Trump’s border strategy exposes myths about posse comitatus



Our military was not built for urban renewal projects in Kabul or to referee Sunni versus Shia conflicts in Baghdad. Its primary purpose is to protect our country from foreign invaders. If the military cannot be deployed to address the millions of people strategically funneled into the country by ruthless drug cartels — cartels that are killing hundreds of thousands of Americans with fentanyl — then what purpose does it serve? The fact that these individuals do not remain near the border does not transform mass removals into a domestic law enforcement issue; it remains a matter of national defense.

Many in the media shout, “Posse comitatus!” as if invoking it magically prohibits the military from addressing the invasion, attempting to sound legally astute. Some Republicans, such as libertarian-leaning Rand Paul of Kentucky, express concern over the “optics” of using the military for mass deportations. While cutting off employment and benefit incentives would likely eliminate the need for mass deportations by encouraging many to leave on their own, we cannot legally preclude the military’s use based on a flawed interpretation of the law.

Prudence or 'optics' should not mislead us into spreading misinformation about the legal authority we must preserve.

Ulysses S. Grant signed the 1878 Posse Comitatus Act to prevent the military from enforcing domestic Reconstruction-era laws against American citizens in the South without explicit authorization from Congress. But repelling an invasion at the border — or within the nation’s interior — is precisely the kind of mission our founders envisioned for the military. Article IV, Section 4 of the Constitution obliges the federal government to protect states against invasion. We owe this to border states like Arizona and Texas, as well as every state impacted by illegal migration.

Article IV, Section 4 should serve as the constitutional exception to the Posse Comitatus Act prohibition on military enforcement. The Constitution itself expressly authorizes federal action to secure the nation from invasion, making this a legitimate use of the military in the face of an ongoing crisis.

Even without the constitutional provision, the law itself only prohibits the military from enforcing domestic laws targeting Americans, such as tax laws or traffic regulations, under the direction of local marshals. This prohibition stems from the term “posse comitatus,” which means “the power of the county.” The 1878 law prevents the military from acting as reinforcements to enforce local laws under the authority of a county sheriff.

The act responded to Attorney General Caleb Cushing’s 1854 opinion during the “Bleeding Kansas” conflict, which held that “every person in the district or county above the age of fifteen years,” including “militia, soldiers, marines,” was part of the posse comitatus and subject to the sheriff or marshal’s commands. As the Congressional Research Service notes, Congress was alarmed by this precedent even before 1878 and attempted to restrict it through an Army appropriations bill, prohibiting the use of the military to enforce territorial law in Kansas.

Under Trump’s proposed plan, however, the military would focus solely on those who invaded the country and enforce national sovereignty laws. Just as states can declare an invasion, the federal government has the authority to treat the 10-million-man border incursion as an invasion. When gangs like Tren de Aragua operate across half the states, their numbers exceed the size of any force America’s founders envisioned threatening the nation during the Constitution’s adoption.

Using the military in this context is entirely legitimate. Labeling it “immigration law” does not transform it into a domestic territorial matter outside the scope of national defense.

During “Operation Wetback,” President Eisenhower deported up to 1.3 million illegal aliens using the U.S. military, including National Guardsmen operating under Title 10 federal orders. The operation was completed within a few months, and no court challenges were filed on the grounds of violating the Posse Comitatus Act. At the time, cartels and transnational gangs posed a far lesser national defense threat than they do today.

The absence of legal challenges stemmed from the fact that deportation is not equivalent to a law enforcement action depriving someone of life, liberty, or property — protections covered under the 1878 act. As the Supreme Court ruled in Fong Yue Ting v. United States (1893):

The order of deportation is not a punishment for crime. It is not a "banishment," in the sense in which that word is often applied to the expulsion of a citizen from his country by way of punishment. It is but a method of enforcing the return to his own country of an alien who has not complied with the conditions upon the performance of which the government of the nation, acting within its constitutional authority and through the proper departments, has determined that his continuing to reside here shall depend. He has not, therefore, been deprived of life, liberty, or property without due process or law, and the provisions of the Constitution securing the right of trial by jury and prohibiting unreasonable searches and seizures and cruel and unusual punishments have no application.

In short, actions not governed by the laws of due process are not subject to the Posse Comitatus Act’s limitations on military use. If the goal were to prosecute and imprison illegal aliens indefinitely, that would constitute a domestic law enforcement action. However, removing individuals who invaded national sovereignty by escorting them across the international border falls squarely within the military’s legal authority.

A large military force going house to house to deport illegal aliens likely won’t be necessary. Cutting off incentives such as employment, identity theft opportunities, welfare benefits, and K-12 education would prompt most to leave voluntarily. State enforcement of laws, combined with state guard units operating under Title 32 (and not subject to the Posse Comitatus Act), in red states would ensure that any encounter with the state leads to removal. This approach would deter illegal immigration, limiting active deportation efforts to targeting criminal aliens. In fact, some illegal immigrants in Springfield, Ohio, are already leaving in anticipation of Trump taking office.

Prudence or “optics” should not mislead us into spreading misinformation about the legal authority we must preserve. This is about protecting territorial sovereignty — the very purpose for which America’s founders envisioned a standing army — far more than defending the fragmented territories of warring Islamic capitals.

The 4-letter word Trump must learn to love



It’s a four-letter word. It’s so powerful that our Founders had to weaken its authority from the original design, yet it remains rarely challenged. It’s the president’s most powerful leverage tool: the veto. If Trump wants to succeed in shrinking government where he failed in his first term, he must make this pen his constant companion — and let everyone in Congress know he’s ready to use it.

While a president doesn’t pass legislation or craft the actual budget signed into law, he controls all must-pass legislation by wielding the veto. He can block any budget or program reauthorization bill that lacks spending cuts and structural reforms. Since Reagan left office, only seven presidential vetoes have been successfully overridden. It’s rare for a critical number of a president’s own party — especially if they hold the majority — to defy their leader. That’s where Trump’s leverage lies and why the veto pen matters more than any Cabinet position.

Trump can simply make it clear that any reauthorization or appropriation bill lacking sufficient spending cuts and reforms will be vetoed.

Trump’s veto pen saw little action during his first administration, contributing to runaway spending. In fact, he used his veto pen less frequently than any president in the past 100 years. None of his 10 vetoes came in his first two years, when Republicans controlled Congress. This points to the problem and offers a framework for a more effective term.

The history behind the veto

If we had asked the framers of the Constitution, they would likely have admitted that their master plan might unravel for various reasons. However, they probably didn’t foresee the presidential veto pen becoming a weak tool for achieving Madison’s goal of “ambition ... made to counteract ambition,” meant to balance Congress' strong power.

Before proposing the veto override balance, the Founders worried that giving the president an absolute veto could shift too much power to the executive branch. During the June 4, 1787, debate, James Wilson and Alexander Hamilton proposed a veto power, but Benjamin Franklin argued that governors with veto power often used it for extortion. “No good law whatever could be passed without a private bargain with him,” Franklin complained. Roger Sherman also warned against “enabling any one man to stop the will of the whole,” doubting that “any one man could be found so far above all the rest in wisdom.”

The Convention debated the need for a veto override at length. Initially, framers passed a motion to set the override threshold at three-fourths of both houses of Congress. However, after Roger Sherman, Charles Pinckney, Hugh Williamson, and Elbridge Gerry raised concerns that this high threshold could grant too much power to the president and a small number of allies, the delegates agreed on a two-thirds threshold. They also rejected Madison’s proposal for a “council of revision,” which would have placed the veto in the hands of a joint council of the president and Supreme Court justices, choosing instead to vest this power solely in the president.

The Founders clearly saw the presidential veto as a potent tool, and many feared its abuse. They never anticipated that a president might be reluctant to use it.

Trump’s mandate — and leverage

Let’s be honest: Getting Trump’s priorities through the legislative process will be tedious without leveraging must-pass bills against a veto threat. Republicans will hold a slim three-seat majority in the House, built largely on liberal Republicans from California and New York.

Transformational policies, such as reducing legal immigration, downsizing government programs, overturning the vaccine liability shield, and ending birthright citizenship, would struggle to pass the House. Each targeted program has a constituency of Republicans likely to join Democrats in opposing cuts.

And that’s before facing the Senate, which is filled with RINOs who make House Republicans look like the Founding Fathers. Even on issues that unite Republicans, they’ll fall far short of the 60 votes needed to break a Democratic filibuster.

This is where “must-pass” bills come in. There will be a budget bill in the spring to complete this year’s appropriations and another next fall for fiscal year 2025. A debt ceiling bill will likely come up in late spring. The annual budget reconciliation bill, which can bypass the filibuster for budgetary items, offers a major opportunity. Additionally, an array of reauthorization bills will expire during Trump’s term.

Trump can simply make it clear that any reauthorization or appropriation bill lacking sufficient spending cuts and reforms will be vetoed. That leverage should be wielded and communicated early in the process. During the June 4, 1787, debate over the president’s check on Congress, James Wilson predicted the veto’s power would ensure it was “seldom” used, not because of its weakness but because Congress would avoid passing laws members knew the president would veto.

Benjamin Franklin disdained the veto power, seeing it as a form of extortion. Nevertheless, that’s the power a president holds. If Trump wields the veto pen, the success or failure of his two terms may hinge on this four-letter word that the Founders, with much trepidation, vested in one man.

Two reminders we all need after the election: We are NOT a democracy, and the Electoral College is good



We heard a lot about democracy during the election season. The left circulated the narrative that Trump would be the end of democracy while the right called him the savior who would rescue it from the undemocratic Biden regime.

Mark Levin, however, says we need to be reminded of something: “[Our Founding Fathers] didn't support democracy; they supported republicanism.”

“Democracy means factions can take over or a majority can be tyrannical,” he says, adding that our Founders saw this in other countries and “didn’t want anything to do with it.”

“They wanted republicanism; they wanted checks in power,” he explains.

That’s why they enshrined certain principles in our Constitution.

That way, “you can't have people vote away your rights,” says Levin. If “90% of them don't think you should have the right to bear arms, that's too damn bad.”

The fact that our forefathers foresaw the inevitable issues with a true democracy and created our brilliant system proves that “they were geniuses.”

Their installation of the Electoral College was equally brilliant.

Even though we see people like Tim Walz advocating for the demolition of it, Levin knows the truth: It’s for our nation’s protection.

“You choose a president not through a direct election” but rather via an “Electoral College. Why?” asks Levin. “One person is the head of an entire branch; we can't just leave it up to a popular vote” because then “the cities will choose the president.”

“In order to have a union and in order to make sure every aspect of the society was represented, they came up with this brilliant Electoral College,” he explains.

Because of this brilliant system of balance, “California doesn't get to drown out Montana, Wyoming, [or] Idaho.”

“If you had a national popular vote, that’s what [California] would do,” says Levin.

A system in which “the president [is] chosen by the people through the Electoral College but not chosen by the legislature” was “unheard of” at the time. So was the idea of “staggered terms” and a “bicameral congress.”

“So the accumulation of power, the centralization of government is limited,” Levin explains.

To hear more of his explanation on the brilliant and effective system of government designed by our forefathers, watch the clip above.

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Myth of DOJ ‘independence’ crumbles with Gaetz’s nomination



Editor’s note: This article appeared originally on September 19, 2023, under the headline “Enough with the Justice Department ‘independence’ myth.” We’re republishing it today because President-elect Donald Trump on Wednesday nominated Rep. Matt Gaetz (R-Fla.) to be his attorney general, and the Democrats — and more than a few Republicans — lost their minds. Gaetz, Trump wrote on Truth Social, “will end Weaponized Government, protect our Borders, dismantle Criminal Organizations and restore Americans’ badly-shattered Faith and Confidence in the Justice Department.”

But Gaetz’s critics don’t see it that way. They say Gaetz would politicize the Justice Department and threaten its “independence” an independence that Deion Kathawa carefully explains does not exist, either in the Constitution or the law.

***

A powerful and entrenched myth plagues American politics — namely, that the Department of Justice is, to some degree, “independent” of the president. The idea is plainly unconstitutional, actively harmful to the intended operation of our system of government, and a major contributor to the derangement of our common life. A critical step toward restoring sanity in our politics requires its eradication from our day-to-day practices and the people’s collective consciousness.

If the president is truly in charge of the entire executive branch, then he must have control over all of his officers and employees.

The myth originates from the Watergate scandal 50 years ago. For those unfamiliar with the history, a brief summary is in order.

The series of events that most contributed to the birth of the myth of the Justice Department’s “independence” began on the evening of Saturday, October 20, 1973 — the “Saturday Night Massacre.” President Richard M. Nixon ordered Attorney General Elliot L. Richardson to fire Archibald Cox, who in 1973 had been appointed as the special prosecutor to oversee the federal criminal investigation into the Watergate burglary and related crimes. Richardson refused to fire Cox and resigned. Nixon then ordered Deputy Attorney General William D. Ruckelshaus to fire Cox. Ruckelshaus likewise refused and resigned. Nixon then ordered the next most senior department official, Solicitor General Robert H. Bork, to fire Cox. Bork carried out Nixon’s order.

Nixon’s actions that night set off a firestorm, culminating in his resignation from the presidency in the face of the House of Representatives’ threat of impeachment and the Senate’s near-certain conviction, as well as the eventual passage of the Ethics in Government Act of 1978.

A section of the EGA that authorized independent counsel investigations came before the Supreme Court in 1988. In Morrison v. Olson, a 7-1 majority (Justice Anthony M. Kennedy recused himself) held that the independent counsel provisions of the law “do not violate the Appointments Clause of the Constitution, Art. II, § 2, cl. 2, or the limitations of Article III, nor do they impermissibly interfere with the President’s authority under Article II in violation of the constitutional principle of separation of powers.”

Justice Antonin Scalia, the decision’s lone dissenter, penned what is widely considered his best opinion. He famously observed the case was about:

the allocation of power among Congress, the President, and the courts in such fashion as to preserve the equilibrium the Constitution sought to establish — so that “a gradual concentration of the several powers in the same department,” Federalist No. 51, p. 321 (J. Madison), can effectively be resisted. Frequently an issue of this sort will come before the Court clad, so to speak, in sheep’s clothing: the potential of the asserted principle to effect important change in the equilibrium of power is not immediately evident, and must be discerned by a careful and perceptive analysis. But this wolf comes as a wolf.

Scalia’s basic point was that the independent counsel provisions of the EGA were void because prosecutorial power is quintessentially executive power and that because Article II of the Constitution provides that “the executive Power” — all of it — “shall be vested in a President of the United States,” any diminishment of the president’s authority is ipso facto unconstitutional.

Scalia noted that although the majority agreed with him that “the conduct of a criminal prosecution (and of an investigation to decide whether to prosecute)” is “the exercise of purely executive power” and that independent counsel provisions “deprive the President of the United States of exclusive control over the exercise of that power,” it nonetheless upheld those provisions because they did not completely eliminate the president’s control over the independent counsel — the counsel could still be fired for “good cause.”

Ultimately, Congress did not renew the independent counsel statute, which, as the Washington Post reported in June 1999, “gave rise to Kenneth W. Starr, the impeachment of President Clinton, and 20 other investigations of high-level federal officials over the past two decades.”

On both constitutional and pragmatic grounds, this was the right outcome. Scalia’s Morrison dissent was prophetic.

If the president is truly in charge of the entire executive branch (the academic literature refers to this as the “unitary executive theory”), then he must have control over all of his officers and employees. As a practical matter, of course, the president cannot personally “take Care that the Laws be faithfully executed,” as Article II, Section 3 commands, but if he cannot, when necessary, direct the actions of his subordinates — and remove them if they do not comply — then he is not really in charge.

After all, if the buck does not stop with the president, what on earth is the point of all the billions of dollars’ worth of drama we go through as a country every four years to elect one?

Why the media doesn’t fear defaming Donald Trump



Have you ever wondered why reporters don’t seem to hesitate to say and repeat things about Donald Trump that simply aren’t true — as if they have no fear of defamation liability?

This sort of thing happens because the U.S. Supreme Court about 60 years ago invented a First Amendment doctrine that protects the media from defamation liability, at least in lawsuits brought by public figures.

The 'actual malice' standard technically allows the media to defame politicians of both parties equally. But they don't. Not by a mile.

If you’re wondering which words in the First Amendment tell reporters they are free to defame activists, politicians, and other public figures without fear of being sued, you’re on the right track. Nothing in the text, structure, or original public understanding of the First Amendment talks about or even leads logically to an absurd rule insulating the media from defamation liability.

The fact that the Constitution doesn’t support this rule didn’t stop the Supreme Court from deciding in a 1964 case called New York Times v. Sullivan that a defamation action brought by a public figure cannot succeed unless the defendant acted with “actual malice.”

The Supreme Court defined “actual malice” to mean knowledge of the offending statement’s falsity or reckless disregard as to its truthfulness. For obvious reasons, the news media industry loves Sullivan, as it gives reporters and media companies almost a complete pass when it comes to defaming public figures.

But the fact that media companies love the Sullivan case doesn’t change the fact that the Supreme Court invented this doctrine out of thin air.

Even if one thinks immunizing media companies against defamation liability might be a good idea for policy reasons, that doesn’t change the fact that it finds no support in the Constitution. As a practical matter, moreover, it’s become apparent that New York Times v. Sullivan disproportionately — indeed, overwhelmingly — helps Democrats and creates a severe disadvantage for Republicans in the political process.

Think about it: The media are all but immune from defamation liability when speaking about public figures, including politicians, so, given that the media are almost seamlessly aligned with Democrats, they can hit Republicans more or less all they want without fear.

And they do!

In essence, all the media must do to avoid liability when attacking Donald Trump and other Republican politicians is have some thin, arguable basis to show that when they defamed a Republican, they didn’t know they were speaking falsely.

That means they can be negligent when speaking falsely about Republican politicians like Trump.

Of course, reporters will insist “that’s not fair to say New York Times v. Sullivan allows us to single out Republicans. After all, the same standard applies regardless of a politician’s party affiliation.” But that overlooks the overwhelming, increasingly obvious bias within the news industry in America.

So yes, the “actual malice” standard technically allows the media to defame politicians of both parties equally. But they don't. Not by a mile.

Thus, not only is the Sullivan decision wrong because it isn’t rooted in the Constitution (but claims to be), but it also leaves countless victims of defamation without recourse, encourages lazy journalism, and provides a huge, unfair advantage to Democrats in politics.

Some jurists and legal scholars have noted that it may be time for the Supreme Court to revisit New York Times v. Sullivan and that litigants facing this standard should begin making arguments for overturning that unfortunate precedent.

In any event, it’s wrong for Democrats to enjoy an unfair advantage arising out of a fake constitutional doctrine created out of thin air by the Supreme Court 60 years ago.

Editor’s note: This article has been adapted from a thread that appeared on X (formerly Twitter).

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