Universities’ Cheating Outbreaks Are An Honor Problem, Not Just An AI Problem
AI and social media should not take the brunt of the blame for students’ increased cheating on exams.When Delano Squires was growing up, he was surrounded by young black men who were not only getting into trouble, but getting into gangs and going to jail — while he kept his hands clean.
“At a certain point in my teenage years, I said, ‘Well, it’s because of the families we were raised in. All our parents were married, ... we were going to the same church, same values across households, a community of men who were raising us and keeping us in line. And I realized that family structure was the key,” Squires tells BlazeTV host Jason Whitlock on “Jason Whitlock Harmony.”
“So from there, just one of those things that I’ve always thought about, the importance of family, the importance of marriage, importance of my dad in my day-to-day life, his everyday presence. And at a certain point, I wanted to write about it,” he explains.
And Squires did write about it in his new book, “The Vanishing Black Family,” where he argues that the breakdown of the black family is to blame for lack of education and high crime rates.
“Men and women are continuing to have children, particularly in our community, where 70% of kids are born out of wedlock,” Squires tells Whitlock.
“The other thing that we’ve seen over the course of the last 60 years is that as poverty has decreased in the black community, the non-marital birth rate has increased,” he continues, using NBA players as an example.
“In a league that was 70-plus percent black, you had guys who were fathering four, five, six, seven kids out of wedlock, even though they were making millions of dollars a year,” he explains, noting that economics appear to have very little to do with children being born out of wedlock.
“I think economics is a part of it, but the real reason is because marriage is no longer seen as valuable, desirable, accessible, or indispensable for the purpose of forming a family. And the reason for that goes back much further than current economic trends,” he tells Whitlock.
Whitlock has his own theory as to why the black family has broken down.
“If we had more God, we could have a successful marriage, and we could raise up better kids. That’s the missing ingredient,” Whitlock says.
“The cause of the vanishing black family is because we’re not looking for God to be our provider. We’re looking for money to be our provider. And so, whatever makes us the most money is going to fix the most problems,” he continues.
“And to me it’s, you know, we’ve just lost focus on who our real provider is. It’s not man-made money. It’s God,” he adds.
To enjoy more fearless conversations at the crossroads of culture, faith, sports, and comedy with Jason Whitlock, subscribe to BlazeTV — the largest multi-platform network of voices who love America, defend the Constitution, and live the American dream.
Ronald Reagan famously cited the Roman maxim, “If it was not for the elders correcting the mistakes of the young, there would be no state.” That wisdom rings hollow when you’re on the mistake-making side.
Generation Z hasn’t exactly earned a reputation for excellence. As we wrote this, professional activist Greta Thunberg was in Paris, pausing her carbon-shaming campaign to weigh in on the war against Hamas. Here at home, Gen Z Democratic influencer Olivia Julianna is trying to rebrand her party’s image among young men by championing abortion access and highlighting its supposedly deep, hidden love for groups like Black Lives Matter.
Being ‘Christian first, conservative second’ isn’t political surrender. It’s the basis for cultural authority.
That barely scratches the surface.
A quick scroll through X reveals countless under-30 users with enormous followings and the “influencer” label — despite having little real influence. Their mistakes aren’t just frequent. They’re embarrassing.
So what’s a Christian Zoomer supposed to do?
At a high level, the answer is simple: Build systems that reflect Christian values, and challenge the ones that don’t. But real influence won’t come by copying the warped incentives pushed by our generation’s loudest voices.
The skills needed to go viral online rarely match the skills needed to drive real-world change. In fact, they often clash. Posting about the dangers of corporate diversity, equity, and inclusion is one thing; using influence to force lasting change in corporate policy is something else entirely. Both matter — but they aren’t the same.
But political “influencerdom” isn’t the only problem. Gen Z also suffers from a serious apathy problem. Between the aftershocks of the COVID economy and apocalyptic climate narratives — why bother thinking seriously about policy if the sun’s going to explode in 10 years? — Zoomers have earned a reputation as, in the Wall Street Journal’s words, “America’s Most Disillusioned Voters.”
We’ll show up to vote — maybe. But posting on Instagram takes less effort, so we’ll do that instead. One analysis summarized the challenge this way: “Campaigns must focus on converting robust online advocacy into real-world voter turnout.” That’s the kind of strategy you get when no one really cares.
RELATED: Church is cool again — and Gen Z men are leading the way

As Christians, our duty is the opposite of apathy. We’re called to care. Rejecting our generation’s default indifference is just the beginning. “Christ is King” isn’t a license to coast — it’s the foundation for action.
Here are some practical ways Christian Zoomers can avoid the traps of both performative activism and total disengagement.
Seek wisdom from the right sources. Don’t look to influencers for answers. The people most worth learning from probably don’t have a million followers on X. Avoid the echo chamber of “onlineness.” Instead, find expertise from unglamorous sources: people with “lived experience,” technical know-how, and hard-earned wisdom.
Join a local church. Every Christian needs the weekly rhythm of worship, sound teaching, and community. But for young believers navigating a secular world, the church is especially vital. Find a congregation that preaches the gospel clearly and offers intergenerational support. This isn’t about socializing — it’s about growing in conviction and courage through regular contact with people who live by “Christ first, culture second.”
Vote locally. You don’t have to be a political junkie, but you should know what’s happening in your county. Local and state policies affect your daily life far more than most federal debates. National politics is often a circus; local politics is where things actually get done. Caring about what happens five miles from home is a Christian habit worth cultivating.
Think before you post. Virtue-signaling comes in all forms — left, right, and “based.” Whether it’s a black square or the latest meme, pause before jumping in. Ask: “Am I actually doing something about this issue in my community?” If the answer is yes, then post away. If not, maybe start with action before broadcasting your opinion.
Keep a few friends who disagree with you. Yes, surround yourself with faithful Christians — but don’t retreat into an ideological bunker. Having friends with different views helps you resist tribalism. You may not see eye to eye on politics, but they probably aren’t your enemies. Humanizing your opponents is a discipline, one that fights against the hyperfixation and outrage that dominate our age.
Serve somewhere. Whether you care about the unborn, the incarcerated, or victims of trafficking, find a local organization doing the work — and show up. It’s easy to have strong opinions about cultural decay. It’s much harder to give your time. But service grounds us. It reminds us of God’s blessings and our call to be His hands and feet.
Our generation veers between two extremes: obsessive political engagement and total apathy. Both reflect a flawed attempt to wring meaning from a system designed only to support human flourishing — not define it. And both fail.
The politically apathetic pride themselves on floating above the fray, looking down on those who care enough to engage. The hyper-engaged believe their passion sets them apart — morally superior to the so-called “normies” who sleepwalk through civic life.
Both attitudes are wrong.
If we, the rising generation of Christians, want to engage the culture meaningfully, we must refuse to measure our success — or define our mission — by worldly standards.
Being “Christian first, conservative second” isn’t political surrender. It’s the basis for cultural authority. It doesn’t excuse disengagement. It demands engagement.
We act because we believe every person bears the image of God. That truth drives our pursuit of justice, mercy, and truth. Our theology shapes our politics, not the other way around.
And if pagan, anti-Christian values fall in the process? So much the better!
The 2026 U.S. Senate race in Michigan now has its first official candidate: State Sen. Mallory McMorrow, a Millennial Democrat from Oakland County who shot to national attention with a viral floor speech. She’s betting that moment can carry her all the way to the world’s greatest deliberative body.
Before Democrats and their media lapdogs start drafting puff pieces and polishing the pedestal, they should ask a harder question: Who is Mallory McMorrow — and more importantly, who is she not?
This isn’t just political positioning. It’s a fundamental disconnect. McMorrow’s politics are tailored for retweets, not results.
McMorrow isn’t a product of Michigan grit. She’s a coastal transplant from suburban New Jersey with a degree from Notre Dame and a résumé that reads like a LinkedIn influencer’s dream. She landed in Michigan less than a decade ago and began branding herself as the conscience of the Midwest. But Michiganders know the difference between authenticity and ambition.
McMorrow presents herself as a pragmatic progressive. In reality, she mimics the Instagram-ready style of coastal elites and peddles the kind of policies that might play in Brooklyn or Silver Lake, but not in Battle Creek or Midland.
Take her recent appearance on “Off the Record” with Tim Skubick, a Michigan political staple. Asked about boys competing in girls’ sports, McMorrow didn’t just sidestep the issue — she leaned into it, defending the far-left line with social media polish and no concern for the working-class parents listening at home.
This isn’t just political positioning. It’s a fundamental disconnect. McMorrow talks unity and moderation while aligning herself with activists who push fringe agendas. She sells herself as a consensus-builder while alienating the very voters she claims to represent. Her politics are tailored for retweets, not results.
If Attorney General Dana Nessel jumps into the primary, that contrast will become impossible to ignore. Say what you will about Nessel — she’s blunt, combative, and never confused for anything but herself. She doesn’t hide her ideology or try to sugarcoat her record for the national press. In a matchup, McMorrow won’t just have to explain her platform — she’ll have to explain her reinvention.
A real race demands contrast and courage. Michigan voters don’t need more social media senators. They need leaders who know the price of gas, not just the latest polling memo. They need fighters who understand what Michigan families face every day — not what’s trending in a D.C. group chat.
To her credit, McMorrow is young, articulate, and eager to chart a new course. That’s not nothing. But the path forward for Michigan isn’t progressive posturing. It’s common-sense governance rooted in the lives of working families — not curated identities shaped by PR consultants and filtered through national donor networks.
Republicans need to seize this opportunity. Michigan requires a new generation of GOP leadership — grounded, principled, and ready to fight. I know that generation exists. I see it in the state legislature. I see it in young constitutional conservatives who understand the dignity of work, the sanctity of family, and the value of a dollar.
As a Millennial myself, I know we don’t need more viral fame. We need values. We don’t need slogans. We need substance.
In the coming months, you’ll hear a lot about Mallory McMorrow — there will be glossy profiles, glowing press, and lots of digital fanfare. But underneath the branding is a clear ambition: to take Michigan’s Senate seat and turn it into a springboard for the next liberal celebrity.
We’ve seen that movie before. We know how it ends.
The real question is whether Michigan voters will choose performance or principle.
I believe they’ll choose principle. Because in Michigan, authenticity still matters. Common sense still counts. And we still believe a senator should represent everyday citizens worried about the price of a gallon of milk — not the Met Gala elite sipping champagne just across the Hudson from McMorrow’s home state.
For many drivers in NASCAR, it turns out that the only things that lean left are their steering wheels.
Last weekend, I had the joy of taking my son to the NASCAR Hall of Fame induction to watch our good friend Carl Edwards take his place among the sport’s legends. His name is now forever cemented in racing history.
Unlike the bureaucratic diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives that permeate other industries, NASCAR thrives on true merit. Skill and guts determine success.
Admittedly, we were both a little giddy at the thought of mingling with NASCAR superstars. But that’s not who we met — at least, not at first. Seated at our dinner table were three men and their wives, engaged in conversation about fatherhood, education models for our kids, and the churches we attend. Long after dinner ended, I finally learned the identities of our tablemates — David Ragan, Trevor Bayne, and Michael McDowell.
Collectively, they have 103 top-10 finishes and two Daytona 500 victories. Bayne, in fact, remains the youngest driver ever to win the race, taking the checkered flag just one day after his 20th birthday. But for these men, success isn’t measured by trophies or Victory Lane celebrations — it’s defined by their faith, families, and the values they uphold.
Faith, family, and country — values often associated with the conservative movement — take the pole position in NASCAR. Every major American sport plays the national anthem before competition, but NASCAR goes farther, opening each race with a pre-race prayer.
While the NBA cozies up to China and the NFL tries to “end racism” with end-zone slogans, NASCAR proudly embraces conservative values. The sport has a long history of welcoming Republican presidents — Ronald Reagan, George H.W. Bush, George W. Bush, and Donald Trump are the only presidents to serve as grand marshal for the Daytona 500. NASCAR also gave rise to the infamous “Let’s Go Brandon” chant, and in 2016, then-Chairman and CEO Brian France publicly endorsed Trump for president. He stood alongside my dinner companion, David Ragan, and other top drivers.
This Sunday, Michael McDowell will return to Daytona, aiming to win NASCAR’s most prestigious race a second time. But victory on the track isn’t what he promotes most. On his personal website, under his career stats — next to achievements like two-time playoff contender, Brickyard winner, and Daytona champion — McDowell proudly lists himself as a “follower of Jesus and outspoken Christian athlete.” He also highlights his role as a “family man (father of five) and strong advocate for adoption.” He might as well add “All-American.”
NASCAR deserves credit for allowing its drivers to be so open about their values. Unlike the NFL, which fines players for showing public support for a presidential candidate, or Major League Baseball, which honored a group of queer and drag performers dressed as nuns with a Community Hero award, NASCAR encourages its athletes to stand by their beliefs.
As McDowell put it, “NASCAR has always allowed me to organically live out my faith on and off the racetrack. We are a patriotic sport that unapologetically celebrates faith, family, and country.” Hallelujah.
Faith, family, and country were also central themes in Carl Edwards’ Hall of Fame induction speech. Reflecting on his decision to retire at the peak of his career, he said, “Every prize has its price … and the prize of my family was worth that price.” He ended his speech with a powerful statement: “I realized that all these miracles — I wasn’t alone. God is real. God was beside me.”
This week on my podcast, “We the People,” Edwards shared another perspective that speaks to his character and beliefs: “One of the things I’m most grateful for, the older I get, is the United States of America … the idea of individual freedom and liberty.” Carl Edwards isn’t just a Hall of Famer — he’s a Hall of Fame human being.
While faith, family, and country reflect a set of values, openly standing for them requires a specific character trait — one that is also essential for success in racing: courage. It takes extraordinary bravery to drive at speeds exceeding 200 mph, inches away from competitors, knowing that one wrong move could end in disaster.
Unlike the bureaucratic diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives that permeate other industries, NASCAR thrives on true merit. Skill and guts determine success. On a racetrack, the only DEI that matters is don’t ever ignore the rules — or you could die.
Nothing defines America more than courage. We would not have a country without the courage of George Washington, and all men would not be free without the courage of Abraham Lincoln. This freedom doesn’t endure without the courage of our servicemen and women defending it. The examples are endless, and it is now “courageous” for athletes and entertainers to promote their traditionally conservative values.
Edwards said his speech was “all about gratitude.” If you are grateful for America and are looking for a sport that celebrates it, tune in this Sunday and cheer for NASCAR’s finest to carry our values across the finish line at Daytona. My son and I will do the same, but we will be a little particular to our new favorite racer, Michael McDowell.