Why Elissa Slotkin’s Threats To Trump Staffers Are Probably Unconstitutional
Sen. Elissa Slotkin's statements not only crossed a line but also make it harder for Congress to defend its oversight powers before the Supreme Court.Before America had a Constitution, it had pulpits.
Pulpits that taught citizens how to think about authority, duty, and the proper limits of government. The ministers later associated with the “Black Robed Regiment” understood that biblical truth must step through the church door. They addressed public questions because they believed theology had consequences for all of life and that pastors had a responsibility not to comfort congregations but to form their biblical worldview.
Critics often accuse pastors of turning biblical issues into political ones. In many cases, the sequence runs the other way.
For most of American history, pastors did not need permission from the state to speak about the moral and political questions confronting their people. They preached about slavery, war, temperance, elections, public officials, religious liberty, and national repentance because they understood the pulpit to be accountable first to God.
The modern expectation that pastors should carefully separate biblical teaching from anything deemed “political” would have been foreign to much of the American church that helped shape this country.
That context is important because the fight over the Johnson Amendment is often framed as though churches are seeking some new political privilege. We are not asking the government to give pastors a new right, but to stop restricting an old one.
The origins of the Johnson Amendment are revealing. In 1954, Sen. Lyndon B. Johnson was facing a primary challenge from Dudley Dougherty, a wealthy young Texas politician whose fierce anti-communism appealed to supporters of Sen. Joseph McCarthy.
Dougherty was hardly a formidable opponent — Johnson defeated him by more than 40 points in the Democratic primary — but he had sympathizers in powerful conservative organizations, including the Committee for Constitutional Government and Facts Forum, a media operation established by Texas oil billionaire H.L. Hunt.
Johnson was particularly concerned about the Committee for Constitutional Government, which had circulated material promoting Dougherty. He asked his staff to investigate whether its activities violated election laws or threatened its federal tax exemption. The answer on the latter question was apparently no.
Johnson was undeterred. Having investigated whether existing law could be used against his political opponents, he now proposed changing the law itself. That July he introduced an amendment to the federal tax code barring tax-exempt charitable organizations from participating in political campaigns. It passed without debate. Churches, which had played no part in Johnson's dispute, were covered by the new restriction.
There was no sweeping national debate about churches corrupting elections. There were no extensive hearings over whether the American pulpit had become dangerously partisan. Johnson claimed to be confronting communist nonprofit organizations, but churches had become a source of political opposition. The law was written broadly enough, encompassing churches; they were heavily affected by its enforcement and soon began receiving letters from the IRS. The restriction ultimately extended far beyond Johnson's immediate political dispute, reaching into the pulpits of American churches for generations.
Today, the Johnson Amendment prohibits 501(c)(3) nonprofit organizations, including churches, from supporting or opposing candidates in political campaigns.
This restriction is at the center of the legal challenge by National Religious Broadcasters. Churches remain free to address public policy issues, including controversial ones, but pastors face restrictions when their speech crosses into supporting or opposing a political candidate. NRB seeks to protect the freedom of churches and their pastors to speak from the pulpit without jeopardizing their tax-exempt status.
The broader concern is what decades of uncertainty, legal caution, and fear of enforcement have produced inside churches themselves: a deep-seated culture of self-censorship.
Critics often accuse pastors of turning biblical issues into political ones. In many cases, the sequence runs the other way. Politicians took questions involving abortion, marriage, sexuality, race, religious liberty, and justice and turned them into partisan battlegrounds.
These were biblical questions long before they were campaign issues.
Politics does not acquire ownership of a moral question merely because politicians begin arguing about it. Scripture had something to say about marriage, government, money, justice, and human dignity long before there were Republicans, Democrats, campaign platforms, or federal agencies. The church does not surrender those subjects when they appear on a ballot.
Perhaps pastors will stop being accused of bringing politics into the pulpit when politicians stop dragging biblical questions into politics.
That does not mean churches should become campaign headquarters. They should not. The pulpit should never become an appendage of either the Republican or Democratic parties. Biblical authority is diminished whenever Scripture is bent to serve political power.
But there is an opposite error: treating “nonpartisanship” as a reason for silence whenever Scripture touches a politically controversial subject.
A pastor should be free to preach biblical truth without compromise and apply it to the real-world questions confronting his congregation. If Scripture challenges the left on abortion, sexuality, family, or religious liberty, he should say so. If it challenges the right, he should say that too. The standard is not partisan usefulness. It is biblical fidelity.
That is why NRB entered the legal challenge to the Johnson Amendment.
The district court dismissed our case on jurisdictional grounds rather than reaching the merits of the constitutional claims. The case is now on appeal. NRB will continue fighting because the government should not stand between a pastor and his responsibility before God.
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But the legal fight only reaches so far.
The First Amendment can protect a pastor’s freedom. It cannot produce courage. A court can remove a restraint, but it cannot make a church recover confidence in the authority of Scripture. NRB can fight for the freedom of the pulpit. Pastors must decide whether they will use it.
That question grows more urgent because Christians are being formed every day by institutions that have no hesitation about preaching their own worldview. Social media, universities, corporations, entertainment, political movements, and influencers constantly catechize Americans about morality.
When churches avoid the same subjects because they have become politically controversial, they do not create neutrality. They simply leave the work of formation to everyone else.
America does not need a more partisan pulpit. It does need a freer and more courageous one.
We are fighting to restore an old right: that of pastors to open the Bible, preach the whole counsel of God, and speak to the life of the nation without first asking the government for permission.
Although unable to void the Second Amendment, Democrats in Washington state appear keen to make it costly and difficult for residents to exercise this unalienable right.
As the result of legislation introduced last year by a Seattle-based Democrat, passed by the state legislature in party-line votes, then ratified by Democrat Gov. Bob Ferguson, Americans in the Evergreen State will soon have to pay for the supposed privilege of shopping for a firearm.
'If you have to ask for permission, it’s not a right.'
House Bill 1163, which Ferguson characterized as a "common sense" reform, created a permit-to-purchase system for firearms in Washington. Starting May 1, 2027, prospective buyers must first obtain a five-year permit through the Washington State Patrol.
In order to secure a permit, applicants must submit personal information including their name, email, phone number, address, driver's license or state ID number, race, and sex to a state firearms background check program, along with a complete set of fingerprints and a recent certificate of completion of a certified firearms safety program or proof of exemption.
Not only must Washington residents jump through these hoops — they must pay to do so.
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According to the Washington State Patrol's "Permit to Purchase Portal," the cost of a new permit — which includes the fingerprint processing fee — is $126. The cost of renewal is $90, and to replace an expired permit is $126.
Costs associated with the firearm training mandated by the permit process are not factored into this total.
It could take up to 30 days for eligible applicants to receive their permit. Individuals who are denied a permit to purchase a weapon will not have these fees refunded.
While the WSP estimated that the program could cost over $20 million in the 2027-2029 budget cycle, a state fiscal analysis suggested that the corresponding fees might offset the cost of implementation during the same period, reported the Washington State Standard.
After Gov. Ferguson gave this shakedown the greenlight, the National Rifle Association Institute for Legislative Action stated that the permit-to-purchase program "establishes an illegal government registry of firearm owners and their personal information." However, the group added that the program "will do nothing to address Washington’s crime problem, but it will make firearm ownership nearly unobtainable, both practically and financially."
Republican state Sen. Phil Fortunato previously emphasized that "this is not just bad policy; it's unconstitutional."
"The government cannot convert a fundamental right into a privilege that must be bought, licensed, and approved by bureaucrats," continued Fortunato. "If you have to ask for permission, it’s not a right."
Franklin County Sheriff Jim Raymond, among the many enduring critics of this program, told the Center Square last month, "I think this is insane."
"It’s another level of control," added the sheriff, who figures the program may ultimately face a legal challenge.
William Kirk, president of Washington Gun Law, suggested to "The Ari Hoffman Show" last month that legal action hasn't been taken because Washington residents must first be impacted by the law. Once it takes effect, he anticipates that legal action will be taken by "some private entity Second Amendment organizations, your Second Amendment Foundations, Gun Owners of America, things like that."
Pierce County Sheriff Keith Swank stated after Ferguson signed H.B. 1163 into law that the program was unconstitutional and his office "will not enforce it."
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When the Walter Reed scandal erupted in 2007, the officers under fire were more than names in a newspaper to me. I knew many of them. I saw their frustration and outrage as they scrambled to address failures some were only then discovering.
My wife, Gracie, and I were at Walter Reed frequently. A bilateral amputee herself, she had been invited to sing and spend time with wounded warriors, particularly women returning from Iraq and Afghanistan with amputations. The military was struggling to care for troops with devastating injuries, many caused by improvised explosive devices.
We cannot turn the page simply because the people responsible do not want us to read it.
Knowing people working there helped me understand the strain. Knowing more wounded were coming helped me understand why the failures could not wait.
The Washington Post exposed serious problems in outpatient conditions and care, including mold, vermin, bureaucratic delays, and wounded soldiers falling through administrative cracks. The reporting was painful for people I knew. It was also necessary.
I discussed the scandal with my father, a retired Navy captain. The military, he explained, survives by folding painful lessons into its policies, procedures, and institutional memory so others do not have to learn them at the same cost.
That is what an after-action review is for: What happened? Why did it happen? What changes now?
The lesson must outlive the embarrassment.
When our leaders and the media lie, conceal, or confidently tell us something that later proves false, they do the heavy lifting for our enemies. How do we defend the country together when we cannot trust the people describing the danger?
Consider the assurances about President Biden’s capacity. In February 2024, press secretary Karine Jean-Pierre said, “He is sharp. He is on top of things.” In March, MSNBC’s Joe Scarborough went much further, calling the sitting president “the best Biden ever” intellectually and analytically.
Then came the June debate and Biden’s withdrawal from the race in July.
The debate did not establish a medical diagnosis. It did demand an explanation from people who had spent months assuring the public that concerns about Biden’s capacity were misplaced.
In May 2025, Scarborough finally said, “I was obviously wrong.” He explained that his confidence came from extended personal encounters with Biden. Then he added that he was not sure what lesson to take from the episode.
That’s precisely the problem.
What evidence did he discount? What did he see that persuaded him? What did others see that contradicted it? What will he do differently next time?
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Those questions belong not only to Scarborough but to every politician, aide, reporter, editor, broadcaster, and institution that gave the public confident assurances. An after-action review cannot end with “I was wrong” any more than it can end with “I meant well.”
The next people relying on you need to know what changed.
The border demands the same accounting. In September 2022, Vice President Kamala Harris said, “The border is secure.” In October 2023, Homeland Security Secretary Alejandro Mayorkas testified that more than 600,000 known “gotaways” had evaded apprehension during that fiscal year.
What did “secure” mean? More important, what evidence would have caused the administration to abandon that description sooner?
An honest accounting must distinguish between what officials got wrong and what they knowingly concealed. That requires records, testimony, names, timelines, and decisions. Citizens should not have to settle for whichever explanation best protects a party, an administration, or a network.
We may expect politicians to lie. That does not excuse them. Nor does it relieve journalists of the obligation to test what politicians say rather than repeat it.
Over 40 years of caregiving, I have had plenty of doctors get things wrong. I understand the reluctance to offer a mea culpa. But I take their advice home and live with the consequences. If we are going to continue together, I need to know how the next decision will be better.
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That was the obligation at Walter Reed. The next wounded soldier needed the previous failure corrected whether anyone responsible felt sorry or not.
“Mistakes were made” leaves the authors conveniently absent. “Turn the page” asks the public to move on while the questions remain unanswered.
We cannot turn the page simply because the people responsible do not want us to read it.
Our enemies benefit from failures we refuse to examine. If those responsible will not come clean, voters should elect people willing to use lawful investigations, public hearings, compelled testimony, and the release of records to establish what happened. Where evidence establishes crimes, pursue prosecution.
But a hearing cannot become the place where accountability goes to die.
The Constitution provides authority. The law provides tools. Voters must supply people willing to use them.
This election, ask candidates whose records they will demand, which decisions they will examine, and whether their own allies will have to answer questions under oath. Anyone can promise to investigate an opponent. The test comes when the evidence reaches a friend.
I owe my preferred candidates and broadcasters that same scrutiny. Excusing them would preserve the very failure I want corrected.
We can disagree on policy and still defend this country shoulder to shoulder. But we cannot make truth optional. Calls for unity ring hollow when the people asking for trust refuse to account for how they broke it.
Our children will inherit whatever we excuse.
Donald Trump is considering a small handful of candidates for “AI czar” — notionally, a Cabinet-level role overseeing the industry, the technology, and something the president is calling, perhaps in the spirit of Space Force, the “AI Force.”
Trump has not specified much beyond that. Nobody rumored to be under consideration seems especially eager for the job.
Perhaps we don’t need someone with the power of a czar to rule AI. Perhaps we need someone with the authority of a saint to counsel us about it.
Plenty of reasons suggest themselves.
Not quite everything is computer. Many crucial components of America’s good working order still require special and undivided attention of their own. Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent is no longer being considered because of the importance of his current role. The logic is arguably the same for White House science and technology adviser Michael Kratsios and other potential candidates.
And, as the untimely demise of Czar Nicholas II and his family at the hands of the communists reminds us, a czar invested with enough power and authority can swiftly become a scapegoat or blood sacrifice of the highest order.
Which brings us to the momentous possibilities unsealed simply by creating a high office called AI czar.
Polls show most Americans think democracy is doing poorly. For a growing share across the political spectrum, that is not necessarily a bad thing.
Two in three respondents say a democratically elected government is highly important to our national identity, a staggering drop from 80% just five years ago. Just shy of half of Americans under 30 say democracy is either not that important to our national identity or not important at all.
Many Americans, of course, remain firmly committed to democracy. That includes plenty who regard it, in Churchill’s famous formulation, as the worst form of government except for all the others.
Abandoning it would also appear to require scrapping the Constitution and repudiating the Declaration of Independence.
However far we have strayed in 250 years from those founding documents, the right to vote and the core freedoms protected by the Bill of Rights still command strong majority support. Plenty of younger Americans are open to rewriting the Constitution, but a national convention for that purpose remains broadly unpopular.
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Then comes the practical problem: Americans cannot remotely agree on who ought to rule them, much less what a formally post-democratic America should look like.
Many people ready to walk away from democracy, or convinced that it is unsalvageable, stop short of demanding regime change when they contemplate the obvious alternative: another, still more horrible civil war.
Now add AI.
Its arrival and incorporation into the highest levels of government under a czar of its own throw our fundamental regime questions into unusually sharp relief.
Many Americans feel viscerally that AI is moving too fast. Many also regard the staggering decline and decay of the past decade-plus as an unacceptable alternative to moving fast.
Yet the people trying to pump the brakes or reverse course command nothing like a popular majority.
Senator Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.) and Rep. Greg Casar (D-Texas) have proposed banning artificial superintelligence, pausing some advanced AI development until a new federal regulator writes safety rules, and imposing penalties of up to 20 years in prison for certain violations.
Whatever one thinks of the underlying risks, that approach is likely to feed a post-democratic counterreaction against efforts to place technological development under increasingly centralized political control.
Meanwhile, much of the AI-safety world gives normal Americans the ick for reasons of its own: the prevalence of nerd-orgy ethics, for one, and the baffling insistence in some quarters that rational thought requires assigning the existence of future shrimp, bugs, or cyborgs moral weight comparable to — or greater than — your own life and the lives of everyone now drawing breath.
For reasons like these, some on the right daydream about an actual Caesar who could, as a last resort, clean America’s house and put it back into fighting trim.
Others imagine something less deliberate: The system collapses under the weight of its dysfunction, a process of elimination begins, and a Caesar-ish figure emerges from the gong show to take control at a stroke.
That “-ish” is important.
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Our circumstances and our talent pool differ so radically from those of the late Roman Republic that betting everything on the miraculous appearance of a Julius or Augustus seems far-fetched.
Even grown in a lab, Czarborg would be only a simulation of the genuine article — more Frankenstein than Constantine.
Speaking of Constantine, the record of Roman caesars, Russian czars, and German kaisers should cure anyone of the idea that concentrated power reliably produces competent or benevolent rule. Plenty of mighty rulers did far more damage to their countries and their people than good.
But Constantine, like Nicholas II, also points toward another category entirely: Caesars and czars can become saints.
Some will object that sainthood is itself a dubious title, especially when bestowed on rulers.
The more interesting difficulty is that genuinely saintly rulers, like genuinely saintly people, are not measured by their ability to deliver merely mortal justice or merely worldly happiness.
Divine justice and divine happiness are different things. Christ’s reception and punishment in Jerusalem should permanently unsettle anyone looking to godly leaders for uncomplicated worldly deliverance.
Which leaves us with the most counterintuitive possibility raised by something as powerful as AI.
Perhaps we do not need someone with the power of a czar to rule it. Perhaps we need someone with the authority of a saint to counsel us about it.