Wednesday, September 2, 2026

Book...work in progress 9/2/26

 TONY'S STORY
A Working Seven-Chapter Interior Preview
Tony Venuti
Working arrangement only. Chapter titles and order remain provisional
while the full manuscript is assembled from Tony's original writing,
firsthand material, and developed editorial themes.
1
CHAPTER 1


I AM ME
My brothers used to get irritated with me. They would look at the
confidence - arrogance, depending on which brother you asked - and
finally challenge me: "Who are you?" My answer was always simple: I
AM ME. That probably irritated them even more. But I meant it.
That answer did not come from a life of easy victories. It came from
somewhere earlier and deeper. My mother gave me something I did not
have a name for when I was a kid: identity. She taught us right from
wrong, worked, worried, pushed, punished, loved, and expected us to
become self-sufficient. Years later I would write that my mother gave me
my identity and that self-image sustained me. The word I use now is
self-worth.
Self-worth is everything. If you do not value you, no one will. Lead
by example. I like me; you should too. There is a joke in that line, but
only half of it is a joke. Once "I like me" is settled, "you should too"
becomes an invitation. I do not require your vote.
That distinction matters because confidence and arrogance can look
identical from across the room. Arrogance needs an audience beneath it.
Self-worth does not. It does not require another man to lose so I can win.
It does not require the last word. It only requires that I know who I am,
including the parts I would rather not brag about.
I was a good kid who grew up to do bad things. That contradiction
belongs in the book because it belongs in me. I am not interested in
polishing it away. I have spent too much of my life watching people
make themselves right in their own heads. I did it too. The difference, if
there is one worth discussing, is whether experience eventually forces
you to look again.
Ma's lessons did not prevent every wrong turn. They became the
measuring stick I could return to after the wrong turns. That may be more
important. A moral compass is not proof that you never got lost.
Sometimes you discover the compass because you got lost badly enough
to need it.
So when I say I AM ME, I am not claiming perfection. Quite the
opposite. I am claiming ownership. The mistakes are mine. The survival
is mine. The reinventions are mine. The lessons are mine. And if you can
prove me wrong about something I think I know, do it. Make me smarter
2
than I was a minute ago. But do not ask me to become somebody else so
you can be more comfortable with who I am.
3
CHAPTER 2
GOING DOWN
Twenty years before I began trying to make a book out of this life, I had
already imagined the title. It might have been Free and on the Run. It
might have been Sentenced to Life on the Installment Plan. Both sounded
right because for a long time my life did not move in a straight line. It
went down, out, around, back in, back out, and somehow forward.
I came to understand survival from the inside. That is different from
discussing survival as an idea. There were periods when money, food,
freedom, identity and tomorrow were not abstractions. They were
problems to solve before the day was over. I learned what a man can
rationalize when he believes the immediate need is greater than the rule
standing in his way.
I also learned that the explanation inside your own head can be
beautifully coherent while your life is becoming a catastrophe. We
always wish to make it RIGHT in our heads. That does not make it right.
It only makes the next bad decision easier to live with until consequences
finally become louder than the explanation.
This is where I resist the clean redemption story. I am not going to
tell you that one morning I woke up, saw the light and became the man
you are reading today. Life was installment payments. So were the
sentences. So was learning. One lesson paid down a little ignorance;
another mistake added interest.
Darkness belongs here because it happened, but darkness is not the
point. The point is what the darkness taught me about people. Need,
greed, fear, pride, shame, love, loyalty, deception, self-preservation - you
see them differently when they are not vocabulary words.
I learned early that I was more fortunate than somebody else, even
when I did not feel fortunate. The old idea of the man with no shoes
meeting the man with no feet stayed with me. That attitude of gratitude
did not make me virtuous. It kept "poor me" from becoming a permanent
address.
Eventually the same instincts that could be used to survive badly
could be used to build something. Sales, publishing, entrepreneurship -
these were not a separate human being replacing the old one. They were
many of the same tools redirected. Reading people. Taking risks. Acting.
Seeing opportunity. Refusing to sit still. That is one reason I would rather
be wrong moving forward than right standing still.
4
The life story matters because later I would make claims about
culture, media, responsibility and human nature. A reader has every right
to ask: What the hell does this guy know? Fair question. My answer is
not that I have credentials. My answer is: look at the road. Then decide
whether the road taught me anything.
5
CHAPTER 3
WHY ARE PEOPLE THE WAY THEY
ARE?
I have spent a good portion of my life trying to figure people out. Not
because I am a psychologist. I am not. I am a Presumptive Philosopher.
There is a difference.
The question underneath much of my writing was never simply, Why
did Tony become Tony? The larger question was: Why are people the
way they are? Why can two people look at the same thing and see
different realities? Why do people follow? Why do they conform? Why
do they make things right in their own heads? Why can an intelligent
person behave stupidly? Why can a person know better and still do
worse?
My own life became useful because I was not outside the human
condition taking notes. I was one of the specimens. I have been wrong
for reasons that made complete sense to me at the time. That is valuable
information if you are willing to admit it.
One of the habits I developed was putting myself in the other man's
shoes. Not the easy version where I imagine what I would do if I were
him. I mean trying to think as he would think. What would have to be
true inside his head for what he is doing to make sense to him? That is a
different exercise.
It also became part of the way I talked to people. Before criticizing
someone I can often hear a quick internal question: put me in his shoes.
How will this land? Is it offensive? If it is offensive, is the offense doing
useful work or merely destroying the point? Sometimes the answer is do
not say it. Sometimes the answer is say it.
This is where the provocateur enters. I have never been especially
frightened of irritating somebody. But irritation is not automatically
intelligence. The useful provocation is the one that gets close enough to
insult that the reader thinks, Is this son of a bitch insulting me? - and
while deciding, considers the question.
That is what sits underneath "Aren't I embarrassing you?" I am not
interested in calling the reader stupid and walking away. The challenge is
harsher and, in a strange way, more optimistic: I think you are capable of
getting it. So why aren't you?
Which brings us back to the question. People are not merely what
they say they believe. They are what they fear, need, want, protect,
6
imitate, excuse, envy, remember, forget and make RIGHT in their heads.
If the book has a laboratory, that is it.
7
CHAPTER 4
THE PRESUMPTIVE PHILOSOPHER
I work in the presumptive. I know what I know, and more importantly, I
know what I do not know. I trust my intuit, then allow logic, reason,
deduction and experience to work on the idea. That sentence appeared in
my writing long before we started organizing this book, which matters to
me because it tells me I was not inventing the philosophy afterward to
make the life look prettier.
Presumption is not certainty. It is permission to begin. I let an idea
run free. I put myself in another person's head. I follow the logical
progression. I ask what happens if the premise is true. Then I give the
idea the smell test. If it survives that, I let it swim upstream.
Swimming upstream matters. An idea should not survive just because
I like it. It has to meet resistance: contradiction, experience, another
point of view, facts where facts are available, and sometimes a better
argument from somebody who knows more than I do.
That is why "How do you know when you KNOW?" became so
important. The dangerous man is not always the ignorant man. Ignorance
can be corrected. The dangerous condition is not knowing that you do
not know and manufacturing an answer anyway.
I once reduced the problem to a provocation: if you think you know,
you do not know. Crude? Sure. But the point was serious. There is what I
know through direct experience. There is what I observed. There is what
I think I know through reasoning. There is what I believe. And there is
what the record can actually show. Those are not interchangeable
categories.
The Power of Certainty begins there. Certainty is not pretending to
know everything. False certainty is nearly the opposite. Real certainty
includes being able to say, "I don't know." I know what I know. I know
what I don't know. I am not going to manufacture an answer because
somebody expects one.
For every expert, there is an equal and opposite expert. Just ask. That
does not make expertise worthless. It makes outsourcing your judgment
dangerous. If two credentialed people can reach opposite conclusions,
the existence of credentials cannot be the end of your thinking.
Once I have presented what I know, why I know it, what I observed
and how I reasoned from it, I do not need the last word. That is the
8
Power of Certainty. You can agree, disagree, laugh, prove me wrong. If
you prove me wrong, then I have something new to know.
9
CHAPTER 5
OF THE CENTER
The world is governed by Natural Laws. That idea sat near the beginning
of my book notes in 2013 and it had been showing up in my writing even
earlier. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Every
coin has two sides - and do not forget the edge.
That edge became important to me. We are trained to talk as though
reality has only two chairs: left and right, yes and no, good and bad, this
team and that team. But original things do not begin at the extremes.
They begin somewhere before the argument divides them. I came to call
that place OF THE CENTER.
OF THE CENTER does not mean splitting every difference. Halfway
between truth and a lie is still a lie. It means looking for the thing before
it was captured by a side. Family, responsibility, liberty, fairness,
survival, sex, work, reward, consequence - what did these mean before
an ideology claimed them?
That is why I distrust one-sided coins. In the world of truth, things
have consequences. Benefits have costs. Freedom has responsibility.
Compassion can help and can also disable. Strength can protect and can
become tyranny. Every action sends something back toward you.
This is where precision matters and where it does not. Dates,
quotations, accusations and facts require precision because precision
changes truth. But there are observations about human life that die when
you sterilize them trying to satisfy every possible objection. Precision is
important in most things, not all things.
I have never believed that perfection is a useful standard. As soon as
you claim perfection, you have exposed the imperfection. Life works by
degree. Better and worse. More and less. Enough and not enough. This is
one reason the middle - the edge of the coin - interests me more than the
slogans painted on either face.
The point of OF THE CENTER is not to announce another political
position. It is to recover the original question. Before good cop and bad
cop start arguing, remember: same police station. Before the teams tell
you which answer you are allowed to choose, ask whether the question
itself was framed to keep you inside their building.
All things original are OF THE CENTER. That is not a conclusion I
expect a reader to accept because Tony said it. It is an invitation: go find
10
the original thing and see where it lived before everybody started pulling
on it.
11
CHAPTER 6
MEDIA-OCRACY
At one point I became so fed up with the media that I stopped being
satisfied with complaining about it. I picketed a television station. Then I
did it again. And again. The point was not that a man with signs was
going to bring down American broadcasting. The point was that talk had
become cheapened by oversupply, including my own talk if I was
unwilling to act.
I had already been calling the system a Media-Ocracy. What
bothered me was not simply bias in the ordinary partisan sense. It was
the power to define the terms before the argument began, apply
generalizations to particular cases, reverse the generalization when
convenient, highlight fear, choose the exception, repeat it until it feels
normal and then call the resulting perception reality.
Define your terms or someone will define them for you. That became
one of the practical rules. Tell me where you are standing and I can
evaluate what you are telling me. Hide where you are standing while
pretending you have no position at all, and my trust drops fast.
The radio show became another version of the same instinct. I was
part talk host, part DJ, part curator and, looking back, part traffic cop. I
would find a story, an article, a clip, a statistic, a cultural moment -
something people normally did not see - and wave the audience toward
it: Hey. Look over HERE. You are missing this.
A traffic cop does not manufacture the cars. He sees what is coming
from different directions and notices where they are about to collide.
Politics, pop culture, family, sex, economics, religion, movies, a caller,
an article found at three in the morning - I kept seeing intersections.
That explains some of the apparent disorder in the old material. On
the page it could look like a traffic jam. In my head I was directing
traffic. The editorial job now is not to reproduce the jam. It is to show the
reader why I was pointing where I was pointing.
The media problem therefore belongs to a larger question than
politics. Who directs attention? Who defines the frame? Who decides
what matters? And once somebody has successfully pointed the crowd in
one direction, how many people still turn their heads and ask what is
happening behind them?
My name is Tony, not Sucker. That is the joke. The serious
proposition underneath it is simpler: do not surrender judgment to the
12
person delivering the information. Listen. Look. Ask where he is
standing. Then think.
13
CHAPTER 7
THE TRUMP PHENOMENON /
MANIFEST DESTINY II
Long before Donald Trump became the center of American politics, I
had been writing about the relationship between politics and culture. As
a kid I remembered politics influencing culture. Later I believed I
watched the direction reverse, slowly, until pop culture increasingly
influenced the body politic.
That is the frame through which I first found Trump interesting. Not
policy first. Persona first. Culture first. Whatever else he was, he
appeared to understand something that professional politics had
forgotten: people do not experience leaders only as white papers. They
experience them as characters.
I wrote about cool, moxie, strength, action and something I called the
Power of Certainty. The more I look back at those pages, the more I see
that I was responding to authenticity - or at least the perception of
authenticity. Trump did not appear to be asking permission to be Trump.
That connects to a much older Tony line: I AM MY AUDIENCE.
Maybe Trump's greatest political instinct was not knowing how to FIND
his audience. Maybe it was being so completely himself that his audience
FOUND HIM. Trump was his audience - and the audience found Trump.
That does not make every Trump judgment correct, every action wise
or every criticism false. It explains why I think the phenomenon matters
beyond the man. A culture that had learned to reward performance,
image, celebrity and attitude suddenly produced a political figure who
was already fluent in that language.
The question for the book is not merely, Do you agree with him? The
more interesting question is: Who is this guy, what is the culture seeing
in him, and why did millions of people respond to qualities the
professional political class had often treated as disqualifying?
Manifest Destiny II began in my notes as a much larger idea about
America, Natural Laws, culture and a return to founding principles.
Trump later became part of that story because I saw him as evidence that
culture and politics had come full circle - not proof that the journey was
complete.
That is where this working section ends for now. The life story
begins with a kid learning right from wrong from Ma, wanders through
plenty of wrong, develops into a question about why people are the way
14
they are, becomes a method for deciding what can actually be known,
moves OF THE CENTER, watches the traffic of media and culture, and
eventually arrives at the Trump Phenomenon and Manifest Destiny II.
The argument is still being built. The spine, however, is finally visible.

Popularized....to be or not to be IN the INN Crowd....Unintended Consequences not withstanding.


Friday, August 28, 2026

Chaper I.....ExCONservative's Story "I've always Watched!" Edited by Chapgpt

 


I'm starting with Anthony before Tony the philosopher—the boy who watched, absorbed, survived, and only much later understood why those early experiences mattered. I'm keeping your cadence and letting the philosophy emerge from the story rather than explaining it all up front.

CHAPTER ONE

I've Always Watched

I have a story to tell.

Not because I lived a perfect life.

Quite the opposite.

I've been the good guy and the bad guy. I've been broke. I've made money. I've been free and I've been locked up. I've been a soldier, a drug addict, a criminal, a salesman, a businessman, a publisher, a radio host—and somewhere along the way, without ever intending to become one, a philosopher.

A presumptive philosopher.

That's important.

Because I don't claim to know everything.

I know what I know.

And, maybe more importantly, I know what I don't know.

At least I try to.

That distinction took me a lifetime.

My education wasn't earned entirely in classrooms. My education came from people. Streets. Prison cells. Army barracks. Business offices. Sales floors. Employees. Customers. Success. Failure. Drugs. Money. Women. Men. Good people. Bad people.

And Ma.

Especially Ma.

I am my mother's son.

Looking back now, I realize something else.

I've always watched.

I watched people.

I listened.

I compared.

And I questioned.

Why did he do that?

Why did she say that?

Why does one person react one way and somebody else, facing almost exactly the same circumstances, react completely differently?

Why do people say one thing and do another?

Why do people who seem to have everything sometimes behave as though they have nothing?

Why can somebody with almost nothing seem perfectly content?

Why do decent people sometimes do terrible things?

And why do terrible people occasionally surprise you by doing something decent?

I didn't have names for any of this when I was a kid.

I was just watching.


Growing up Italian, I thought being Italian was pretty damn cool.

The food.

The music.

The family.

The swagger.

There was a sense of knowing who we were.

Pride wasn't something somebody had to teach in a classroom. It was identity. Belonging. Knowing where you came from.

We weren't rich.

Far from it.

My father was a union laborer. My mother was a garment worker. At times Ma worked three jobs.

And I found myself around kids whose families had considerably more than we did—doctors, lawyers, professional people.

Kids notice those things.

They notice clothes.

They notice houses.

They notice what other kids have.

And they notice when other kids notice what they don't have.

I remember being ridiculed.

I remember feeling the difference.

But even as a kid, something strange happened inside my head.

Instead of merely thinking:

They're better than me.

I started wondering:

Why do they need me to feel worse so they can feel better?

I didn't articulate it exactly that way then. I was a kid.

But the thought was there.

Maybe they're making themselves feel better than they really do.

There it was.

Anthony watching.

I couldn't have told you anything about psychology. I hadn't read the philosophers. I didn't know anything about political theory.

I was watching human behavior.

And I was beginning to form conclusions.

Some would prove right.

Some would prove wrong.

And some would take fifty years before I even understood what I had been looking at.


Ma understood me before I understood myself.

She'd say:

“You do damn well what you please, Anthony...period!”

She knew.

I could explain.

I could promise.

I could tell her exactly what she wanted to hear.

And Ma wasn't buying.

“You'll tell me anything to make me happy, and then you will go on and do as you well please.”

That woman had me figured out.

Years later, after I'd lied to cops, judges, institutions, authority figures and probably myself more times than I could count, I'd understand just how much wisdom was contained in those simple observations.

Ma didn't call it behavioral psychology.

She didn't need to.

She knew people.

And she knew Anthony.

She taught me other things.

You catch more bees with honey than vinegar.

Kill them with kindness.

And another lesson that wouldn't fully reveal itself until much later:

“I might not catch you today, but I will tomorrow, or the next day...”

Truth has patience.

A lie sometimes only needs time.

I wouldn't understand the significance of that for years.

But I remembered it.

I've always remembered things like that.


There was something else happening around me.

America was changing.

I didn't know enough then to call it cultural change. I certainly wasn't sitting around as a teenager analyzing social movements.

I was living.

But I was watching.

The Italian identity I thought was so damn cool began changing too.

Successful Italians assimilated.

Families moved.

Neighborhoods changed.

Churches weakened.

The old organizations and paternal institutions didn't carry quite the same weight.

Over time, Italians increasingly became something else in the American vocabulary:

White.

Something had been gained through assimilation.

Something may have been lost too.

I didn't understand any of that at the time.

But I noticed it.

That's the distinction that matters.

I noticed.


Then came 1968.

I was seventeen years old.

Think about seventeen for a minute.

At seventeen you're supposed to know almost nothing.

Unfortunately, at seventeen you're usually pretty certain you know quite a lot.

I entered the Army.

And suddenly the laboratory got much bigger.

People from everywhere.

Different races.

Different neighborhoods.

Different families.

Different assumptions about life.

Different ways of getting what they wanted.

I watched.

I listened.

I learned.

Sometimes I learned the wrong lesson.

That's important too.

Because experience is a hell of a teacher—but experience doesn't hand you a certificate guaranteeing that the conclusion you draw from it is correct.

That realization came much later.

At seventeen, something happens and you think:

Now I understand.

At seventy-something, you can finally ask:

Did I?


I remember one particular encounter as though it happened yesterday.

We were hanging around. Maybe shooting pool. The exact surroundings have faded.

The conversation hasn't.

I had noticed something among some of the Black guys I was around. Sometimes when somebody didn't get what he wanted, the accusation came quickly:

You're saying no because I'm Black.

I wondered whether they actually believed it.

So I asked one of the guys.

Essentially:

Does that stuff work?

He smiled.

And the answer, as I remember it, was basically:

“We use it 'cause it works...every damn time.”

That stuck with me.

Not because one man's answer told me everything about Black people.

It didn't.

That's something Tony NOW can say that Anthony couldn't possibly have understood.

There are good white people and bad white people.

There are good Black people and bad Black people.

There are good Italians and bad Italians.

There are good cops and bad cops.

Good businessmen and crooks.

Good politicians and...

Well, let's not get carried away.

The point is people.

But that encounter taught seventeen-year-old Anthony something—or at least I thought it taught me something:

People learn what works.

And once something works, people tend to use it again.

That principle didn't seem racial to me eventually.

It seemed human.

Reward behavior and you'll probably get more of it.

Make a tactic successful and somebody will use the tactic.

Make dishonesty profitable and don't act surprised when somebody lies.

Give somebody power without accountability and don't be shocked when somebody abuses it.

I would see versions of that lesson again.

And again.

And again.

In the streets.

In prison.

In business.

In politics.

And in myself.

Especially in myself.


That's where I have an advantage over some people writing about human behavior.

And a disadvantage.

My resume is my EXPERIENCE.

I've been inside behavior most respectable people study from the outside.

But that doesn't automatically make me right.

A con can recognize a con because he knows the tricks.

It takes a Con to know a Con.

But there's a conundrum buried inside that statement that took me decades to appreciate:

Can a con recognize when the other guy isn't a con?

Experience teaches you what to recognize.

Experience can also teach you what you expect to see.

There's a difference.

And somewhere between those two things lies one of the questions that has followed me for most of my life:

How do you know when you KNOW?

I didn't have that question at seventeen.

I just had certainty.

Lots of it.

Life would take care of that.


I went to Vietnam.

I became addicted to heroin.

I committed crimes.

I went to jail.

Then prison.

Then another prison.

City.

County.

State.

Federal.

Maximum security.

Free and on the run.

Caught again.

I spent years of my life living what I would later call being:

Sentenced to Life on the Installment Plan.

I lied.

I manipulated.

I hustled.

I watched other people manipulate.

I learned how institutions worked and how people worked inside institutions.

I learned fear.

I learned bravado.

I learned weakness.

I learned survival.

I learned that the toughest-looking man in the room wasn't necessarily the toughest man in the room.

I learned that victims could become predators.

I learned that predators could think of themselves as victims.

And somewhere underneath all that ugliness, I kept watching.

Anthony was becoming Tony.

Not in spite of what happened.

Because of it.

That's difficult for some people to understand.

Maybe impossible.

Sometimes I think:

If I have to explain it to you...you would never understand.

How do you explain prison to somebody who's never heard that steel door close behind him?

How do you explain addiction to somebody who's never negotiated with himself for one more fix?

How do you explain the thinking of a criminal to somebody who has never had to think like one?

You can describe it.

You can research it.

You can study it.

But living something is different from studying something.

That doesn't make the man who lived it smarter than the man who studied it.

The professor knows things the prisoner doesn't.

But the prisoner knows things the professor doesn't.

Wisdom might begin when both men understand that.


Years later I would develop grander language for all of this.

Human Condition.

Natural Law.

The re-Conditioned Human.

OF THE CENTER.

The Land of More.

The Land of Not Enough.

The Land of Just Enough.

The Power of Certainty.

Manifest Destiny II.

But none of those ideas began as political slogans.

They began with watching people.

And watching myself.

That's why this story has to begin here.

Before the blogs.

Before the radio microphone.

Before the publisher.

Before the businessman.

Before the ExCONservative.

Before Tony started telling everybody else what was wrong with America.

There was Anthony.

A poor Italian kid watching people.

A kid whose mother already knew exactly what kind of son she had.

A seventeen-year-old soldier who thought every experience contained a lesson.

A young man about to spend years learning some of those lessons in the hardest possible way.

And eventually a much older man who would discover that the hardest question wasn't:

What did I learn?

It was:

How do I know that what I learned is true?

I have spent most of my life answering that question.

Sometimes successfully.

Sometimes not.

But one thing has remained constant.

Once I believe I know, I move.

Because certainty without action isn't much of a power at all.

And if experience later proves me wrong?

Then I learned something.

Perfection IS imperfection.

It's how we learn.

So I'll take my chances.

Because after everything I've lived, everything I've screwed up, everything I've survived and everything I've learned, one principle still makes sense to me:

I'd rather be WRONG moving forward...than RIGHT standing still.

That establishes the narrator and the central question without giving away the entire philosophy. Chapter Two should now take us into the life itself—Vietnam, heroin, crime, prison and “Sentenced to Life on the Installment Plan”—and let the reader begin earning the right to understand WHY I KNOW.

Thursday, August 27, 2026

Malcontents...Chip on Shoulder squared by an Axe to Grind....The BIG get even!




Malcontent Democrats: A Chip on the Shoulder and an Axe to Grind — Beware

There is a growing problem when resentment becomes a political identity.

A chip on the shoulder can quickly become an axe to grind. And when the desire to get even replaces the desire to govern fairly, politics becomes less about principles and more about revenge.

My concern is that people who have spent years feeling alienated, rejected, or resentful can sometimes carry those grievances into positions of power. Rather than simply seeking equal treatment under the law, they may seek to rewrite the definition of normal, demand exceptions, and then turn those exceptions into new rules.

That is the danger I see.

The manipulation of fundamentally decent and virtuous people through appeals to “fairness” and “fair play” can be remarkably effective. Americans generally want to be fair. We want to give people an equal opportunity. We want to correct genuine injustice.

And historically, expanding political and civil rights—such as women's suffrage and Black Americans' voting rights—was about extending equal citizenship and constitutional protections.

But here is the question I believe must always be asked:

At what point does equal treatment become something different—where established definitions, institutions, or rules are changed not simply to protect individual liberty, but to compel everyone else to affirm a new ideological standard?

That is where the argument becomes more troubling.

When society begins treating disagreement itself as evidence of hatred or intolerance, the debate is no longer simply about fairness. When long-standing definitions are discarded and dissent is punished, we should ask whether the principle of equal rights has been replaced by a demand for ideological conformity.

“It’s time for us to get even.”

Think about the implications of that mentality.

Getting even is not the same thing as seeking justice.

Justice is supposed to be blind. It applies the same rules regardless of who benefits. Revenge, resentment, envy, and grievance operate differently. They begin with a conclusion—someone owes me something—and then search for political power to enforce it.

And that is why exceptions to the rule can become dangerous when the exceptions eventually redefine the rule itself.

A society committed to constitutional government must be careful about allowing temporary exceptions, emotional grievances, or political pressure to replace enduring principles.

Because eventually, the people demanding special consideration today may be writing the rules tomorrow.

And once in power, the temptation exists to use the same institutions—and even the goodwill—of a tolerant society against those who built and defended that society.

That is what troubles me most.

Goodwill without vigilance can be manipulated.
Fairness without consistent standards can become selective.
Equality before the law can be distorted when different rules are demanded for different groups.

Jealousy, envy, resentment, and an axe to grind are poor foundations upon which to build public policy.

Wednesday, August 26, 2026

chat gpt book in progress