Oppression is real. It appears in the blood-soaked pages of history, in the forced servitude of slavery, in gulags, in caste systems, in genocides, and in governments that crush human dignity beneath a boot. Even now, in the modern world, people are being executed for their faith, raped for their ethnicity, and starved for their politics. In places like North Korea, Nigeria, China, and Iran, oppression is not a metaphor. It is a way of life.
As I write this, the Chinese Communist Party is committing genocide against the Uyghur Muslims in Xinjiang. Uyghurs are being imprisoned in reeducation camps, subjected to forced sterilizations, and stripped of their language and religion. In Nigeria, Fulani extremists and Boko Haram continue to massacre Christian communities in a campaign of religious and ethnic cleansing. In Myanmar, the Rohingya Muslim minority has been subjected to mass killings, rape, and displacement by the Burmese military, with more than 700,000 driven into exile. In Sudan, the Darfur conflict has reignited, with Arab militias and government forces slaughtering ethnic Africans. In Ethiopia, the civil war in Tigray involved mass killings, ethnic targeting, and starvation used as a weapon of war. North Korea remains one of the most brutal regimes on Earth, where forced labor, torture, and executions of political dissidents, and sometimes their entire families, are standard state policy.
There are also credible allegations of genocide or ethnic cleansing elsewhere. In the Democratic Republic of the Congo, violence against Tutsi communities continues. In Iran, the Baloch and Kurdish minorities face constant repression, and the Baháʼí religious community endures systematic targeting. In Afghanistan, the Hazara Shia minority is being terrorized and murdered by Sunni extremist groups, including ISIS-K. These atrocities are happening now.
Oppression in the United States was once very real. It was written into law, enforced by violence, and embedded in the culture. Slavery denied millions of people their humanity for generations. After slavery ended, Jim Crow laws enforced segregation, blocked access to education and economic mobility, and legalized second-class citizenship. Lynchings, voter suppression, redlining, and the systemic denial of due process were facts of life for Black Americans well into the twentieth century. Women, too, were denied basic rights, unable to vote, to own property independently, or to pursue most professions. Homosexuality was criminalized, treated as a mental illness, and often punished with imprisonment or institutionalization. These were not vague social dynamics. They were codified forms of oppression, backed by police power and political consensus. The movements that rose to oppose these injustices were necessary, courageous, and morally right.
I supported organizations like the NAACP, the National Organization for Women, and the early gay rights coalitions, in fighting that oppression. These groups stood up when it was dangerous to do so. They organized protests, filed lawsuits, and pressured Congress to change laws that denied people their basic rights. They fought for equality under the law, and for a long time, they were right to do so. Without their efforts, much of the legal and social progress we now take for granted would never have happened. Their victories were real, and their place in American history is deserved. These organizations deserve our praise and gratitude for a job well done.
The problem is not that these movements failed. It’s that they succeeded, and then refused to disband. Instead of declaring victory, they redefined the struggle. In doing so, they traded moral clarity for perpetual relevance.
Today, however, Western activists debate bathroom signage and call it oppression. That disconnect is not merely privileged; it is obscene.
In the United States, the word “oppression” has been twisted. It now refers to the feeling of being offended, to someone forgetting a pronoun, or to one group outperforming another in a standardized test. What once referred to institutionalized brutality has been reduced to the presence of unequal outcomes, regardless of cause.
The Victory That Could Not Be Declared
The civil rights movement achieved its central victories between the mid-1950s and the early 1970s. The Supreme Court’s 1954 decision in Brown v. Board of Education struck down legal segregation in public schools. In 1964, the Civil Rights Act outlawed discrimination in employment, education, and public accommodations. The Voting Rights Act of 1965 ended poll taxes, literacy tests, and other disenfranchisement tactics. The Fair Housing Act of 1968 prohibited discrimination in housing. By the early 1970s, the legal framework of Jim Crow had been dismantled. Black Americans had full legal equality and access to every public institution in the country. These victories were undeniable. At that point, the major civil rights groups had fulfilled their mission. Rather than declare victory and pivot toward building prosperity on the new legal foundation, they chose to shift their definition of oppression. The new claim was not that rights were denied, but that disparities persisted, and those disparities were attributed to invisible, systemic forces that could never be disproven or defeated. In doing so, these organizations converted victory into perpetual struggle and preserved their relevance.
Feminism followed a similar path. The first wave, in the early 20th century, won women the right to vote. The second wave, in the 1960s and 1970s, secured legal equality in employment, education, and marriage. Laws prohibiting gender discrimination were passed. Women entered the workforce in record numbers. Colleges opened to women, and leadership positions became attainable across industries. By the 1980s, women had legal parity and equal access to opportunity. Like the civil rights groups, feminist organizations did not disband. Instead, they moved the goalposts. Third-wave feminism reframed equality as perpetual male aggression, declared traditional femininity oppressive, and cast men as a threat rather than a partner. Fourth-wave feminism erased the biological definition of “woman” altogether by embracing trans ideology that undermined every foundational claim of the movement. Feminism stopped protecting women and began attacking anyone who tried to define what a woman is.
The gay rights movement also won. Homosexuality, once criminalized and pathologized, was first decriminalized, then normalized. By 2015, the Supreme Court had declared same-sex marriage a constitutional right. Anti-discrimination laws covered sexual orientation in employment and housing. Public opinion had shifted. Most Americans no longer cared what consenting adults did in private. The fight was over, and gay Americans had equal legal standing. But the movement did not stop. It evolved into Pride, then into a broader LGBTQ banner that shifted the focus to identity politics, public sexual expression, and eventually to the inclusion of children in sexualized spaces. What began as a fight for privacy became a demand for affirmation. What began as a plea for dignity became a public crusade for cultural dominance. Once again, the definition of oppression was stretched until it had no connection to reality.
Each of these movements won. Then they reinvented the struggle in order to remain funded, powerful, and culturally central. The cost of that reinvention has been the degradation of language, the erosion of unity, and the loss of moral clarity.
Institutional Mission Creep
By the time many civil rights movements achieved their original goals, they had already transformed into corporate-like institutions, complete with headquarters, salaried executives, public relations teams, and political lobbyists. The NAACP reports more than $39 million in annual revenue, with dozens of chapters and over 150 full-time staff. The National Organization for Women, though smaller, brings in more than $6 million per year and operates through a national board, paid leadership, and regional affiliates. The Human Rights Campaign, the largest LGBTQ advocacy group, reports $48 million in annual revenue and employs more than 200 full-time staff. These organizations no longer resemble grassroots coalitions. They are multimillion-dollar operations with fundraising machines, professional infrastructures, and entrenched ideological agendas.
They became permanent institutions with boards, budgets, and payrolls. In order to justify their continued existence, they needed a continuing crisis. When none remained, they created one. The word “oppression” was stretched beyond recognition, not to fight injustice, but to preserve relevance. The institutions that once fought real oppression have become the biggest abusers of the term.
My background is in IT and Lean Manufacturing, and I can say with certainty that when a company’s product is no longer relevant, it must either pivot or shut down. The same is true in any industry. The difference is that this particular industry does not make tangible goods. It manufactures narrative.
The modern grievance ecosystem is a network of advocacy organizations built around race, gender, and identity. The NAACP earns about $39 million per year. Color of Change brings in roughly $40 million. The Black Lives Matter Global Network Foundation raised $90 million in 2020 and continues to receive tens of millions annually. The Southern Poverty Law Center operates with a $130 million yearly budget and holds more than $700 million in assets.
On the gender front, the National Organization for Women reports $6 million annually. The Ms. Foundation and UltraViolet bring in millions more. In the LGBTQ space, the Human Rights Campaign earns $48 million per year, GLAAD brings in $20 million, and the Trevor Project receives more than $50 million, with dozens of smaller trans-focused groups contributing another $50 to $100 million combined.
LGBTQ advocacy organizations alone likely control between $300 and $400 million per year. This does not include university and corporate diversity, equity, and inclusion programs, which represent another major front in the grievance industry. Harvard’s diversity office alone spends millions each year. Across the United States, DEI efforts at universities are estimated to cost more than $500 million annually. In total, a conservative estimate places the value of this industry between $1.2 and $1.5 billion per year.
Planned Parenthood, which markets itself as a women’s rights organization, brings in nearly $2 billion annually on its own. These organizations are not declining. They are growing. They cannot afford to declare victory. Their survival depends on the belief that oppression is permanent, expansive, and escalating.
The moment we admit that we are equal, the need for these institutions disappears.
They do not sell products. They sell narrative. The narrative they sell is that the United States is an oppressive country that still needs them and, more to the point, still needs to fund them.
What follows is a postmortem on how a righteous cause became a self-serving machine, and how the language of justice was turned into the language of power.
Feminism: From Equal Rights to Erasing Women
I was born in 1971 to public school teachers. As a young child, it seemed odd that my mother worked while most of the other moms in our neighborhood stayed home, but by 1980, lots of moms worked. That change was not just cultural. It was economic. Women entered the workforce in large numbers throughout the 1970s, and while that shift is often credited to feminism, it had more to do with survival.
When President Nixon took the United States off the gold standard in 1970, the dollar lost its anchor and began to erode rapidly. In 1970, gold was $35.96 per ounce; by 1980, it had soared to $614.75. Gold didn’t change. Its stability revealed how much the dollar had collapsed. The dollar’s spending power dropped 17-fold in a single decade.
During that same period, median household income rose from $9,870 to $21,020, just over twice as much, even as many households added a second income. In other words, families were earning twice the dollars, but each dollar was worth a fraction of what it once was. In real terms, they earned just one-eighth of what they had a decade earlier.
Families weren’t gaining freedom. They were losing ground. Women entered the workforce not in pursuit of liberation, but because survival demanded it.
This reality is often ignored in conversations about feminism. We are told that women rose up to liberate themselves from traditional roles, but the truth is that those roles had been shaped by millennia of hardship. For most of human history, the world was a dangerous place. Life was brutal, short, and unforgiving. Men and women had to cooperate to survive, and they evolved into roles that reflected that need. Someone had to hunt and fight. Someone had to stay with the children. The ability for men and women to live outside those roles is a modern luxury made possible only by technologies that did not exist for most of history.
There was resistance to cultural change, of course, but survival has a way of softening resistance. As prices rose and single incomes could no longer support families, two-income households became the norm. That transition was not driven by ideology. It was driven by inflation.
By the time I entered fourth grade in 1980, actual sexism – the kind that said women were inferior or should not be allowed to work – was already fading. By the late 1980s, in Kalamazoo, Michigan, nobody cared what color someone was, and aside from the world of dating, nobody cared what sex someone was either. Racism and sexism were both dying, at least in Kalamazoo.
The gender pay gap is widely cited but frequently misunderstood. Raw averages show that women earn less than men, but these figures fail to account for key variables such as hours worked, career field, experience, and family choices. When these factors are controlled for, the gap narrows significantly or disappears altogether.
As economist Thomas Sowell has long pointed out, much of the wage gap can be explained not by discrimination, but by differences in choices, and particularly choices surrounding marriage and childrearing.
In Economic Facts and Fallacies, Sowell notes that among never-married, childless men and women working full time, women often earn more than men in the same roles. This is supported by a 2023 American Enterprise Institute (AEI) report analyzing U.S. Census Bureau data, which found that among full-time, never-married workers aged 22–30, women earned 102 percent of what men earned in urban areas (AEI, 2023). Similarly, a 2019 Pew Research Center report observed that women under 30 now out-earn men in 22 major U.S. cities. That trend makes sense. Women are now more likely than men to earn college degrees, and when their careers are not interrupted by family commitments, their earnings potential equals or exceeds that of their male peers. In other words, the oft-cited gender pay gap says more about life choices than it does about bias.
Sowell’s data on this goes back to 1971, showing that even before women entered the workforce in large numbers, the few who were working were paid comparably to men, once such factors were taken into account.
Feminism, as a practical movement for legal equality, had completed its mission. First-wave feminism had fought for suffrage and won. Second-wave feminism had fought for equality in the workplace and in marriage, and by economic necessity, it had succeeded. By the 1980s, women could vote, work, own property, get a divorce, and rise through the ranks of virtually any institution in the country. In many fields, they already had. These were real victories, and they deserved to be celebrated, but the organizations that fought for it were too large and too well funded to celebrate and dissolve.
But feminism did not end. Third-wave feminism emerged in the 1990s with a very different tone. It was not about opportunity. It was about grievance. Men were no longer seen as partners. They were treated as problems. Masculinity itself was rebranded as toxic. Biological sex differences, once acknowledged as obvious and natural, were reframed as social constructs invented to oppress women. Equality was no longer the goal. Resentment was. The movement, having run out of obstacles, turned on the very people who had once supported it.
Fourth-wave feminism pushed this even further. It abandoned women entirely to embrace a transgender ideology that denies the reality of biological sex. It became controversial to say that women’s sports should be for women. It became bigoted to say that only women can give birth. Feminism, which once fought to protect and empower women, began attacking anyone who tried to define what a woman is. It no longer sought equality. It demanded ideological submission.
We often treat identity groups as unified blocs, but real people do not operate that way. A Survey Center on American Life poll found that 58 percent of American women do not consider themselves feminists. A February 2023 Kaiser Family Foundation–Washington Post survey found that 31 percent of trans-identifying adults oppose puberty blockers for minors. The notion that it is possible to speak for an entire group with a single voice is absurd.
But there are organizations that claim to do just that. While their efforts were once noble, what they give us today is not progress. It is betrayal. Feminism became the very thing it once opposed, policing thought, punishing dissent, and tearing down the natural differences between men and women that enable ongoing human survival.
The NAACP: From Civil Rights to Racial Revenge
I said earlier that we have made progress on racism, and I stand by that, but racism differs from sexism in an important way. As sexism declined, women not only achieved legal equality but also gained parity in opportunity. That has not been true in the case of race. Detroit, for example, still has the worst public schools in the country and remains predominantly Black. Most inner cities are largely minority, whereas most suburbs are not.
The impact of racism endures, even as racism itself has largely withered away.
The NAACP was founded to secure equal treatment under the law. It fought against segregation, lynching, voter suppression, and housing discrimination, and by the 1970s, many of those battles had been won. The Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act had changed the legal landscape.
But the organization did not close its doors. It pivoted. Rather than fighting legal injustice, it began fighting statistical disparities. Rather than addressing root causes, it blamed every inequality on racism.
The turning point came when the NAACP adopted an adversarial posture toward police. Crime was no longer the problem. Law enforcement was. Terms like “mass incarceration” and “systemic racism” replaced earlier civil rights language. Nuance disappeared.
The modern civil rights movement began to excuse or ignore violence within Black communities, while vilifying those tasked with protecting them. Racism was redefined. It no longer meant unequal treatment. It meant disagreement with the narrative.
Today, the NAACP defends discrimination, so long as it targets the “privileged.” It supports race-based hiring and admissions policies that openly violate the principle of equal treatment. In doing so, it has embraced the logic of Jim Crow, but in reverse.
Ironically, in defending race-based policy, the NAACP has championed the very economic disparities it claims to oppose.
The organization was an early supporter of the War on Poverty, which it saw as a natural extension of the civil rights movement. When President Johnson launched the Great Society in 1964, the NAACP aligned itself with his vision. Legal barriers were gone, but poverty remained, especially in Black communities. Civil rights leaders believed that solving inequality required direct government action in housing, education, employment, and welfare.
At the time, this seemed both just and necessary.
But the War on Poverty produced exactly the results Milton Friedman had predicted. In his analysis of welfare programs, Friedman warned that subsidizing non-work would weaken families, create long-term dependence, and stifle mobility.
He was right. Within a decade, marriage rates among Black Americans began to fall. Out-of-wedlock births soared. Intergenerational poverty became the norm. In 1965, Daniel Patrick Moynihan published The Negro Family: The Case for National Action, warning that family breakdown would derail all other progress. His report was ridiculed, but his predictions came true.
Rather than empowering communities, the War on Poverty built bureaucracies that depended on failure. Many programs penalized marriage, rewarded absent fathers, and sidelined churches, extended families, and local institutions. Government oversight replaced organic support.
The NAACP, which backed these programs from the start, became entangled in a federal system that managed poverty instead of lifting people out of it.
This was not the liberation the civil rights generation had envisioned. It was a slow erosion of community, family, and agency. The mistake was not in supporting the War on Poverty initially. The mistake was refusing to abandon it when the damage became clear. The NAACP still refuses to change course.
Pride: From Privacy to Predation
As recently as the 1980s, being gay could cost you your job, your family, or even your safety. Many Americans lived in fear of being outed, and for good reason. Gay men were mocked in pop culture, denied equal protection under the law, and frequently subjected to violence.
When I was in high school, gay slurs were not just aimed at gay students, but thrown casually at anyone who dropped a pass in a lunch time football game. The concept of being gay itself was considered an insult. The few openly gay boys at school were bullied relentlessly, and sometimes even harassed by school officials.
The onset of the AIDS crisis only deepened the stigma. Rather than prompting compassion, it became a pretext for further marginalization. Gay men were not only blamed for the disease, but treated as though their lives were worth less.
In that climate, the gay rights movement emerged not as a demand for dominance, but as a plea for basic decency. Its goals were privacy, dignity, and protection from discrimination.
Those goals were largely achieved. Gay marriage is now legal. Anti-discrimination laws are widespread. Most Americans no longer care who someone loves, as long as it is private and consensual. The right to be left alone, which had once seemed so far away, was won.
But the Pride movement did not stop. Rather than folding after achieving its core objectives, it rebranded and expanded. It left the courtroom and entered the classroom. It went from defending the rights of adults to reshaping the experiences of children.
Parades that once symbolized inclusion now feature overt sexual displays. Drag shows, bondage gear, and explicit performances are presented as family-friendly. Children are brought to events that blur the line between affirmation and indoctrination, and to object is to be called a bigot.
The movement that once fought to be left alone now demands to be celebrated. It no longer asks for tolerance. It insists on submission. Schools teach young children about gender identity and sexual orientation, often without parental consent. In some districts, parents are not even informed when their children begin identifying differently at school.
What began as a plea for compassion has become an engine of coercion. Pride, in its current form, no longer seeks to protect the vulnerable. It uses vulnerable individuals to shield itself from criticism. It has become a political force that manipulates language, weaponizes identity, and silences dissent.
There is another issue the Pride movement faces, and one it rarely acknowledges. Homosexuality is viewed as sinful in every major religion. This presents a challenge to both sides. For religious institutions, it makes attracting younger, more tolerant audiences harder. For the Pride movement, it raises a contradiction it cannot explain. While it platforms itself against any view that considers homosexual acts sinful, it simultaneously embraces the one major religion that still prescribes death for those acts.
Judaism also once called for homosexuality to be punished by death, but in practice, it never enforced that penalty, even in antiquity. Christianity teaches that homosexual acts are sinful, but leaves judgment to God. Paul discouraged the behavior but did not call for punishment.
Islam, however, still includes clerical and governmental calls for execution, and in some countries, those punishments are carried out. That Pride aligns with the only major religion that still executes homosexuals is so incongruent that it borders on parody. It would make more sense as a Monty Python sketch if the stakes were not so high.
And to march in front of children in bondage gear is offensive to every religious person on the planet. Heterosexuals don’t celebrate their sex lives in public, understanding that some level of restraint is necessary.
As a Christian, I hold the traditional view that homosexual acts are sinful. But we are all sinners, and Christ commanded us not to judge. If you are gay, my message is simple: you are many things beyond your sexuality, and I want you to be my brother or sister in Christ. The same redemption Christ offers to me is offered to you as well.
The Trivialization of Real Oppression
History is full of real oppression, which is why claiming that discomfort or offense constitutes oppression is itself offensive.
Oppression is neither a feeling nor a metaphor. It is not the experience of being disagreed with or denied special treatment. Real oppression is violence and coercion, enforced through fear, often by the state or with the support of a mob. It means being treated as subhuman and losing your livelihood, your family, or your life, not because of anything you did, but because of who you are. It means being told what you can say, where you can go, what you can believe, and who you can be, under threat of imprisonment, torture, or death.
It is against that reality that the modern American definition of oppression must be judged. And when we judge it honestly, it collapses.
Today, the word ‘oppression’ has been reduced to a buzzword. It is used the way “alignment” is used in corporate boardrooms: vaguely, performatively, and often with no clear meaning.
Oppression now means being uncomfortable. It means being criticized. It means being expected to compete without preferential treatment, or to live in a society where your emotions are not automatically affirmed as truth.
True oppression does not give people the freedom to display such open narcissism.
This trivialization is not just misguided, but morally offensive. Equating a lack of affirmation with violence insults every person who has endured real brutality, hijacking the moral authority of past victims to elevate personal grievances, and turning the language of survival into a prop for political theater.
Oppression is not someone failing to use your preferred pronouns. It is not the presence of a book that contradicts your worldview. It is not a professor who challenges your identity. These are not acts of injustice, but are the costs of living in a free society. These costs are the very conditions that make genuine civil rights movements possible.
Claiming the mantle of the oppressed has become a shortcut to cultural power, granting instant moral authority without requiring courage, sacrifice, or integrity. It allows people to posture as virtuous simply for existing, while branding those who disagree as evil. But moral authority that is unearned is easily abused.
The deeper danger is not only that the meaning of oppression has been diluted, but that it has been weaponized. When disagreement is redefined as hate, the foundations of free society begin to crack. Citizens stop engaging in honest debate and instead divide into rival tribes, each locked in a struggle for victimhood and supremacy.
Worse still, by believing oppression is everywhere within the United States (or more broadly, the Western World), we give useful propaganda for countries like China that are truly oppressing their people, such that our moral authority is lost on the world stage. This threatens to weaken global movements that fight actual oppression.
Nor does the veil of oppression honor ancestors who suffered actual oppression. Claiming to suffer that harm as a generational inheritance downplays the actual oppression that really is a part of America’s past.
Real oppression leaves scars: broken bodies, orphaned children, and buried names. To use the same word for being excluded from a college seminar or offended by a podcast is not to elevate the oppressed. It is to mock them.
We owe more to history, and far more still to those living under real tyranny, in places where the word ‘freedom’ has no meaning at all.
Identity Politics: The New Social Caste System
History is full of real oppression, which is why equating discomfort or offense with oppression is deeply offensive.
Measured against that standard, the way Americans use the word oppression today does not hold up. It has become a buzzword, tossed around in the same vague and performative way corporate executives talk about “alignment.” The word has lost its weight.
In modern usage, oppression often means being criticized, facing fair competition, or living in a world where your emotions are not automatically treated as sacred truths. It means being uncomfortable, and for some, that’s enough to claim victimhood. But genuine oppression does not allow people the freedom to parade their narcissism without consequence.
That kind of trivialization is not just inaccurate; it is morally offensive. To equate a lack of affirmation with violence is to insult everyone who has lived through actual brutality, hijacking the moral authority earned through suffering and turning it into performance. Survival language becomes theater.
Refusing to use someone’s preferred pronouns is not oppression. Neither is the presence of a book that challenges your worldview. A professor who questions your self-perception is not an agent of harm. These are not injustices. They are the friction points of liberty, and they are the same conditions that make real civil rights progress possible.
In recent years, claiming the identity of the oppressed has become a shortcut to cultural power. It grants instant moral authority without requiring courage, sacrifice, or principle. It allows people to present themselves as virtuous simply for existing, while branding any dissent as evil.
But moral authority that has not been earned is easy to abuse.
There is a deeper danger as well. When disagreement is labeled hate, the foundation of a free society begins to fracture. Honest debate gives way to tribal conflict. Competing claims to victimhood become the new currency, and no one trusts anyone outside their faction.
Worse still, when Americans convince themselves that oppression exists everywhere at home, they lose the ability to recognize where it actually does exist abroad. That undermines our credibility on the world stage. Countries like China, Iran, and North Korea are quick to use our rhetoric against us, even as they commit atrocities. By trivializing oppression, we strengthen regimes that practice it.
Real oppression leaves scars on bodies, on families, and on history. It creates orphaned children and graves with no names. To use the same word for being excluded from a college seminar or offended by a podcast is not an act of solidarity, but of mockery.
We owe history better. And we owe far more to the people who still live under real tyranny, in places where freedom is not just misunderstood, but nonexistent.
Conclusion: Reclaiming the Language of Justice
Oppression is not discomfort or disagreement. It is not inequality of outcomes or simply being told no.
Oppression is slavery, starvation, terror, and silence enforced by threat of death. It is not a metaphor. It is reality in many parts of the world – but it is not reality here.
Actual oppression deserves a word that has not been hollowed out and corrupted.
The shift from demanding equal treatment under the law to demanding unquestioned belief in subjective narratives marked a deeper transformation. Justice had once meant neutrality, fairness, and rights applied equally. Now it means ideological alignment, emotional validation, and loyalty to a cause.
The movements that once fought oppression have become the loudest voices calling for new forms of it. They have replaced the rule of law with the rule of narrative and have replaced moral clarity with moral opportunism.
The greatest tragedy is not just the corruption of our institutions, but the cost to the people who trusted them. Young men and women, hungry for meaning, are taught to build their identities around wounds they did not choose and grievances they do not understand. Children are told they were born wrong, students are rewarded for outrage instead of excellence, and entire generations are trained to see themselves not as agents of change but as permanent victims in need of protection. These movements do not liberate. They disorient. They leave people stranded in identities that offer no path forward—only demands, dependencies, and despair.
We do not need outdated organizations pretending the United States has made no progress toward being more inclusive within our ‘more perfect union.’ What we need is to recognize that our union’s values are as close to perfection as any nation has ever achieved, even if we have historically failed to apply those values universally.
The job at home is to embrace our God given liberty such that we can have a nation where everyone is free to live however they wish unless they infringe the rights of others.
We want a meritocracy where nobody is held back by artificial barriers, regardless of how they may love or what they may look like.
We also have to recognize that the freedom to live that way includes the freedom to disagree, even when done in abhorrent language.
Justice without truth becomes tyranny. If we cannot tell the difference, we will soon become what we once opposed.
The way to handle bigots is not to shut them down, but to deny them an audience by refusing to listen. If we can regain our own moral authority at home while preserving our liberty, we can work together to fight oppression abroad.
