So, Here We Are… June 15 - 24

The week of June 15 through June 21 didn’t pass … it scorched. It didn’t whisper history … it screamed it. It was a week of blood and bluster, of flags flapping like warnings, of thunderclouds rolling over a country that can no longer pretend it isn’t at war.

There were parades, barbecues, and distractions. But beneath that surface — beneath the heat and the headlines — the soul of the country cracked a little more.

The Illusion of Calm

Inflation cooled, they said. The Fed held the line, they cheered. But in real kitchens and real bank accounts, things still didn’t add up. Eggs still cost too much. Rent climbed another rung up the ladder to nowhere. Small businesses closed. First-time homebuyers stayed home. And in the corners of the nation where hope used to grow like kudzu — all that’s left is dust and a working truck.

The administration called it resilience. The people called it what it was … survival.

The Machinery of Cruelty

In Arizona, the legislature banned all discussions of gender identity from classrooms through 12th grade. In Alabama, teachers were told to report students for asking about race. In Texas, a bill advanced that would make parents criminally liable for allowing their trans kids to access medical care.

This isn’t governance. This is erasure.

Meanwhile, a record number of rural hospitals closed their doors permanently this week. Not because they weren’t needed — but because they weren’t profitable. Pregnant women in Appalachia now drive two hours for a sonogram. Diabetics in Mississippi ration insulin. The American heartland is hemorrhaging — and the people in charge are buying new pens to sign more bills to make it worse.

Trump’s Shadow and the Sound of Boots

Donald Trump stood on a stage in Las Vegas and declared that the media was an enemy occupation force. That was the quote. And behind him stood generals. Real ones. Not props.

He said if he returns to office, he will purge the government and remake it in his image. He said there will be loyalty tests. There will be consequences.

And the crowd cheered. They cheered like Rome cheered for the lion.

But nothing … not even that … could compete with what we did on the other side of the world.

This week, the United States entered open war with Iran. After a series of escalating tit-for-tat strikes between Israel and Tehran, Trump ordered full U.S. military involvement. We launched coordinated missile and drone attacks on Iranian nuclear and military infrastructure.

Fordow. Esfahan. Natanz. Cities known best by the people who live in them … now flattened by names on a Pentagon screen.

And Iran responded.

The president called the strikes “spectacular.” He said the war was “necessary.”

But it wasn’t.

This wasn’t a war of last resort. This wasn’t even retaliation. This was a decision … made in rooms of men who will never bleed for it. Who will never bury their children for it. Who will never lie awake at night and wonder if a loved one’s body will be returned in a box or simply marked missing.

This was a campaign move. A flex. A show of strength by a man who confuses chaos for control.

The Cost of Fire

Tehran burns. So does Tel Aviv. So do the quiet in thousands of homes where parents sit their children down and try to explain what happens now.

And in all of this … there is no strategy. No clear path. No endgame.

We will spend billions. We will send thousands. We will lose young men and women whose names won’t be known to the donors or the think tanks. And when the last boot leaves the last burning outpost … if it ever does … the world will not be better. Only bloodier.

And Yet …

The Resistance Remains …

Americans marched last weekend under the banner of “No Kings.” They marched in cities and towns, across parks and overpasses. They sang. They mourned. They called for peace, for decency, for a nation that doesn’t default to war every time a president gets insecure.

They said: not in our name.

Today we say … we remember Iraq. We remember Afghanistan. We remember the coffins. We remember the lies.

Final Words: If This Is War, Let It Be Witnessed

So here we are.

At war again. Led by the same machine. Told the same lies. Fed the same slogans.

But this time — don’t look away.

Look straight at it. At the fathers who won’t come home. At the children who will lose their limbs. At the buildings turned to dust. At the press releases soaked in cowardice. At the senators who stood silent while a world caught fire.

And then do what they never expect us to do.

Feel it.

Feel every ounce of rage, sorrow, love, and clarity that lives in the corners of your soul. And don’t let them take that from you.

We are not helpless. We are not voiceless. We are not gone.

We are witnesses.

And we will not forget what they did.

Pass the flame. Hold your people.

And pray for peace … louder than they can scream for war.