Robert Bruce Adolph

We became the heirs of liberty who preached equality while conquering, cleansing, and corralling a people we called “savages,” and the question still hangs in the air: will we learn from that betrayal—or repeat it?

On that summer afternoon by the Rhine, I realized with chilling clarity how deeply the lies of a dictator could root themselves in a human soul, surviving long after his empire lay in ruins.

If we continue down this path of political hatred and violence, the greatest danger to America will not come from abroad, but from within our own divided house.

Donald Trump has shown, through both incompetence and a profound lack of empathy, that he is fundamentally incapable of providing the leadership our Armed Forces and nation deserve.

I climbed the stairs with my heart hammering, every step a reminder that being unarmed in a gunfight is a special kind of helpless.

America’s elites dodge war’s costs while embracing endless militarism, leaving ordinary families to bear the burden of sacrifice.

I came home from Bucha with the faces of the dead fixed in my mind and a single, stubborn question riding shotgun: how do we make Putin and his enablers answer for what they did?

I warned them it was only a matter of time before we were attacked—but nobody listened, and twenty-two people paid the price.

Having walked the dusty camps of Gaza and the corridors of Israeli power alike, one can conclude that this conflict isn’t about religion—it’s about land, politics, and the human cost of indifference.

Mines don’t care if the war is over—they wait, hidden and patient, to turn a child’s step or a farmer’s plow into another casualty long after the ceasefire is signed.

The war in Afghanistan wasn’t lost in the dust of Helmand or the peaks of Kunar—it was fumbled in the Oval Office by a president who mistook nation-building for strategy and arrogance for resolve.

Drones aren’t the future of warfare—they’re the present, and anyone not paying attention is already a step behind.