How a McDonald's men's room perfectly captures blue-state decline



This week while dining at a McDonald’s in South Burlington, Vermont, I went to the men's room — and for a split second thought I’d entered a wormhole to the 1990s.

Did you ever go to a dance club that was illuminated by black-light bulbs? You know, the ones that glow purple-blue and make dirt and dandruff stand out like Christmas tree lights on your shirt?

My business partner and I were thrown out of a popular chain music supply store by three stoop-shouldered men in their 20s because we refused to wear masks.

That’s what it looked like. It was so dim I could barely navigate to the sink. I glanced up at the ceiling fixtures and sure enough, the bulbs were all dim blue. Why?

The answer will tell you all you need to know about how far my state has fallen.

Sugar crash

Consider this a companion piece to my recent article about sugar heiress Electra Havemeyer Webb and the priceless collection of American art, architecture, and industry she bequeathed to the people of the Green Mountain State.

I’m sorry to report that Mrs. Webb’s 39-acre park of wonders is an island of civility and charm losing its shoreline to blight, criminality, and despair. The same can be said of the other remaining pockets of old Vermont still hanging on.

At first, that men’s room was more puzzling than depressing. I’ve never seen a McDonald’s with a “sci-fi dystopia” decor before.

Then it hit me: This must be one of the gratingly permanent neurotic hangers-on from the days of COVID. Of course!

If such a conclusion would have never occurred to you, you must live in a red state. Or at least one of the relatively saner blue states of the northern plains.

If so, let me explain what those of us in deep Democrat territory lived through during COVID.

New England breakdown

Here in New England, the entire region went clinically insane. Everything shut down. Elderly men wearing masks outdoors on city streets screamed (yes, vocally screamed), “WHERE’S YOUR MASK?!” at people like me who went barefaced on Main Street in January.

People were thrown out of urgent care waiting rooms for not being vaccinated. A doctor implied she would report me to the state health board because I would not promise her that I would obey the governor’s self-quarantine order simply because I visited my family at Christmas.

My business partner and I were thrown out of a popular chain music supply store by three stoop-shouldered men in their 20s because we refused to wear masks. Then the restaurant across the street threw us out for the same reason, while mothers actually clutched their children to their bosom and stared at us as if we were muggers.

Yes, I know this sounds like something out of “Invasion of the Body Snatchers,” butI’m telling the truth. All of this really happened, and almost everyone went along with it.

Germ warfare

Today, six years later, the neurosis of that era has become the “new normal.” While the incidence has decreased, you still see people every day wearing masks outdoors on the street or alone in their cars. The post office in South Burlington still has not taken down its jury-rigged plexiglass barriers between the counter worker and the customer. The all-caps sign ordering you to STAND HERE is still there.

So naturally I thought the bulbs in the McDonald’s were meant to emit some kind of special germ-killing wavelength. Doesn’t that seem like something the geniuses who came up with all-day face diapers and “six feet apart” would suggest?

I drove 45 minutes home to the outskirts of Montpelier believing I’d figured it out. And then I did a little research.

The dim blue bulbs are not there to banish germs. They are installed to frustrate IV drug users by shining a light that makes it impossible to locate a blue vein under the skin. They are there to stop junkies from making the bathroom their private opium den or — should they overdose — their public deathbed.

“Officials in Philadelphia are handing out blue light bulbs because the glow supposedly masks the blue-tinted lines of veins — making it harder for intravenous drug users to find a vein,” National Public Radio’s Steve Inskeep intoned in 2019. That’s right, a full seven years ago.

You can find quite a bit of mainstream coverage of this phenomenon starting in about 2018. CBS News covered it in 2018, and so did Fortune magazine.

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Electra Havemeyer Webb. Slim Aarons/Getty Images; Background: Shelburne Museum

‘Symbolic violence’

And, from what I can tell, most of the more critical follow-up coverage only second-guessed this “important harm reduction measure” because it might make shooting up drugs more dangerous for the poor junkies. I couldn’t find any coverage that even mentioned the more important effect.

That more important effect is the degradation of civil society for normal, respectable people. The capitulation to the tyranny of junkies, criminals, and vagrants. We are a society that will not say: “No. You cannot make a place like McDonalds, which used to be a treat for children, into a no-go zone that arranges itself around the habits of low-lifes without doing a thing to make children and families feel welcome.”

Look at how an Inverse article criticized the blue lights. The article headline called the practice “symbolic violence.”

“But there are some huge problems with this approach,” author Peter Hess wrote. “Research has shown that drug users will still try to inject drugs in a blue-lit bathroom, even if it means they could accidentally miss their vein, which increases the risk of infection or soft tissue damage.”

Stand and fight

Pardon me for not giving a tinker’s damn if some addict gets soft-tissue damage. I’m part of the majority class of normal, productive citizens. We matter too. It is us and our families who pay the price for this, quite literally through taxes confiscated from us to give “safe injection spaces” for people who ought to be in a psychiatric ward. We’re paying a social and morale tax, too, as the world adds bumper cushions for the worst among us while telling law-abiding people to suck it up or get out.

This dystopia-in-a-bathroom story is just one symptom of an ongoing decline in areas governed by Democrats, progressives, and communists.

Burlington, Vermont, once a glittering city on the shores of Lake Champlain, is losing businesses in the tourist district because the city’s progressive mayor and her city council cry crocodile tears for the “unsheltered” community and refuse to hire enough police to crack down on open prostitution and drug crime.

My town, Montpelier, is barely holding on. The 19th-century Victorian Main Street is still there, but its charm is becoming blurrier and harder to see through the accumulation of graffiti, rutted streets, and open homeless encampments and drug dens in the alleys.

Whenever one writes an article like this, the most common reaction is, “Why don’t you just move, then?” My response: “Why don’t you stand and fight for the town you love?”

The one virtue America lost — and desperately needs back



Faith is everything to me. I believe in Jesus Christ as my personal Savior, and I’m not shy about saying so. Many Americans feel uncomfortable talking about faith, and many others insist religion should stay out of the public square. I disagree. As a Christian, I want more people to know Jesus, who loves them more than they can imagine.

But I also know that people walk different spiritual paths. Some pray differently. Some worship a different god. Others reject religion altogether. America now holds more faith traditions — and more people with no faith — than at any point in our history. That diversity can spark friction, and as politics fills the void left by declining religious belief, many have turned ideological loyalties into a kind of substitute religion.

America’s diversity guarantees disagreement. It always has. But even in conflict, we can find places to unite.

The risk is obvious: These differences can push us toward a breaking point. The warning signs already surround us. In a moment like this, we need grace.

What grace demands

In Christianity, grace is God’s love poured out freely. Eternal life is His gift — not because we earn it or because we are good, but because God is good.

On Earth, grace takes a more practical form. It means giving each other the benefit of the doubt. It means forgiving mistakes. It means choosing generosity instead of suspicion. And it means approaching someone else’s beliefs with curiosity rather than contempt.

For reasons I still struggle to understand, Americans have stopped trying to understand one another.

Last year, I hosted a meeting of community, business, and faith leaders in my hometown of Grand Rapids, Michigan. The agenda was full of topics that normally light a fuse: poverty, economic exclusion, racial tensions. Before we began, I admitted that some of the terms we would use carried heavy baggage and that I might say something imperfectly myself. I asked only one thing: a little grace.

That simple request set the tone for the whole day. People pushed through the hard conversations and started looking for solutions. We found common ground in places no one expected. The debate stayed calm because everyone extended grace before they demanded it.

I wish that spirit were more common today.

Why grace is hard — and necessary

Too many people explode at the first sign of disagreement. They judge others more harshly than they judge themselves. They dismiss someone with a different view as beyond redemption. The unspoken thought is always the same: Why bother? They won’t listen to me, so why should I listen to them?

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Photo by Beata Zawrzel/NurPhoto via Getty Images

It’s a natural impulse, but grace calls us to something higher. It reminds us that the person across from us carries the same human frailties we do.

Grace does not mean surrendering your convictions. It does not ask you to dilute what you believe or pretend serious disagreements don’t matter. It simply asks you to respect the strength of someone else’s convictions, even when you oppose them. It asks you to accept that everyone is imperfect — including you. And because each of us hopes for forgiveness when we stumble, grace asks that we extend that same forgiveness to others.

America’s diversity guarantees disagreement. It always has. But even in conflict, we can find places to unite. Recovering that unity starts with a simple choice: showing each other a little grace.

Martyrs don’t bend the knee — even to the state



In 1535, Saint Thomas More went to his death, not in defiance of his king but in ultimate service to both God and England. His final words — “I die the king’s faithful servant, and God’s first” — captured the essence of true religious liberty: the freedom to fulfill the duty to worship God rightly. As the patron saint of religious liberty, More challenges lawmakers and church leaders to renew their commitment to defending that sacred duty.

To More, religious liberty wasn’t just freedom from state interference. It meant the freedom to obey God, even at the cost of his life. His last declaration made clear that duty to God comes before any loyalty to civil authority. Pope Leo XIII put it plainly in “Immortale Dei”: “We are bound absolutely to worship God in that way which He has shown to be His will.”

When laws hinder the duty to worship God rightly, they chip away at the foundation of religious liberty the founders meant to preserve.

More lived this principle, choosing martyrdom over surrender to the world. His death makes clear that real freedom begins with obedience to God — a truth rooted in the moral obligations of human nature. To defend religious liberty is to affirm the duty to give God the worship He deserves, a duty no earthly power — not even a king — can rightly deny.

America’s founders understood this well. They saw religious liberty not as license, but as the right to fulfill one’s duty to God. James Madison wrote, “It is the duty of every man to render to the Creator such homage and such only as he believes to be acceptable to him. This duty is precedent, both in order of time and in degree of obligation, to the claims of Civil Society.”

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imagedepotpro via iStock/Getty Images

America’s founders drafted the Constitution with the understanding that citizens would practice their religious duties — not as optional acts, but as essential to a free and moral society. As John Adams put it, “Our Constitution was made only for a moral and religious People. It is wholly inadequate to the government of any other.”

That understanding now faces growing threats. When laws hinder the duty to worship God rightly, they chip away at the foundation of religious liberty the founders meant to preserve. Consider the case of Colorado baker Jack Phillips. For refusing to make cakes that violated his faith, Phillips endured more than a decade of legal battles, fines, protests, and business losses. He wasn’t seeking special treatment — he simply wanted to live out his faith. Although the Supreme Court eventually sided with him, the fight drained years of his life and resources. Religious liberty delayed for a decade amounts to religious liberty denied.

True religious freedom, as More and the founders envisioned it, demands strong protections for people and institutions to live out their beliefs in every area of life, not just within a sanctuary or under the narrow shelter of exemptions.

To fulfill the vision of religious liberty embodied by Thomas More and upheld by America’s founders, Americans must renew their commitment to strengthening religious institutions through laws that promote the common good. Elected leaders cannot separate their faith from their public responsibilities. Religious truth shapes just governance.

Having just celebrated Religious Liberty Week, we would do well to recall More’s words: “God’s first.” True religious liberty begins with the duty to worship God as He commands. That duty forms the bedrock of a free and just society.

Protest Is Overrated

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Iran is not the next Iraq War — unless we make the same mistake twice



Is Donald Trump a warmonger? It’s a simple question, and yet an increasingly popular accusation from corners of the political class and commentariat that once saw him as the clearest alternative to globalist foreign adventurism. But such an accusation also defies the record. Whatever else one might say about Trump, he has been — consistently and vocally — against needless foreign entanglements.

To suggest that he has suddenly pivoted toward militarism is to misunderstand either the man himself or the moment we are in. Trump is not easily swayed from his core convictions. Trade protectionism and anti-interventionism have always been part of his political DNA. On tariffs, he is unbending. And when it comes to war, he has long argued that America must stop serving as the world’s policeman.

Is Iran another Iraq, or is it more like Poland in 1980?

So when people today accuse Trump of abandoning his anti-interventionist principles, we must ask: What evidence do we have that he has changed? And if he has, does that mean he was misleading us all along — or is something else happening?

If you’ve lost your trust in him, fine. Fair enough. But then the question becomes: Who do you trust? Who else has stood on stage, risked his life, and remained — at least in conviction — largely unchanged?

I’m not arguing for blind trust. In fact, I strongly advise against it. Reagan had it right when he quoted a Russian proverb during nuclear disarmament talks with the Soviet Union: “Trust, but verify.” Trust must be earned daily — and verified constantly. But trust, or the absence of it, is central to what we’re facing.

Beyond pro- and antiwar

The West is being pulled in two directions: one toward chaos, the other toward renewal. Trust is essential to renewal. Chaos thrives when people lose confidence — in leaders, in systems, in one another.

We are in a moment when clarity is difficult but necessary. And clarity requires asking harder questions than whether someone is “for or against war.”

Too many Americans today fall into four broad categories when it comes to foreign conflict.

First are the trolls — those who aren’t arguing in good faith, but revel in provocation, division, and distrust. Their goal isn’t clarity. It’s chaos.

Second are those who, understandably, want to avoid war but won’t acknowledge the dangers posed by radical Islamist ideology. Out of fear or fatigue, they have chosen willful blindness. This has been a costly mistake in the past.

Third are those who, like me, do not want war but understand that certain ideologies — particularly those of Iran’s theocratic rulers — cannot be ignored or wished away. We study history. We remember 1979. We understand what the “Twelvers” believe.

Twelversare a sect of Shia Islam whose clerics believe the return of the 12th Imam, their messianic figure, can only be ushered in by global conflict and bloodshed. Iran is the only nation in the world to make Twelver Shia its official state religion. The 12th Imam is not a metaphor. It’s doctrine, and it matters.

Finally, there are the hawks. They cheer for conflict. They seek to project American power, often reflexively. And they carry the swagger of certainty, even as history offers them little vindication.

The last few decades have offered sobering lessons. Regime change in Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Syria — none produced flourishing democracies or stable allies. While America is capable of toppling regimes, we’re not so good at manufacturing civil societies. Real liberty requires real leadership on the ground. It requires heroes — people willing to suffer and die not for power, but for principle.

That’s what was missing in Kabul, Baghdad, and Tripoli. We never saw a Washington or a Jefferson emerge. Brave individuals assisted us, but no figures rose to power with whom nations could coalesce.

Is Iran 1980s Poland?

That is why I ask whether Iran is simply the next chapter in a tired and tragic book — or something altogether different.

Is Iran another Iraq? Or is it more like Poland in 1980? It’s not an easy question, but it’s one we must ask.

During the Cold War, we saw what it looked like when people yearned for freedom. In Poland, Hungary, and Czechoslovakia, dissidents risked everything for a chance to escape tyranny. There was a moral clarity. You could hear it in their music, see it in their marches, feel it in the energy that eventually tore down the Berlin Wall.

Is that spirit alive in Iran?

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Alex Wong/Getty Images

We know that millions of Iranians have protested. We know many have disappeared for it. The Persian people are among the best educated in the region. They are culturally rich, historically sophisticated, and far more inclined toward Western ideals than the mullahs who rule them.

But we know Iran’s mullahs are not rational actors.

So again, we must ask: If the people of Iran are capable of throwing off their theocratic oppressors, should the United States support them? If so, how — and what would it cost us?

Ask tougher questions

I am not calling for war. I do not support U.S. military intervention in Iran. But I do support asking better questions. Is it in our national interest to act? Is there a moral imperative we cannot ignore? And do we trust the institutions advising us?

I no longer trust the intelligence agencies. I no longer trust the think tanks that sold us the Iraq War. I certainly don’t trust the foreign policy establishment in Washington that has consistently failed upward.

But I do trust the American people to engage these questions honestly — if they’re willing to think.

I believe we may be entering the first chapter of a final, spiritual conflict — what Scripture calls the last battle. It may take decades to unfold, but the ideological lines are being drawn.

And whether you are for Trump or against him, whether you see Iran as a threat or a distraction, whether you want peace or fear it’s no longer possible — ask the tougher questions.

Because what comes next won’t be determined by slogans. It will be determined by what we truly believe.

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