19 songs that share the spirit of 'Rich Men North of Richmond'

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Remember late summer? When the biggest thing people had to argue about was a three-minute video of a guy in the woods playing a Gretsch resonator guitar and belting out an angry lament for the working class?

In all the fuss over “Rich Men North of Richmond,” too many important people misunderstood the song’s true nature. They assumed it was a rant, when it's really a testimony.

Too many important people misunderstood the song’s true nature.

Oliver Anthony’s detractors cynically tried to reduce his song to ideology; they were quick to denounce him for being too “right-wing” (he’s against welfare cheats), too liberal (he’s for diversity), and not authentic enough (he fakes his southern accent). But “Rich Men North of Richmond” is art, not an editorial. Implicit in the indignation Anthony channels is hope for the future and faith in the transformative power of music. It’s something we badly need at the moment.

Implicit in the indignation Anthony channels is hope for the future and faith in the transformative power of music.

Good news, then, from Anthony’s hometown newspaper: The singer plans on spending November and December writing new songs for release early next year. Oh, and he and his wife, Tiffany, welcomed a healthy baby boy (their third child) this past weekend.

Anthony articulates a yearning that is as much spiritual as it is material. It roots him in a rich musical tradition. I’ve put together the following playlist, which you can find in its entirety here, to give a sampling of that tradition while tiding us over until the follow-up to “Rich Men.” It’s not a ranking, although I do recommend listening to it sequentially.

Sometimes, in order to survive, we only need to be told that our pilgrimage is strange and bitter. That the weight of our troubles is not minor. That for all the love and beauty that we receive and cherish, heartbreak and rejection and depravity are enough to break a person open.

Anthony articulates a yearning that is as much spiritual as it is material.

So—in a world of people who have almost entirely given up on freedom, who can never regain all that they’ve lost, who have made giant sacrifices so that the powerful people can enjoy a life without inconvenience — there’s tremendous hope in the popularity of “Rich Men.”

Obviously, this should have been the story all along: Human freedom can still be awoken and possibly even revived, if only as the stirrings of heartache delivered by song.

Because despite the braying of our professional loudmouths, “Rich Men North of Richmond” has nothing to do with a world of their making. Politics is all too often merely a tool of a deceiver. But ultimately it should only be considered a veil. A veil only has power in its ability to mask truths or enhance the hunger for the mysteries: songs of true resistance.

19 songs that share the spirit of 'Rich Men North of Richmond'

1. “Thoughts on Greetings from Amarillo” by Hayden Pedigo

Photo courtesy of Hayden Pedigo

Our starting place seems quiet, but it’s not. As a poem by outlaw-country legend Terry Allen, as a kind of summation of Hayden Pedigo’s lovely album of country-western ambient resplendence.

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2. “Pray for the USA” by the Clark Sisters

Chris Gregory | A+E Networks

In 1985, a supergroup of pop artists drew attention to the plight of starving Africans with the vague, feel-good appeal to unity “We Are the World.” One year later, the biggest-selling female gospel group of all time had the audacity both to bring the focus back to our own messed-up country and to propose an explicitly Christian solution. Those drums, those vocals, each melody and lift – it all gives the lie to the notion that the most effective art must abandon God in favor of “universality.”

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3. “Atlantic City” by Bruce Springsteen

Larry Hulst | Michael Ochs Archives | Getty Images

Few songwriters can tell the story of an American nobody like Bruce Springsteen. And "Nebraska," as an album full of stories about broken and emptied Americans, an album so dark that Springsteen declined to tour on it, is the finest example, with its four-track electricity replacing the E Street Band, a howling skeleton of an album bursting with tracks like “State Trooper,” a cop-killer ballad inspired by the band Suicide.

The Boss described this period of his career in his autobiography, "Born to Run": “I had no conscious political agenda or social theme. I was after a feeling, a tone that felt like the world I’d known and still carried inside me.” Similarly, Oliver Anthony has repeatedly — unequivocally — made it clear that his animating force is in no way political. The important connection between “Atlantic City” and “Rich Men” arises from the lyrics as much as the churn of their animating spirit, the discomfort of loving and hating this country at the same time.

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4. “The Message” by Grandmaster Flash

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In many ways, “Rich Men” is just a cover of “The Message.” For one, the visceral and shattering images: broken people who rob their way to prison, where their "manhood [gets] took" until they're a "Maytag" until they get Epsteined. Like "Pray for the USA" and “A Country Boy Can Survive," the framing of the world described by Grandmaster Flash, Melle Mel, and Duke Bootee is diseased by double-digit inflation and political turmoil that has shoved its way onto the streets and clogged up the train station.

“The Message,” like “Rich Men,” is an anthem for the anthem-less. Few songs are cooler than “The Message,” which only adds boldness to the lyrics (tragic, despondent, bitter, even angry) to craft a song that is both firmly alive in 1984 and unstoppably timeless. Grandmaster Flash’s vivid, unsparing depiction of urban crime and violence doesn’t patronize the poor with narratives of oppression and victimhood. Instead it invokes older, less fashionable notions of responsibility and agency, with a grittiness that keeps it from being preachy. Flash’s use of the second person makes it clear that none of us, no matter how rich or poor, are immune to the greed and delusion it depicts.

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5. “Natural’s Not In It” by Gang of Four

Jay Schwarz | The Rolling Stone

Gang of Four’s 1979 debut “Entertainment!” finds the Leeds-based quartet already in peak form, with wry, political lyrics wedded to the pounce of funk and the snarl of punk. Their outlook is generally labeled “left-wing,” but that word hardly means the same thing now as it did 40 years ago.

Consider the surprising biblical reference in “Natural’s Not In It”: “Remember Lot’s wife / Renounce all sin and vice / Dream of the perfect life / This heaven gives me migraine.” Ironic? Maybe, but I hear the same exhaustion “Rich Men” conveys. If it’s clever, it’s because total indignation occasionally spills into humor, however fleeting.

6. “That’s All Right” by Håkan Hellström

Fredrik Nystedt | Rockfoto

Released in 2016, “That’s All Right” is Håkan Hellström’s remix of an a cappella from a compilation titled “Been in the Storm So Long: A Collection of Spirituals, Folk Tales and Children's Games from Johns Island, SC,” sung by obscure Gullah gospel singer named Laura Rivers, a member of the Moving Star Hall Singers, a movement grounded in its own fascinating history. This version is itself, beautifully, a rendition of “Seat in the Kingdom,” a gospel song commonly shorthanded to “That’s Alright” (sic).

Of all the songs on this list, “That’s All Right” shares the deepest emotional essence of “Rich Men.” The heartbreak, the lostness, and yet the hope lurking below all of it, as evinced by its central focus on Jacob’s Ladder, the wild story of a broken man.

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7. “People” by J Dilla

Courtest of Brian Cross | Pitchfork

“People” is far more than a reimagining of “My People … Hold On” by Eddie Kendricks, itself a deeply political song, on the solo album that differentiated him from the Temptations. It’s also somehow more than one of the finest tracks on “Donuts,” a truly flawless album with a poignant, beautiful, heartbreaking backstory.

The connection to “Rich Men” rises from Eddie Kendricks’ voice, which Dilla clipped perfectly and wove into one of his finest beats, as Eddie Kendricks announces, “People, the time has come.”

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8. “Wichita Lineman” by Glen Campbell

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Few songs are as good as “Wichita Lineman.” It’s like “God Only Knows” for flyover-state nobodies. “Rich Men” is the voice of the Wichita lineman, praying for rain so he can take the day off.

A write-up in the Independent hailed it “the first existential country song." Bob Dylan described it as “the greatest song ever written.” Every time I hear “Wichita Lineman” again, for the millionth time, from perfect twang to that weird little drum solo shuffle that concludes this masterpiece, and the Jimmy Webb-composed story that thrives throughout it, I think Dylan could be right.

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9. “Psalm 23” by Poor Bishop Hooper

Courtesy of Poor Bishop Hooper

Augustine said that “every visible thing in this world is put under the charge of an angel.” Proof: “Psalm 23” by Poor Bishop Hooper, a “cover version” that somehow conveys the solace and mystery of a song written 3,000 years ago. The husband-and-wife duo Jesse and Leah Roberts have recorded all 150 psalms for their EveryPsalm project. To listen is to understand that the tradition of “protest music” begins when man contends with God. I mean, just check out this backstory. (Charming coincidence: Yesterday, as I paused from assembling this list, a few months in the making, the Responsorial Psalm was Psalm 23.)

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10. “Unsatisfied” by the Replacements

Robert Matheu | Camera Press | Redux

It took some spine for these alt-rock pioneers to rip off the Beatles for the title of their third album, “Let It Be.” Then again, what better answer to the self-satisfied Boomer serenity of the Beatles’s penultimate single than the restless, rebellious “Unsatisfied”?

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11. “If We Forget God” by the Louvin Brothers

Courtesy of the artist's estate

Even before their classic 1959 gospel bluegrass album “Satan Is Real,” these country music legends weren’t hesitant to point out the existence of true evil. This early song shares many things with “Rich Men,” like a sorrow for the sins of a great world and the ruin that lurks behind the spectacle of modern existence. But it also shares its hidden mission: “So many are climbing fame's golden hill / By singing of evil that gives this world a thrill / But I sing of Jesus and though they won't hear / God will bless me for doing His will.”

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12. “You and Your Folks, Me and My Folks” by Funkadelic

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Like everything on 1971’s “Maggot Brain,” this track is political in the slyest, funkiest, wildest way. While “Rich Men” couldn’t be more different stylistically, the showmanship with which Anthony gets his message across makes him Funkadelic’s spiritual heir.

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13. “A Country Boy Can Survive” by Hank Williams Jr.

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Life on the margins has its advantages. You can do what you want, and a little self-sufficiency will come in handy when SHTF. Leave it to Bocephus to stick it to the urban elites in style. Hillbilly poetics at their finest.

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14. “Have You Been Good to Yourself” by Johnnie Frierson

Light in the Attic Records

This is basic Jordan Peterson “clean your room” stuff, as laid down by an obscure Memphis R&B genius decades before “12 Rules for Life.” “If you’re not gonna be good to yourself, then you’re not gonna be good to others.” Doesn’t this idea sound oddly familiar? To certain people in 2023, the sheer simplicity of this advice offends – as does the suggestion to keep faith in God and follow the Ten Commandments.

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15. “Waitin' Around to Die” by Townes Van Zandt

Press Image | Townes Van Zandt

If this song doesn’t punch you in the gut and rip your heart in two, you may be a Replicant. Especially if we’re talking about this version. The way that the older man reacts, that’s the secret of “Rich Men.”

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16. “B.I.B.L.E. (Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth)" by GZA

Gary Wolstenholme | Redferns

Of the many great Wu-Tang solo albums, GZA’s “Liquid Swords” might be the best. And this deeply personal chronicle of one man’s spiritual quest as he navigates the snares of this world is a big reason why. “I loved doing right but I was trapped in hell.”

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17. “Annabelle” by Gillian Welch

Paxton X | Bold Life

If you were looking for a female counterpart to “Rich Men,” it would be this strange and beautiful gem. “And we cannot have all things to please us / No matter how we try / Until we've all gone to Jesus / We can only wonder why.”

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18. “Dream On” by Robyn

Mike Coppola | Getty Images and Angela Hsieh | NPR

“Dream On” by Robyn is one of the strangest examples of a non-Christian song that captures the total essence of Christianity.

The third verse gets me every time. It captures all of us — if it doesn’t bring tears to your eyes, then what could? It’s the kind of song that can make the lowest nobody feel like a someone: “Freaks and junkies / Fakes and phonies / Drunks and cowards / Manic preachers / Rest your weary heads / All is well / You won't be pushed or messed with tonight / You won't be lied to, roughed up tonight / You won't be insane, paranoid, obsessed / Aimlessly wandering through the dark night / So dream on.”

This is the only version of the song, as far as I’m concerned.

19. “Lopin’ Along Through the Cosmos” by Judee Sill

Gijsbert Hanekroot | Redferns | Getty Images

This lesser-known masterpiece by the quintessential 1960s Jesus freak is convincing evidence that Christ lives outside our concept of time, constantly new and alive, always and forever. And while the spiritual warfare that characterized Sill’s work and life is often poetic enough to be philosophy, it’s kin to “Rich Men North of Richmond” in its untamable God-devoted wildness.

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A Sharia enclave is quietly taking root in America. It's time to wake up.

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Sharia-based projects like the Meadow in Texas show how political Islam grows quietly, counting on Americans to stay silent while an incompatible legal system takes root.

Apolitical system completely incompatible with the Constitution is gaining ground in the United States, and we are pretending it is not happening.

Sharia — the legal and political framework of Islam — is being woven into developments, institutions, and neighborhoods, including a massive project in Texas. And the consequences will be enormous if we continue to look the other way.

This is the contradiction at the heart of political Islam: It claims universal authority while insisting its harshest rules will never be enforced here. That promise does not stand up to scrutiny. It never has.

Before we can have an honest debate, we’d better understand what Sharia represents. Sharia is not simply a set of religious rules about prayer or diet. It is a comprehensive legal and political structure that governs marriage, finance, criminal penalties, and civic life. It is a parallel system that claims supremacy wherever it takes hold.

This is where the distinction matters. Many Muslims in America want nothing to do with Sharia governance. They came here precisely because they lived under it. But political Islam — the movement that seeks to implement Sharia as law — is not the same as personal religious belief.

It is a political ideology with global ambitions, much like communism. Secretary of State Marco Rubio recently warned that Islamist movements do not seek peaceful coexistence with the West. They seek dominance. History backs him up.

How Sharia arrives

Political Islam does not begin with dramatic declarations. It starts quietly, through enclaves that operate by their own rules. That is why the development once called EPIC City — now rebranded as the Meadow — is so concerning. Early plans framed it as a Muslim-only community built around a mega-mosque and governed by Sharia-compliant financing. After state investigations were conducted, the branding changed, but the underlying intent remained the same.

Developers have openly described practices designed to keep non-Muslims out, using fees and ownership structures to create de facto religious exclusivity. This is not assimilation. It is the construction of a parallel society within a constitutional republic.

The warning from those who have lived under it

Years ago, local imams in Texas told me, without hesitation, that certain Sharia punishments “just work.” They spoke about cutting off hands for theft, stoning adulterers, and maintaining separate standards of testimony for men and women. They insisted it was logical and effective while insisting they would never attempt to implement it in Texas.

But when pressed, they could not explain why a system they consider divinely mandated would suddenly stop applying once someone crossed a border.

This is the contradiction at the heart of political Islam: It claims universal authority while insisting its harshest rules will never be enforced here. That promise does not stand up to scrutiny. It never has.

AASHISH KIPHAYET / Contributor | Getty Images

America is vulnerable

Europe is already showing us where this road leads. No-go zones, parallel courts, political intimidation, and clerics preaching supremacy have taken root across major cities.

America’s strength has always come from its melting pot, but assimilation requires boundaries. It requires insisting that the Constitution, not religious law, is the supreme authority on this soil.

Yet we are becoming complacent, even fearful, about saying so. We mistake silence for tolerance. We mistake avoidance for fairness. Meanwhile, political Islam views this hesitation as weakness.

Religious freedom is one of America’s greatest gifts. Muslims may worship freely here, as they should. But political Islam must not be permitted to plant a flag on American soil. The Constitution cannot coexist with a system that denies equal rights, restricts speech, subordinates women, and places clerical authority above civil law.

Wake up before it is too late

Projects like the Meadow are not isolated. They are test runs, footholds, proofs of concept. Political Islam operates with patience. It advances through demographic growth, legal ambiguity, and cultural hesitation — and it counts on Americans being too polite, too distracted, or too afraid to confront it.

We cannot afford that luxury. If we fail to defend the principles that make this country free, we will one day find ourselves asking how a parallel system gained power right in front of us. The answer will be simple: We looked away.

The time to draw boundaries and to speak honestly is now. The time to defend the Constitution as the supreme law of the land is now. Act while there is still time.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.

The Crisis of Meaning: Searching for truth and purpose

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Anxiety, anger, and chronic dissatisfaction signal a country searching for meaning. Without truth and purpose, politics becomes a dangerous substitute for identity.

We have built a world overflowing with noise, convenience, and endless choice, yet something essential has slipped out of reach. You can sense it in the restless mood of the country, the anxiety among young people who cannot explain why they feel empty, in the angry confusion that dominates our politics.

We have more wealth than any nation in history, but the heart of the culture feels strangely malnourished. Before we can debate debt or elections, we must confront the reality that we created a world of things, but not a world of purpose.

You cannot survive a crisis you refuse to name, and you cannot rebuild a world whose foundations you no longer understand.

What we are living through is not just economic or political dysfunction. It is the vacuum that appears when a civilization mistakes abundance for meaning.

Modern life is stuffed with everything except what the human soul actually needs. We built systems to make life faster, easier, and more efficient — and then wondered why those systems cannot teach our children who they are, why they matter, or what is worth living for.

We tell the next generation to chase success, influence, and wealth, turning childhood into branding. We ask kids what they want to do, not who they want to be. We build a world wired for dopamine rather than dignity, and then we wonder why so many people feel unmoored.

When everything is curated, optimized, and delivered at the push of a button, the question “what is my life for?” gets lost in the static.

The crisis beneath the headlines

It is not just the young who feel this crisis. Every part of our society is straining under the weight of meaninglessness.

Look at the debt cycle — the mathematical fate no civilization has ever escaped once it crosses a threshold that we seem to have already blown by. While ordinary families feel the pressure, our leaders respond with distraction, with denial, or by rewriting the very history that could have warned us.

You cannot survive a crisis you refuse to name, and you cannot rebuild a world whose foundations you no longer understand.

We have entered a cultural moment where the noise is so loud that it drowns out the simplest truths. We are living in a country that no longer knows how to hear itself think.

So people go searching. Some drift toward the false promise of socialism, some toward the empty thrill of rebellion. Some simply check out. When a culture forgets what gives life meaning, it becomes vulnerable to every ideology that offers a quick answer.

The quiet return of meaning

And yet, quietly, something else is happening. Beneath the frustration and cynicism, many Americans are recognizing that meaning does not come from what we own, but from what we honor. It does not rise from success, but from virtue. It does not emerge from noise, but from the small, sacred things that modern life has pushed to the margins — the home, the table, the duty you fulfill, the person you help when no one is watching.

The danger is assuming that this rediscovery happens on its own. It does not.

Reorientation requires intention. It requires rebuilding the habits and virtues that once held us together. It requires telling the truth about our history instead of rewriting it to fit today’s narratives. And it requires acknowledging what has been erased: that meaning is inseparable from God’s presence in a nation’s life.

Harold M. Lambert / Contributor | Getty Images

Where renewal begins

We have built a world without stillness, and then we wondered why no one can hear the questions that matter. Those questions remain, whether we acknowledge them or not. They do not disappear just because we drown them in entertainment or noise. They wait for us, and the longer we ignore them, the more disoriented we become.

Meaning is still available. It is found in rebuilding the smallest, most human spaces — the places that cannot be digitized, globalized, or automated. The home. The family. The community.

These are the daily virtues that do not trend on social media, but that hold a civilization upright. If we want to repair this country, we begin there, exactly where every durable civilization has always begun: one virtue at a time, one tradition at a time, one generation at a time.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.

A break in trust: A NEW Watergate is brewing in plain sight

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When institutions betray the public’s trust, the country splits, and the spiral is hard to stop.

Something drastic is happening in American life. Headlines that should leave us stunned barely register anymore. Stories that once would have united the country instead dissolve into silence or shrugs.

It is not apathy exactly. It is something deeper — a growing belief that the people in charge either cannot or will not fix what is broken.

When people feel ignored or betrayed, they will align with anyone who appears willing to fight on their behalf.

I call this response the Bubba effect. It describes what happens when institutions lose so much public trust that “Bubba,” the average American minding his own business, finally throws his hands up and says, “Fine. I will handle it myself.” Not because he wants to, but because the system that was supposed to protect him now feels indifferent, corrupt, or openly hostile.

The Bubba effect is not a political movement. It is a survival instinct.

What triggers the Bubba effect

We are watching the triggers unfold in real time. When members of Congress publicly encourage active duty troops to disregard orders from the commander in chief, that is not a political squabble. When a federal judge quietly rewrites the rules so one branch of government can secretly surveil another, that is not normal. That is how republics fall. Yet these stories glided across the news cycle without urgency, without consequence, without explanation.

When the American people see the leadership class shrug, they conclude — correctly — that no one is steering the ship.

This is how the Bubba effect spreads. It is not just individuals resisting authority. It is sheriffs refusing to enforce new policies, school boards ignoring state mandates, entire communities saying, “We do not believe you anymore.” It becomes institutional, cultural, national.

A country cracking from the inside

This effect can be seen in Dearborn, Michigan. In the rise of fringe voices like Nick Fuentes. In the Epstein scandal, where powerful people could not seem to locate a single accountable adult. These stories are different in content but identical in message: The system protects itself, not you.

When people feel ignored or betrayed, they will align with anyone who appears willing to fight on their behalf. That does not mean they suddenly agree with everything that person says. It means they feel abandoned by the institutions that were supposed to be trustworthy.

The Bubba effect is what fills that vacuum.

The dangers of a faithless system

A republic cannot survive without credibility. Congress cannot oversee intelligence agencies if it refuses to discipline its own members. The military cannot remain apolitical if its chain of command becomes optional. The judiciary cannot defend the Constitution while inventing loopholes that erase the separation of powers.

History shows that once a nation militarizes politics, normalizes constitutional shortcuts, or allows government agencies to operate without scrutiny, it does not return to equilibrium peacefully. Something will give.

The question is what — and when.

The responsibility now belongs to us

In a healthy country, this is where the media steps in. This is where universities, pastors, journalists, and cultural leaders pause the outrage machine and explain what is at stake. But today, too many see themselves not as guardians of the republic, but of ideology. Their first loyalty is to narrative, not truth.

The founders never trusted the press more than the public. They trusted citizens who understood their rights, lived their responsibilities, and demanded accountability. That is the antidote to the Bubba effect — not rage, but citizenship.

How to respond without breaking ourselves

Do not riot. Do not withdraw. Do not cheer on destruction just because you dislike the target. That is how nations lose themselves. Instead, demand transparency. Call your representatives. Insist on consequences. Refuse to normalize constitutional violations simply because “everyone does it.” If you expect nothing, you will get nothing.

Do not hand your voice to the loudest warrior simply because he is swinging a bat at the establishment. You do not beat corruption by joining a different version of it. You beat it by modeling the country you want to preserve: principled, accountable, rooted in truth.

Adam Gray / Stringer | Getty Images

Every republic reaches a moment when historians will later say, “That was the warning.” We are living in ours. But warnings are gifts if they are recognized. Institutions bend. People fail. The Constitution can recover — if enough Americans still know and cherish it.

It does not take a majority. Twenty percent of the country — awake, educated, and courageous — can reset the system. It has happened before. It can happen again.

Wake up. Stand up. Demand integrity — from leaders, from institutions, and from yourself. Because the Bubba effect will not end until Americans reclaim the duty that has always belonged to them: preserving the republic for the next generation.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.

Grim warning: Bad-faith Israel critics duck REAL questions

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Bad-faith attacks on Israel and AIPAC warp every debate. Real answers emerge only when people set aside scripts and ask what serves America’s long-term interests.

The search for truth has always required something very much in short supply these days: honesty. Not performative questions, not scripted outrage, not whatever happens to be trending on TikTok, but real curiosity.

Some issues, often focused on foreign aid, AIPAC, or Israel, have become hotbeds of debate and disagreement. Before we jump into those debates, however, we must return to a simpler, more important issue: honest questioning. Without it, nothing in these debates matters.

Ask questions because you want the truth, not because you want a target.

The phrase “just asking questions” has re-entered the zeitgeist, and that’s fine. We should always question power. But too many of those questions feel preloaded with someone else’s answer. If the goal is truth, then the questions should come from a sincere desire to understand, not from a hunt for a villain.

Honest desire for truth is the only foundation that can support a real conversation about these issues.

Truth-seeking is real work

Right now, plenty of people are not seeking the truth at all. They are repeating something they heard from a politician on cable news or from a stranger on TikTok who has never opened a history book. That is not a search for answers. That is simply outsourcing your own thought.

If you want the truth, you need to work for it. You cannot treat the world like a Marvel movie where the good guy appears in a cape and the villain hisses on command. Real life does not give you a neat script with the moral wrapped up in two hours.

But that is how people are approaching politics now. They want the oppressed and the oppressor, the heroic underdog and the cartoon villain. They embrace this fantastical framing because it is easier than wrestling with reality.

This framing took root in the 1960s when the left rebuilt its worldview around colonizers and the colonized. Overnight, Zionism was recast as imperialism. Suddenly, every conflict had to fit the same script. Today’s young activists are just recycling the same narrative with updated graphics. Everything becomes a morality play. No nuance, no context, just the comforting clarity of heroes and villains.

Bad-faith questions

This same mindset is fueling the sudden obsession with Israel, and the American Israel Public Affairs Committee in particular. You hear it from members of Congress and activists alike: AIPAC pulls the strings, AIPAC controls the government, AIPAC should register as a foreign agent under the Foreign Agents Registration Act. The questions are dramatic, but are they being asked in good faith?

FARA is clear. The standard is whether an individual or group acts under the direction or control of a foreign government. AIPAC simply does not qualify.

Here is a detail conveniently left out of these arguments: Dozens of domestic organizations — Armenian, Cuban, Irish, Turkish — lobby Congress on behalf of other countries. None of them registers under FARA because — like AIPAC — they are independent, domestic organizations.

If someone has a sincere problem with the structure of foreign lobbying, fair enough. Let us have that conversation. But singling out AIPAC alone is not a search for truth. It is bias dressed up as bravery.

Anadolu / Contributor | Getty Images

If someone wants to question foreign aid to Israel, fine. Let’s have that debate. But let’s ask the right questions. The issue is not the size of the package but whether the aid advances our interests. What does the United States gain? Does the investment strengthen our position in the region? How does it compare to what we give other nations? And do we examine those countries with the same intensity?

The real target

These questions reflect good-faith scrutiny. But narrowing the entire argument to one country or one dollar amount misses the larger problem. If someone objects to the way America handles foreign aid, the target is not Israel. The target is the system itself — an entrenched bureaucracy, poor transparency, and decades-old commitments that have never been re-examined. Those problems run through programs around the world.

If you want answers, you need to broaden the lens. You have to be willing to put aside the movie script and confront reality. You have to hold yourself to a simple rule: Ask questions because you want the truth, not because you want a target.

That is the only way this country ever gets clarity on foreign aid, influence, alliances, and our place in the world. Questioning is not just allowed. It is essential. But only if it is honest.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.