160 credits to graduate and I had to help at home and I had to work nights to pay tuition. It was brutal. Worse was it was so hard I couldn’t find time for the sailing team.
I would like to say I was a model kid. I would like to say I breezed through.
Nope.
I had a lot of anger from my hero dying which resulted in a lot of demerits (I held the record at one point) and drinking.
But I never gave up. No matter how many hours they made me chip paint in the bulge to work off demerits or whatever the attempt to fail me out (teacher were proud of contributing to the attrition rate with Fs) I remembered that rope climb and kept hanging on.
3/4