FDA caution is starting to look like cruelty to sick kids



Biomedical research has produced extraordinary breakthroughs that have saved countless lives. But too many promising drugs now stall in federal review, and children with rare diseases are paying the price.

I’m a bioscientist. My work has focused on how healthy cells function and how that knowledge can be applied to therapeutic enzyme development. I’ve spent my career working inside the disciplines that move a treatment from lab bench to patient: protocol design, reproducibility, evidence standards, and layered human testing to ensure safety.

Is this simply bureaucracy doing what bureaucracy does? Or are rare pediatric therapies effectively facing a higher bar inside the system?

Standards, evidence, and process matter. But so does urgency.

Children with rare diseases do not live on regulatory timelines. They lose function month by month — speech, mobility, independence, even the ability to breathe on their own.

Of the more than 6,800 known rare diseases, about 70% begin in childhood. Better-known examples include Duchenne muscular dystrophy, Gaucher disease, and cystic fibrosis.

Developing therapies for these children is difficult, expensive, and slow even under the best conditions. Treatments such as Ultragenyx’s UX111 for Sanfilippo syndrome, Sarepta’s Elevidys for Duchenne, and Regenxbio’s RGX-121 for Hunter syndrome can take decades to develop, years to move through trials, and still more time to reach the children who need them.

That reality makes avoidable regulatory delay even harder to defend.

Too often, applications do not stall because the underlying science has failed. They stall over manufacturing or procedural concerns — in many cases, issues that are fixable and not directly tied to whether the therapy is clinically helping patients. Those delays can undermine the purpose of the FDA’s accelerated approval pathway, which exists to move critical treatments to patients faster while additional data is collected.

As a scientist, I was particularly troubled by the FDA’s recent rejection of a promising Hunter syndrome treatment and by yet another clinical hold placed on its development despite positive trial results.

That raises an uncomfortable question: Does the review process itself need review?

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Bill Oxford via iStock/Getty Images

The approval path for UX111 is another example. The therapy went through the rigorous biologics license application process, only to be delayed by a manufacturing hold.

Elevidys offers a similarly painful lesson. More than 1,200 Duchenne patients received the treatment over three years. Then, after two non-ambulatory patients (including one with underlying complications) tragically died, the FDA pulled the treatment from all patients, leaving families crushed and panicked.

Children are waiting too long for access to potentially life-changing therapies.

Yes, medical breakthroughs have increased. But so have regulatory burdens tied to approval and release. By the time many of these therapies reach the market, a decade or more has passed. In rare pediatric disease, that delay has a name: time children do not have.

Sometimes, it is their entire lifetime.

Manufacturing processes can be improved. Facilities can be upgraded. Paperwork can be corrected.

Lost neurons and muscle fibers cannot be replaced.

FDA leaders, along with Congress and the White House, should push for a smarter accelerated approval process — one that allows multiple requirements to be addressed simultaneously when appropriate, instead of serially dragging out timelines. If regulatory review had moved more efficiently, the Sanfilippo treatment might have cleared on its original 2025 approval timeline. Duchenne patients might not have lost access to the only available gene therapy. Hunter syndrome patients might not still be waiting.

This debate is not about abandoning safety or efficacy standards.

Ultragenyx has said manufacturing improvements are addressable and not directly related to product quality. Sarepeta responded to FDA concerns over Elevidys by requesting black-box warnings while allowing treatment to continue for ambulatory patients. In the RGX-121 Hunter syndrome case, the FDA rejected the use of a long-accepted biomarker (cerebrospinal fluid) used in the trial.

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These decisions do not help children with rare diseases. Timely, science-based approvals would.

And the stakes go beyond today’s patients. Regulatory efficiency also affects whether companies continue investing in rare-disease therapies at all. Orphan drug development requires major upfront investment, long timelines, and often poor financial returns. In many cases, these programs are closer to philanthropic science than blockbuster pharma economics.

When developers face repeated slowdowns across different diseases, sponsors, and technologies for reasons unrelated to core clinical safety or efficacy, the signal to the market is clear: Don’t take the risk.

That is how innovation gets smothered.

At some point, the pattern at the FDA becomes impossible to ignore. Is this simply bureaucracy doing what bureaucracy does? Or are rare pediatric therapies effectively facing a higher bar inside the system?

Those are scientific and ethical questions that deserve honest answers.

Accelerated approval does not mean lower standards. It means applying standards intelligently. It means allowing earlier access while confirming evidence continues to accumulate. It means recognizing that “wait and see” is not neutral. It is a choice that guarantees disease progression in children who cannot afford delay.

Good science and compassion are not competing values. We can maintain rigor and still act with urgency.

The FDA has the authority. The science is moving. The children cannot wait.

Accelerated approval is not cutting corners. It is using every tool we have to save time families do not have.

How Oklahomans Can Outsmart The Bureaucracy To Require Better History Instruction In Public Schools

Knowledge is not an optional decoration in a democracy. It is the raw material of self-government.

Idaho is deep red. So why do leftist bureaucrats still run the show?



Idaho votes like a conservative juggernaut. Republicans hold the governor’s mansion, both legislative chambers, and every statewide office. Yet the administrative state still runs on autopilot, and progressives who never win at the ballot box keep their hands on levers of power.

Last week delivered a clean example. Estella Zamora, the 72-year-old vice president of the Idaho Human Rights Commission, lost her seat after Gov. Brad Little withdrew her reappointment. Progressive activists erupted. The press corps dutifully framed it as a purge. But the real scandal sits one step earlier: Little’s office initially recommended her for another term, as if nobody bothered to look.

President Trump’s ‘drain the swamp’ mandate doesn’t end at Maryland and Virginia’s borders. It reaches every state capital where permanent bureaucrats ignore the electorate.

That rubber-stamp culture explains how red-state voters keep getting blue-state governance.

Zamora held influence for more than three decades. She didn’t win it from voters. She inherited it from the system. A Democratic governor appointed her in the 1990s. Republican administrations kept renewing her anyway, term after term, until she became another “untouchable” fixture inside Idaho’s bureaucracy.

Only public pressure forced movement. Conservative activists and outlets like the Gem State Chronicle, along with our own program, Idaho Signal, highlighted Zamora’s political activism online. She appeared before the Senate State Affairs Committee on Jan. 28 as part of the reappointment process. Lawmakers asked questions. The public noticed. Little reversed course a few days later.

Little made the right call in the end. The process that led to the near-miss should worry every Idaho voter.

Zamora didn’t simply hold personal opinions. She couldn’t resist using her public platform to attack Immigration and Customs Enforcement, an agency charged with enforcing federal immigration law. Her posts pushed anti-ICE propaganda, circulated protest material, and condemned enforcement operations as “harmful.” She aligned herself with the activist line that treats border enforcement as a moral offense.

Idaho doesn’t need every commissioner to share the governor’s politics. Idaho does need commissioners who can credibly carry out their duties without turning a state post into a political megaphone. A human rights commission depends on public confidence. Activism that signals contempt for lawful enforcement undermines that confidence.

This isn’t a free-speech dispute. Zamora can say whatever she wants as a private citizen. Voters can judge it. Officials must still decide whether that behavior fits a role that demands impartiality and restraint.

Progressives are already shouting “censorship” and “partisan purge.” They’re portraying Zamora as some saintly Latina icon victimized for speaking out. That rhetoric flips the facts. Nobody owes a lifetime appointment to someone who campaigns against the policies Idaho voters repeatedly choose in overwhelming numbers at the ballot box. Public service carries conditions. When the public loses trust, leaders should act.

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Photo by JIM WATSON/AFP via Getty Images

The greater lesson extends beyond Zamora.

Idaho’s bureaucracy keeps reappointing the same figures because too many Republican offices treat commissions and boards as background noise. Staffers recycle names. Vetting becomes procedural. Appointments become habit. Progressives understand this weakness, so they play the long game: They entrench themselves in institutions that outlast elections.

That pattern repeats across the country. Red states elect Republican leaders. Agencies keep advancing progressive priorities through regulation, enforcement discretion, and institutional culture. The left loses elections and wins governance anyway.

Republican governors and legislators can’t keep solving this problem only after activists force their hand. They should audit commissions and boards, review reappointments with real scrutiny, and replace partisan operatives with people who respect the mission and the law without bias and without apology.

President Trump’s “drain the swamp” mandate doesn’t end at the Maryland and Virginia borders. It reaches every state capital where permanent bureaucrats ignore the electorate and treat public posts as ideological turf.

Idaho voters spoke loudly. The administrative state had better listen because we’re just getting started.

'Impossible to deal with': Pete Hegseth reveals the real culprit behind defense contractor delays



War Secretary Pete Hegseth has made it his mission to slash through red tape and streamline defense production. But in order to do that, Hegseth says the Pentagon needs to take a look in the mirror.

Blaze News traveled with Hegseth as he visited defense contractors like Anduril and General Dynamics during his "Arsenal of Freedom" tour Monday, hammering the importance of overcoming burdensome production delays. In order to embolden the hardworking men and women who build America's arsenal, Hegseth told Blaze News the Pentagon needs to take the first step.

'There's mazes of requirements.'

"A lot of the hang-up has been us," Hegseth told Blaze News. "So we've got to look at ourselves first. The way we do business — we've been impossible to deal with."

"A bad customer who, year after year, changes our mind about what we want or what we don't want, and then we make little, small technological changes, which makes it more difficult for them to produce what they need to produce on time. So we have to fix our own house first: provide clarity, simplify the system, allow more people to access it, give that steady demand signal."

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NEW: Hegseth tells me the real reason why there are massive production delays in the defense industry: “A lot of the hang up has been us.”

“The way we do business, we’ve been impossible to deal with.” @theblaze pic.twitter.com/hv87VWMHw6
— Rebeka Zeljko (@rebekazeljko) February 9, 2026

Whether it's building warships or acquiring the latest technologies for autonomous underwater vehicles, Hegseth acknowledged how often these projects often fall far behind schedule and go way over budget. In an attempt to combat this, Hegseth noted several DOW deals with defense companies like Raytheon, Boeing, and Lockheed Martin that facilitate investment because "they know we're going to be buying in the future."

"That's groundbreaking stuff. Our department's never done that. ... That's just good business. We haven't operated ... that way before."

RELATED: Putting God back in 'degraded' US Chaplain Corps: Hegseth axes pagan codes and New Age guides

Over 2,000 workers at General Dynamics cheer “USA” in anticipation of Sec. Hegseth’s arrival. @theblaze

“We build the apex predator.” pic.twitter.com/63v2vvuFHq
— Rebeka Zeljko (@rebekazeljko) February 9, 2026

Like all other government agencies, Hegseth also pointed to bureaucracy and regulations as major hindrances for these defense companies.

"There's mazes of requirements that this department has traditionally put on different systems and platforms that are impossible to navigate, and by the time you navigate them, you're five years behind the actual technology," Hegseth told Blaze News.

"We're going to companies and saying tell us what you can do based on the parameters of what kind of capabilities we're looking for. ... Let's tailor it accordingly."

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Board-certified in what?!



Bureaucracy is where accountability gets diluted and common sense is quietly asked to wait outside for safety reasons.

You can usually spot it by the signs. Laminated, taped, stacked one on top of another, each announcing a rule that probably once made sense

Arrows point in conflicting directions. Doors are locked “temporarily,” which often means indefinitely. A desk sits between you and the thing you actually need, staffed by someone whose job is to make sure you don’t get there the wrong way.

We may not be able to change systems or bureaucrats, but we can change how they hook us into drama.

Hospitals are particularly good at this.

Clipboards multiply. Protocols overlap. Nobody is quite in charge, but everyone is certain about what you’re not allowed to do. Hospitals tend to amplify a familiar human impulse: gathering in herds, exchanging judgment for the illusion of safety.

Caregivers encounter this constantly. Not because we seek it out, but because care requires proximity to systems that prize procedure over discernment. By the time we reach the desk, our tension is already high and our patience nearly gone.

I found myself at a large teaching hospital with my wife, Gracie, as she prepared for a nine-hour surgery. We were staying with friends nearby. She had already been admitted, and the surgeon was clear about where I needed to enter so I could be with her in pre-op before they took her to surgery.

By now, most surgeons recognize that I’m not new to this. Forty years of caregiving tends to cure naïveté. I can follow the jargon, ask informed questions, and handle graphic medical realities without flinching. That familiarity earns a certain trust once you reach pre-op, recovery units, or the ICU.

The problem is getting there.

Between the parking lot and the patient lies a layered world of desks, checkpoints, screens, and policies, staffed by people who don’t know your history and aren’t allowed to consider it.

Which is how I found myself there with Gracie during her surgery, in the middle of COVID, a season I’ve come to think of as the high holy days of bureaucracy.

It was bitterly cold that morning in Denver. Montana cold I can handle. Denver cold is another matter. I had already made the long walk from the parking area to the emergency room and was not eager to be sent back outside to circle the hospital again in the frigid early morning.

At the ER security desk, I gave my wife’s name and said, “I’m here for her operation.”

The guard checked the screen and said, “You have to use the front entrance.”

“It’s closed,” I replied. “The surgeon directed me here.”

“You have to use the front entrance.”

I tried again, slower.

Same result.

So I asked, politely, “Ma’am, where did I lose you?”

She repeated herself.

Years ago, this is where I would have argued. Quoted instructions. Asked for a supervisor. Escalated things just enough to feel righteous while accomplishing nothing and raising my blood pressure.

Decades of caregiving taught me that nothing useful is changed that way.

So instead of arguing, I chose a different response. I met immovable force with irreverent restraint.

Since I have a full head of white hair, and with great hair comes great responsibility, I adopted my best Leslie Nielsen deadpan and said calmly, “Ma’am, I’m board-certified in cranial proctology. They’re waiting for me in pre-op.”

She blinked.

Her eyes widened.

She waved me through.

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Cienples / Getty Images

It later occurred to me that my last name may have served as the exclamation mark on the credentials I had just fabricated. Even nonsense, it seems, benefits from proper punctuation.

I arrived in pre-op on time, smiling to myself.

For the record, cranial proctology is not a recognized medical specialty, except perhaps in Washington, D.C., where demand appears chronic and widespread across multiple government buildings. My services, though sorely needed, remain unofficial.

Caregivers live with enough real emergencies. We don’t need to manufacture new ones by turning every bureaucratic impasse into a confrontation. We may not be able to change systems or bureaucrats, but we can change how they hook us into drama.

Not every obstacle deserves a skirmish. Some require restraint, a straight face, and conserving energy for what actually matters.

A little humor, a lot of deadpan, and the ability to avoid getting pulled into someone else’s craziness go a long way toward living a calmer life as a caregiver.

Maybe I’ll give it a try at the post office next.

Or, God help us all, the TSA.

Who really controls behavioral health care — and why it matters now



Americans seeking mental health or addiction treatment often encounter a system that claims to coordinate care but rarely delivers it quickly. As demand for behavioral health services rises, a basic question deserves a clear answer: Who actually controls behavioral health care in the U.S., and is that control helping or hurting patients in crisis?

When someone finally reaches out for help, he encounters waiting lists, paperwork, and network gaps that push him toward emergency care or no care at all.

Nevada offers a revealing case study. The state’s Department of Health and Human Services certifies programs and distributes federal grants. County and regional commissions convene advisory meetings to reflect local priorities. Medicaid sets reimbursement rates and payment timelines. Managed-care organizations impose prior authorizations that can delay or deny treatment. Each layer is designed to promote accountability. Together, they often produce delays.

The result is not a coordinated system but a fragmented patchwork of public agencies, insurers, and contractors. Federal funding arrives with compliance requirements that consume clinicians’ time. States enact parity laws to ensure mental health and substance abuse treatment is covered like other medical care. Legislatures debate how to curb investor influence over clinical decisions, insisting that licensed professionals — not financial managers — direct care.

These tensions are unfolding as Washington rethinks the structure of federal health policy. The proposed Administration for a Healthy America would consolidate agencies such as the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration into a single entity. Supporters promise efficiency; critics warn that consolidation could slow local responses.

At the state level, the policy picture is equally unsettled. In 2025, lawmakers across the country revised behavioral health statutes with competing priorities: workforce shortages, crisis response systems, parity enforcement, and the elimination of out-of-pocket costs. Some states strengthened insurance mandates. Others reconstructed governance and funding to regain control over fragmented delivery systems.

Federal policy choices loom over the whole picture. Potential Medicaid funding cuts and weaker enforcement of mental health parity threaten access as demand continues to rise. Proposed budget changes could reduce support for community mental health clinics, suicide prevention programs, and substance abuse treatment — services that are often the last line of defense before emergency rooms or jails.

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Shelby Tauber/Bloomberg via Getty Images

Technology adds another complication. States are beginning to regulate artificial intelligence in behavioral health, with some banning AI-driven psychotherapy outright and others exploring guardrails for diagnostic or treatment support tools. These debates reflect a larger concern: the potential for innovation to replace clinicians or create unregulated substitutes for human judgment.

What patients experience is the cumulative effect of misaligned authority. Financial power, regulatory oversight, and clinical delivery point in different directions. When someone finally reaches out for help, he encounters waiting lists, paperwork, and network gaps that push him toward emergency care or no care at all.

Reform should start with three principles. First, policymakers must reduce administrative burdens that trap providers in compliance while patients wait. Second, insurance reforms must deliver real parity in access — not just coverage on paper. Third, oversight should protect quality while allowing local systems to innovate and respond quickly to community needs.

Behavioral health care is not a niche service. It is a public safety imperative and a core function of a serious health system. Until policy shifts its focus from control to care, patients will continue to pay the price.

Justice Jackson Downplays Unelected ‘Experts’ Running The Executive Without Presidential Oversight

Jackson also fearmongered about 'having a president come in and fire all the scientists, and the doctors, and the economists, and the Ph.D.s, and replacing them with loyalists and people who don’t know anything.'

Killing drug ads won’t lower prices — it will kill innovation



The United States is one of the few countries that allows prescription drugmakers to speak directly to patients. That simple fact now fuels political calls to “ban the ads.” But restricting direct-to-consumer advertising would do more than change what runs during football games. It would shrink the flow of information to patients and push our system toward the bureaucratic throttling that has turned other countries into innovation laggards.

Advertising is part of a dynamic market process. Entrepreneurs inform consumers about new products, and when profits are high, firms have every incentive to improve quality and expand access.

The pattern is clear: The more Washington intervenes, the fewer cures Americans get.

New, cheaper treatments need to be brought to consumers’ attention. Otherwise, people stay stuck with older, more expensive options, and competition falters. Banning pharmaceutical advertising would hobble innovative firms whose products are not yet known and leave those seeking medical care less informed.

Critics warn that “a growing proliferation of ads” drives demand for costly treatments, even when less expensive alternatives exist. Yet a recent study in the Journal of Public Economics finds that exposure to pharmaceutical ads increases drug utilization across the board — including cheaper generics and non-advertised medications. In short, advertising pushes people who need care to make better, more informed decisions.

A market-based system rewards risk-taking and innovation. Despite the many flaws in American health care, the United States leads the world in medical breakthroughs — from cancer immunotherapies to vaccines developed in record time. That success wasn’t created by government decree. It came from competition: firms communicating openly about their products, fighting for patients, and reinvesting earnings into the next generation of lifesaving discoveries.

Sure, some regulations are adopted with good intentions. But drug ads are already heavily regulated, and a full ban would create serious unintended consequences — including the unseen cost of innovative drugs that will never reach patients because firms won’t invest in developing treatments they are barred from promoting.

American health care is now regulated to the point of satisfying no one. Patients face rising costs. Physicians navigate a Kafkaesque maze of top-down rules. Taxpayers foot the bill for decisions made by distant bureaucracies. Measures associated with socialized medicine continue creeping into the marketplace.

Price controls in the Inflation Reduction Act are already cutting into pharmaceutical research and development. One study estimates roughly 188 fewer small-molecule treatments in the 20 years after its enactment. The pattern is clear: The more Washington intervenes, the fewer cures Americans get.

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Photo by Andrew Harnik/Getty Images

The answer to the problems in American health care isn’t more government. It’s less. Expected profitability drives investment in biomedical research. Imposing new advertising bans or European-style price controls would mean lower-quality care, higher mortality, and the erosion of America’s leadership in medical innovation.

The United Kingdom offers a warning. Once a global leader, it drove investment offshore through overregulation and rigid price controls. Today, only 37% of new medicines are made fully available for their licensed uses in Britain. Americans spend more, but they also live longer: U.S. cancer patients outlive their European counterparts for a reason.

Discovering new drugs is hard. Every breakthrough begins with the freedom to imagine, to compete, and to communicate. Strip companies of the ability to inform patients, and you strip away the incentive to develop the next cure. Competitive markets — not centralized control — will fuel tomorrow’s medical miracles.

What it really means to be a conservative in America today



Our movement is at a crossroads, and the question before us is simple: What does it mean to be a conservative in America today?

For years, we have been told what we are against — against the left, against wokeism, against decline. But opposition alone does not define a movement, and it certainly does not define a moral vision.

We are not here to cling to the past or wallow in grievance. We are not the movement of rage. We are the movement of reason and hope.

The media, as usual, are eager to supply their own answer. The New York Times recently suggested that Nick Fuentes represents the “future” of conservatism. That’s nonsense — a distortion of both truth and tradition. Fuentes and those like him do not represent American conservatism. They represent its counterfeit.

Real conservatism is not rage. It is reverence. It does not treat the past as a museum, but as a teacher. America’s founders asked us to preserve their principles and improve upon their practice. That means understanding what we are conserving — a living covenant, not a relic.

Conservatism as stewardship

In 2025, conservatism means stewardship — of a nation, a culture, and a moral inheritance too precious to abandon. To conserve is not to freeze history. It is to stand guard over what is essential. We are custodians of an experiment in liberty that rests on the belief that rights come not from kings or Congress, but from the Creator.

That belief built this country. It will be what saves it. The Constitution is a covenant between generations. Conservatism is the duty to keep that covenant alive — to preserve what works, correct what fails, and pass on both wisdom and freedom to those who come next.

Economics, culture, and morality are inseparable. Debt is not only fiscal; it is moral. Spending what belongs to the unborn is theft. Dependence is not compassion; it is weakness parading as virtue. A society that trades responsibility for comfort teaches citizens how to live as slaves.

Freedom without virtue is not freedom; it is chaos. A culture that mocks faith cannot defend liberty, and a nation that rejects truth cannot sustain justice. Conservatism must again become the moral compass of a disoriented people, reminding America that liberty survives only when anchored to virtue.

Rebuilding what is broken

We cannot define ourselves by what we oppose. We must build families, communities, and institutions that endure. Government is broken because education is broken, and education is broken because we abandoned the formation of the mind and the soul. The work ahead is competence, not cynicism.

Conservatives should embrace innovation and technology while rejecting the chaos of Silicon Valley. Progress must not come at the expense of principle. Technology must strengthen people, not replace them. Artificial intelligence should remain a servant, never a master. The true strength of a nation is not measured by data or bureaucracy, but by the quiet webs of family, faith, and service that hold communities together. When Washington falters — and it will — those neighborhoods must stand.

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Lisa Haney via iStock/Getty Images

This is the real work of conservatism: to conserve what is good and true and to reform what has decayed. It is not about slogans; it is about stewardship — the patient labor of building a civilization that remembers what it stands for.

A creed for the rising generation

We are not here to cling to the past or wallow in grievance. We are not the movement of rage. We are the movement of reason and hope.

For the rising generation, conservatism cannot be nostalgia. It must be more than a memory of 9/11 or admiration for a Reagan era they never lived through. Many young Americans did not experience those moments — and they should not have to in order to grasp the lessons they taught and the truths they embodied. The next chapter is not about preserving relics but renewing purpose. It must speak to conviction, not cynicism; to moral clarity, not despair.

Young people are searching for meaning in a culture that mocks truth and empties life of purpose. Conservatism should be the moral compass that reminds them freedom is responsibility and that faith, family, and moral courage remain the surest rebellions against hopelessness.

To be a conservative in 2025 is to defend the enduring principles of American liberty while stewarding the culture, the economy, and the spirit of a free people. It is to stand for truth when truth is unfashionable and to guard moral order when the world celebrates chaos.

We are not merely holding the torch. We are relighting it.

Schumer’s Shutdown Is Empowering Trump To Drain The Swamp

The president’s efforts to shrink the federal workforce have gone into overdrive, and it is all thanks to Democrats in Congress.