Patriotism Belongs to All of Us

For too long, Democrats, independents, democratic socialists, and anyone who believes in an inclusive America have surrendered one of the most powerful words in our language: patriotism.

It’s time to take it back.

Somewhere along the way, a political movement convinced millions of Americans that waving the flag, wearing red, white, and blue, and proclaiming love of country belonged exclusively to one side of the political spectrum. It doesn’t. It never did.

I refuse to surrender the American flag to a movement that too often uses it as a prop rather than a promise.

Because when I look at that flag, I don’t see one man. I don’t see one political party. I don’t see one religion or one race or one ideology.

I see the first three words of our Constitution:

We the People.

Not “We the Republicans.”

Not “We the Democrats.”

Not “We the MAGA faithful.”

We the People.

That simple phrase is perhaps the most radical democratic idea ever written. It says that this nation belongs to all of us, not just those who agree with whoever occupies the White House.

Real patriotism isn’t measured by how loudly you chant “USA.”

It’s measured by whether you believe every American deserves the same rights, the same opportunities, and the same dignity.

That is why I reject the idea that progressive values are somehow “un-American.”

Public education? That’s patriotism. An educated citizenry is the backbone of a democracy.

Scientific research? Patriotism. America led the world because we invested in knowledge.

Protecting our national parks? Patriotism. We preserve what previous generations entrusted to us.

Supporting veterans after they return home? Patriotism.

Standing up for workers? Patriotism.

Protecting Social Security and Medicare? Patriotism.

Defending the right to vote? Patriotism.

Welcoming immigrants who believe in the American dream? Patriotism. Unless your family descends from Native Americans, your story began with someone who came here seeking something better.

Standing up for the rule of law—even when it is politically inconvenient? That is patriotism.

Supporting a free press that can challenge those in power? Patriotism.

Defending the Constitution rather than demanding loyalty to a single individual? That may be the highest form of patriotism there is.

By contrast, I struggle to understand how demanding unquestioning loyalty to one political leader can be described as patriotic.

Patriotism isn’t blind obedience.

It isn’t pretending elections only count when your side wins.

It isn’t attacking judges because they rule against you.

It isn’t dismissing the Constitution when it becomes inconvenient.

It isn’t threatening political opponents or journalists.

It certainly isn’t redefining loyalty to America as loyalty to one man.

A republic survives only when its citizens remain loyal to the principles that created it—not to personalities.

This country has never been perfect. It wasn’t perfect in 1776. It wasn’t perfect during the Civil War. It wasn’t perfect during Jim Crow. It wasn’t perfect when women couldn’t vote. It wasn’t perfect when LGBTQ Americans were denied equal rights.

But generation after generation, Americans expanded the promise of “We the People.”

That is the American story.

Not perfection.

Progress.

Not exclusion.

Expansion.

Not fear.

Hope.

As a city councilor, as a business owner, as a coach who has represented this country overseas, I’ve often been asked what makes America special.

It isn’t that we’re flawless.

It’s that we have always aspired to become better than we were yesterday.

That aspiration belongs to Lincoln.

To Roosevelt.

To Eisenhower.

To Kennedy.

To King.

To every soldier who defended our Constitution.

To every teacher who opens a classroom door.

To every volunteer who serves a meal.

To every citizen who votes.

Patriotism isn’t ownership.

It’s stewardship.

So here’s my challenge to everyone who shares progressive values.

Stop apologizing for loving your country.

Fly the flag.

Stand for the anthem if you choose.

Celebrate Independence Day.

Teach your children American history—all of it, the triumphs and the failures—because loving your country enough to tell the truth about it is more patriotic than pretending it has never made mistakes.

Do not let anyone tell you that compassion is weakness.

That inclusion is un-American.

That democracy is optional.

Or that patriotism belongs exclusively to one movement.

It doesn’t.

The American flag belongs to every citizen.

And every time I see it, I want to be reminded of those three extraordinary words that define who we are and who we are still striving to become:

We the People.

That flag should never stand for one man.

It should always stand for all of us.

Watergate vs. Today’s Political Climate

When Watergate Looks Cute

Yesterday I flew back from a work trip in Iceland.

One of the interesting things about traveling internationally is that people inevitably ask questions about America. They ask about our politics, our economy, our culture, and increasingly, Donald Trump. This wasn’t the first time I’ve found myself trying to explain the Trump administration to people overseas, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.

The question is usually some variation of the same thing:

“How can Americans allow this to happen?”

It’s a fair question.

The uncomfortable answer is that many Americans aren’t allowing it. Millions of us have voted against it repeatedly. Millions more have protested it, written about it, organized against it, and warned about it. But our system was designed with checks and balances that require institutions to do their jobs.

Right now, Congress largely isn’t.

The founders envisioned Congress as a co-equal branch of government capable of checking presidential power. Instead, it has become increasingly polarized, increasingly dysfunctional, and increasingly unwilling to challenge presidents from its own party.

The growth of executive power didn’t start with Donald Trump. Every administration since Reagan has expanded the authority of the presidency in one way or another. Democrats did it. Republicans did it. Congress often stood by and watched.

Trump simply took that trend and put it on steroids. Like everything he does, he turned it up to 11.

On the flight home, I was looking for something to have on as background noise while finishing some work on my laptop. I settled on All the President’s Men, the classic film about the Watergate scandal.

Movie poster for 'All The President's Men' featuring two men in suits looking serious, with a background of newspaper text.

I hadn’t seen it in more than a decade. As the movie played, I found myself thinking something I never expected to think: Watergate almost looked cute.

Not because it wasn’t serious. It was. Nixon’s operatives infiltrated the Democratic Party, engaged in political espionage, and attempted to manipulate an election. The cover-up ultimately brought down a president.

At the time, Americans were horrified.

Republicans and Democrats alike eventually concluded that what Nixon had done was unacceptable. Members of his own party confronted him. The institutions worked. The rule of law prevailed.

Front page of The Washington Post from June 19, 1972, featuring headlines about the Watergate scandal, including 'GOP Security Aide Among 5 Arrested In Bugging Affair' and 'FBI Finds Nixon Aides Sabotaged Democrats'.

Now compare that to where we are today.

A sitting president lost an election and spent months spreading lies about voter fraud. Those lies culminated in a violent attack on the United States Capitol on January 6, 2021. A mob assaulted police officers, smashed windows, hunted elected officials, and attempted to stop the peaceful transfer of power that has defined American democracy for nearly 250 years.

A large crowd of protesters gathering outside a building, some holding flags, while smoke fills the air and police are present on the upper levels.
FILE PHOTO: Police release tear gas into a crowd of pro-Trump protesters during clashes at a rally to contest the certification of the 2020 U.S. presidential election results by the U.S. Congress, at the U.S. Capitol Building in Washington, U.S, January 6, 2021. REUTERS/Shannon Stapleton/File Photo

Think about that for a moment.

Watergate involved burglars breaking into an office building. January 6 involved thousands of people attacking the Capitol itself!

Yet somehow, in today’s political environment, the latter is treated by many as a partisan disagreement rather than an assault on democracy.

Many participants were investigated, prosecuted, and convicted. Then Trump returned to office and pardoned them! That is INSANE! Not just because I do not agree with it. BUT A SITTING PRESIDENT WHO TALKED ABOUT LAND AND ORDER PARDONED PEOPLE WHO ASSAULTED POLICE OFFICERS. Now Trump and his allies have even discussed mechanisms to compensate participants for what they describe as unjust prosecutions.

You can’t justify that to your neighbor here. Can you imagine explaining that to someone in Iceland? How can the generation who lived through Watergate explain it to themselves?

The alarming reality is that the scandal that brought down Nixon would barely survive a single news cycle today. I find that terrifying.

The corruption isn’t just the actions themselves. It is the normalization of behavior that previous generations would have found unthinkable.

  • Conflicts of interest that would have triggered investigations are now shrugged off.
  • Attempts to pressure institutions are dismissed as politics.
  • Open attacks on judges, prosecutors, journalists, and civil servants have become routine.
  • The outrage has been exhausted.
  • The public has become numb.

That may be Trump’s greatest achievement—not convincing Americans that corruption is acceptable, but convincing many that it is inevitable.

I don’t believe that. I cannot accept that.

I still believe most Americans, regardless of party, want honest government. I still believe most Americans value the Constitution more than any politician. I still believe most Americans understand that loyalty to a country must always come before loyalty to a leader.

But belief isn’t enough.

The institutions that protect democracy only work when the people inside them have the courage to defend them.

Congress was designed to be one of those institutions.

Right now, it is failing that test. And until it finds the courage to act like a co-equal branch of government again, Americans will continue finding themselves overseas, trying to explain the unexplainable.

Trying to answer a question that becomes harder every day:

How did we get to the point where Watergate looks small?

More importantly, what are we going to do about it?

Congress must start acting like an independent branch of government again, not a cheering section for whichever party happens to hold power. Lawmakers of both parties need to remember that their oath is to the Constitution, not to a president, a party leader, or a political movement. Oversight is not optional. Accountability is not partisan. Defending democratic institutions is the job they were elected to do.

And for the rest of us, the responsibility is just as real.

We cannot afford to reward cowardice. We cannot keep sending politicians back to Washington who remain silent when principles are tested. Whether you are a Democrat, Republican, Independent, or something else entirely, demand more from the people who ask for your vote.

Vote for people with the backbone to tell their own side when it is wrong. Vote for people who will defend the rule of law even when it is politically inconvenient. Vote for people who put country before party and Constitution before career.

Because if enough Americans do that, then maybe someday the question people ask overseas will change.

Instead of asking how Americans allowed this to happen, they might ask how Americans found the courage to stop it.

The growing concentration of power in the presidency will not be solved by the White House alone—it requires Congress to step up and fulfill its constitutional responsibilities. This fall, voters have an opportunity to demand that change. If you are unhappy with the direction of the country, make your voice heard at the ballot box. As I travel, I find myself increasingly frustrated trying to explain the state of American politics. I remember when conversations about the United States centered on its innovation, opportunity, and democratic ideals. Today, too often, those discussions are overshadowed by concerns about political dysfunction, corruption, and a government that seems unable or unwilling to address the challenges facing the nation.

And – NO. I am not running for anything.

Smiling man in a blue blazer and white shirt seated, with a dark background.

America at 250

My work has me traveling to other countries quite frequently (I am actually writing this from Iceland). I am proud to be an American, but it has become harder and harder to explain where we are at.

I have never read a more brutally honest assessment of who we are and what we’ve become.

OLIVER KORNETZKE

250 years. Two hundred and fifty fucking years of the most powerful, most resourced, most theoretically capable nation in the history of human civilization and here is what we have to show for it.

Forty million people on food stamps, thirty million without health insurance, the highest maternal mortality rate in the developed world, the highest incarceration rate on earth, an opioid crisis that has killed over half a million people and counting, a housing market so broken that working people cannot afford to live in the cities they work in, an education system that buries young people in debt before they earn their first dollar, infrastructure that is literally collapsing, a life expectancy that is going backwards, a political system so thoroughly purchased by concentrated wealth that the laws it produces bear almost no relationship to what the public actually wants or needs, a working class that has not seen meaningful real wage growth in thirty years, a mental health crisis so severe we normalized it, a gun violence epidemic so routine we don’t even act when preschoolers are slaughtered, and a climate hurtling toward catastrophe while the people paid to address it collect checks from the industry causing it.

Two hundred and fifty years of that. And to celebrate, we built a wrestling arena on the White House lawn.

Not a hospital, or a school, or a housing development. Not a single fucking thing that addresses a single goddamn item on the list above. A wrestling arena. With cranes and pyrotechnics and a steel arch that probably cost more than the annual budget of three rural counties combined, erected in front of the building where Lincoln and Roosevelt and every president who ever tried to make any of this mean something once lived and worked and in some cases died trying.

Truthfully, this is not a departure from American values. This is the fullest possible expression of them. Because this is what we chose. Every single time the choice was presented.

We built a culture where a football coach makes forty times what a physics professor makes and then express genuine bewilderment at the outcomes. Where a reality television star becomes president and a school district cuts its art program in the same fiscal year. Where children know every statistic of every player on their favorite sport team and cannot locate their own country on a map. Where scientific consensus on vaccines, climate, evolution, and basic nutrition gets weighed against a Facebook post and the Facebook post wins at the dinner table. Where the school that wins the state championship gets a parade and the school that produces a Nobel laureate gets a budget cut.

We chose the bomber over the teacher. The tank over the clinic. The aircraft carrier over the water treatment plant. We spend more on military than the next ten countries combined, including our allies, while veterans sleep on the streets of the cities they came back to. We built the most expensive killing apparatus in human history and then told the nurse she made too much money. We sent young men to die in wars that made defense contractors rich and called it freedom and put a yellow ribbon magnet on the back of the car and called that support. We made the soldier and the police officer into sacred untouchable symbols of national identity and then cut their benefits, denied their PTSD claims, let them die waiting for VA appointments, and sent them back for third and fourth tours because it was cheaper than taking care of them when they came home. We worshipped the uniform and neglected the human inside it because the uniform is a symbol and symbols are cheaper than healthcare and housing and the therapy that would actually help. We built bases in a hundred and fifty countries and could not build enough affordable housing in fifty states. We funded a military budget that could have ended homelessness and medical debt and student debt several times over and we did it with bipartisan enthusiasm and called the people who questioned it unserious.

We chose entertainment over education so many times and for so long and at every available level of society that we forgot there was a distinction worth making. Spectacle over substance, performance over policy, the aesthetics of greatness in place of the actual thing, and the feeling of winning instead of asking what was being won and who was paying for it and what it would cost the people who came next.

Rome had bread and circuses. We Americans have food stamps and a wrestling ring outside the Oval Office.

250 years. This is what we built. This is what we chose. This is what we are celebrating. And the most perfectly, catastrophically, irreducibly American thing about all of it is that anyone pointing at this image and asking what it means will be called unpatriotic by people watching it on a television they bought on credit they cannot afford to pay back, rooting for a sport they cannot explain, in a country they cannot describe, celebrating a birthday they cannot contextualize, for a nation that has spent two and a half centuries confusing the noise it makes with the work it never did, all while claiming to be the greatest country on Earth.

Happy Birthday America! You have never looked more like yourself!

Citizenship Requires More Than Blind Loyalty

Maybe It’s Not Trump Derangement Syndrome After All

Every time I criticize Donald Trump, someone inevitably tells me I suffer from “Trump Derangement Syndrome.”

The accusation usually goes something like this: “Why can’t you acknowledge the good things he’s done?”

Fair question.

As a business owner for more than three decades, a coach who has spent a lifetime teaching accountability, and a city councilor responsible for spending taxpayer dollars wisely, I believe in giving credit where credit is due. If someone does something well, I will say so. If a policy works, I will acknowledge it.

But leadership isn’t judged by a handful of talking points. It is judged by character, integrity, competence, and whether the person in charge is working for the people or for themselves.

That’s where my concerns begin.

Supporters often point to immigration enforcement, NATO spending, tariffs, or cultural issues as evidence of Trump’s success. We can have legitimate policy debates about any of those topics. Reasonable people can disagree.

What troubles me is something deeper.

It is the corruption.

It is the constant blurring of the line between public service and personal profit.

As a city councilor, if I voted on matters that directly enriched my business interests, people would rightly demand answers. If city contracts consistently benefited my friends, family, or financial partners, residents would be outraged. They should be.

The same standard should apply to the President of the United States.

Yet we have become numb to behavior that would be unacceptable from virtually any other elected official.

The Trump family has expanded its business interests while Trump occupies the Oval Office. Cryptocurrency ventures, real estate projects, private fundraising efforts, and relationships with wealthy donors all seem to intersect with public policy decisions in ways that should concern anyone who believes government should serve the public first.

This isn’t a Republican issue or a Democratic issue.

It’s an ethics issue.

It’s a leadership issue.

It’s an accountability issue.

What concerns me even more is the growing use of government power against perceived enemies. In America, we are supposed to settle political disagreements at the ballot box, not through investigations designed to intimidate critics or punish opponents.

One of the great strengths of our democracy has always been that no one is above the law—but equally important, no one should be beneath its protection.

The machinery of government should never become a personal weapon.

As a coach, I often tell athletes that character is revealed when nobody is watching.

As a businessman, I’ve learned that trust takes years to build and moments to destroy.

As a city councilor, I’ve learned that public confidence is fragile and must be earned every day.

Those same principles apply to presidents.

I understand why many Americans voted for Donald Trump. They were frustrated by rising costs, worried about immigration, concerned about national security, and convinced Washington wasn’t listening.

Those concerns are real.

But voting for someone to solve problems does not require blind loyalty.

In fact, patriotism demands the opposite.

We should expect results.

We should demand honesty.

We should insist on transparency.

And we should be willing to call out misconduct regardless of whether it comes from our political opponents or from people we supported.

That’s not Trump Derangement Syndrome.

That’s citizenship.

The real question isn’t why some of us continue to criticize Donald Trump.

The real question is why so many people have stopped holding him to the same standards they would apply to anyone else.

Last night, I attended the Dover High School graduation as a city councilor. As I watched those young men and women cross the stage, I found myself thinking less about today’s political battles and more about the world we are leaving them.

These graduates are entering adulthood at a time of declining trust in institutions, growing political division, and leaders too often focused on winning arguments instead of solving problems. Yet I left hopeful. Every generation inherits challenges. Mine inherited the Cold War, economic uncertainty, and environmental concerns. Today’s graduates face different problems, but they possess the same capacity for innovation, courage, and change.

What struck me most was that the future belongs to them, not the politicians dominating today’s headlines. They will be the entrepreneurs creating jobs, the teachers inspiring children, the healthcare workers saving lives, the public servants strengthening communities, and the citizens shaping America’s future.

That reality places a responsibility on us. We should model integrity, accountability, and respect for democratic institutions. We should show that public service is about serving others, not ourselves, and leave behind examples worth following.

Someday these graduates will sit in city council chambers, state legislatures, corporate boardrooms, and perhaps even the halls of Congress. The question is whether we are giving them a model of leadership worth inheriting.

America Can’t Afford Trump’s Ego

  • The Price of Narcissism

There is a difference between political loyalty and political worship. One is healthy in a democracy. The other is dangerous.

What we are witnessing with Donald Trump and much of the MAGA movement no longer resembles normal politics. It resembles a cult of personality. Every failure is someone else’s fault. Every criticism is labeled “fake news.” Every warning from economists, generals, historians, judges, or former allies is dismissed as betrayal. The movement has become centered not around conservative principles, fiscal responsibility, or even patriotism—but around protecting one man’s ego.

And while the cheering crowds chant his name and wear the hats and wave the flags, ordinary Americans are getting poorer.

Trump was elected promising economic strength. Instead, families are watching grocery bills climb, paying painful prices at the gas pump, and struggling with the rising cost of basic goods. His reckless tariff obsessions drove up prices for consumers and businesses alike. His aggressive foreign policy rhetoric and impulsive leadership helped drag the country into another conflict after promising “NO MORE WARS.” Once again, working Americans pay the price while politicians and defense contractors profit.

This is the pattern of narcissistic leadership throughout history: the leader’s image always comes first.

While Americans worry about rent, mortgages, and retirement savings, Trump obsesses over monuments to himself. A ballroom project taxpayers will ultimately subsidize. Talk of a triumphal arch in Washington, D.C., as if America should imitate emperors instead of republics. Vanity projects nobody asked for while roads crumble, schools struggle, and healthcare costs bury families. Reports of unnecessary no-bid contracts handed to friends for cosmetic projects around Washington only reinforce what many Americans already suspect: this administration treats public money like a personal checking account for political loyalty and ego.

And yet his followers defend every bit of it.

Not because it helps them.

Not because their lives are improving.

But because cults require loyalty above reason.

A movement that once claimed to stand for fiscal conservatism now cheers deficit spending if Trump does it. A movement that once screamed about government overreach now applauds when law-abiding immigrants, students, or political opponents are targeted to feed outrage cycles on cable news and social media. A movement that once called itself anti-war now rationalizes another conflict because admitting failure would mean admitting Trump was wrong.

That is the power of narcissism when combined with political tribalism. Truth becomes secondary. Loyalty becomes everything.

The saddest part is this: Donald Trump has shown people exactly who he is for years. He has openly spoken about admiring wealth over service, loyalty over competence, spectacle over substance. He measures success by applause, television ratings, and personal enrichment. The country was supposed to become “great again,” but instead the focus became making sure one man never feels defeated, criticized, or held accountable.

Meanwhile, the American people keep footing the bill.

We are paying more.

We are divided more.

We are respected less internationally.

And we are once again watching America stumble into conflict while being told everything is “historic,” “beautiful,” and “the greatest ever.”

Real leadership is not about building monuments to yourself.

It is not about humiliating enemies or demanding constant praise.

Real leadership is sacrifice. Restraint. Competence. Humility. It is putting the country ahead of your own ego.

America was founded rejecting kings, emperors, and dear leaders.

Somewhere along the way, too many people forgot that.

LOOK UP.

Look Up

In a world that feels impossibly loud right now—war headlines out of Iran, a tumbling economy, the city budget, unstable national leadership, the constant churn of scandal and speculation, it is easy to feel like everything is closing in.

The noise is relentless.

And then, if you let yourself… you stop.

You step outside.

You shut it all off.

And you look up.

Somewhere above us, beyond the noise, beyond the arguments and the fear, Artemis II is making its way home having traveled farther than any humans have ever gone, looping around the Moon, seeing what few ever will: the far side, the quiet side, the side that reminds us just how small our conflicts really are.

There is something profoundly humbling about that.

NASA has always understood the power of naming of poetry in the face of science. The Sea of Tranquility. The Ocean of Storms. And now, Artemis.

Artemis: goddess of the hunt, of wilderness, of wild things untamed. Sister to Apollo. A protector. A force. A presence tied to the Moon itself. Her name carries the idea of being safe, unharmed, resilient.

What a perfect name for this moment.

Because while we argue, while we divide, while we question whether our leaders will escalate the next conflict or stumble into something we cannot undo… there are human beings floating in the vast silence of space. Not as Americans. Not as political factions. But as representatives of all of us.

Of humanity.

Think about that.

At the very moment we are looking up at the night sky, searching for perspective, they may be looking back AT US. At a fragile blue planet that holds everything we’ve ever loved, fought for, built, and broken.

And from that distance, none of our noise matters.

Only the question does:

What are we going to do with this place?

We have always been capable of greatness. We have built impossible things. We have crossed oceans, cured diseases, created art that stops time, and sent people to the edge of existence itself.

We are still those people.

But somewhere along the way, we got smaller. Louder. More consumed by the immediate and the trivial.

Artemis II is a reminder that we don’t have to stay that way.

It is a reminder that we are at our best when we are reaching not fighting. When we are exploring not retreating. When we are united by curiosity instead of divided by fear.

So tonight, step away from the headlines.

Look up.

Find the Moon.

And know that above all the noise, something extraordinary is happening. Something hopeful. Something that belongs not to one nation, but to all of us.

As Artemis makes her way home, may she return safely.

And may we, down here, find our way back to something better.

Not just for America.

But for the human race.

Op-Ed: The ‘Final Solution’ Comment…and the Silence That Followed

By Rep. ANITA BURROUGHS

Recently, Rep. Travis Corcoran (R-Weare) made statewide news, but not in a good way.

He posted on X: We need a final solution for theater kids in politics,” in response to an invitation to a legislative karaoke night hosted by Rep. Jessica Grill, who is Jewish.

For those unfamiliar, the phrase “final solution” was used by Nazi leaders to describe their plan to commit genocide against European Jews.

That’s not a throwaway line. It’s not edgy humor. It’s a phrase with a very specific and horrific meaning.

Speaker Sherman Packard and Minority Leader Alexis Simpson both condemned Corcoran’s statement. But beyond that, there was silence where it mattered most.

There was no public statement from Governor Ayotte or Majority Leader Jason Osborne. No call for accountability. Just silence. And that silence speaks volumes.

This stands in sharp contrast to what happened in 2020. Then-Speaker Steve Shurtleff asked Rep. Richard Komi (D-Manchester) to resign over a social media comment widely viewed as dismissive of survivors of sexual violence. Komi stepped down.

Leadership acted then. Why not now?

Deputy House Speaker Steve Smith has said that meaningful action would require a majority of lawmakers to agree it’s warranted: We can condemn it, but there is nothing we can do about it.”

I disagree.

Republican leadership has tools…if they choose to use them. They could pressure Corcoran to resign or rally their caucus to support expulsion. Leader Osborne has shown, time and again, that he can deliver votes when he wants to.

Short of that, they could at least make clear that this kind of rhetoric has consequences, including the option of supporting a serious primary challenger.

And recent elections show that even “safe” districts aren’t immune to voter backlash. Bobbi Boudman’s victory in a traditionally Republican district (Wolfeboro, Tuftonboro and Ossipee) underscores that point.

So why does this matter?

I’ll answer that personally, as a Jewish member of the New Hampshire House.

My grandfather Max came to the United States alone at age 13 from what is now Poland, fleeing the early threats that would later become the Holocaust. He spoke no English. Years later, much of his family was murdered, some at Auschwitz and Dachau.

Max was one of the kindest men I’ve ever known. We lived in the same two-family home, and I saw him every day growing up.

I never experienced antisemitism until I served in the New Hampshire State House.

Several years ago, two state representatives were brought before the Ethics Committee for posting antisemitic content. One sat across from me on the Commerce Committee. She never apologized and even suggested we should get together because we had so much in common.

No, thank you.

Neither representative faced any serious repercussion for their behavior.

Corcoran’s comment is not an isolated incident. It’s part of a broader pattern, of rhetoric and legislation that seeks to marginalize and demonize others.

And when leadership responds with silence, it sends a message.

Not just to those of us who are directly affected, but to everyone watching.

If there is no accountability from within the State House, then it must come from outside of it.

Vote out state representatives who believe they can act with impunity because they are protected by leadership or insulated by district lines.

Help your community recruit strong candidates from both sides of the aisle who reject the politics of hate and are willing to represent all their constituents, regardless of religion, race, or sexual orientation. And get out and volunteer to help get these candidates elected.  Newly elected representative Bobbi Boudman demonstrated that it can be done. 

Rep. Anita Burroughs
State Rep, Bartlett Carroll 2

Taking Back “Make America Great Again”

You want to make America great again?

Good.
So do I.

But let’s start by being honest about what actually made America great in the first place.

Red baseball cap with the slogan 'Make America Great Again' embroidered in white text.

It wasn’t slogans.
It wasn’t hats.
And it certainly wasn’t loyalty to one man.

America was great because we stood up for what was right—even when it was hard.

We passed laws for moral reasons.
We struck down laws for moral reasons.

We waged a war on poverty—not a war on poor people.

We invested in each other. We cared about our neighbors. We believed that when America succeeded, it was because all of us were pulling in the same direction.

We built big things—dams, highways, universities, research institutions.

We made astonishing technological advances.
We cured diseases.
We explored the universe.

We cultivated the greatest artists, the greatest scientists, and the most dynamic economy the world has ever seen.

We reached for the stars.

And we were able to do those things because we respected knowledge.

We aspired to intelligence.
We didn’t belittle it.
We didn’t fear it.
We didn’t treat education or expertise like some kind of enemy.

And we didn’t scare so easily.

Today, that spirit is under attack.

Donald Trump and the people who enable him have replaced patriotism with grievance. They have turned politics into a loyalty test to one man instead of a commitment to one country.

They mock intelligence.
They undermine truth.
They divide Americans against each other.

And now, once again, they have entangled the United States in another Middle East conflict—one that makes Americans less safe, not more.

That is not strength.

That is recklessness.

The first step in solving any problem is recognizing there is one.

And right now, we have a problem.

America is not the greatest country in the world today—not when we tolerate corruption, cruelty, and ignorance in our leadership.

But here’s the good news:

We can fix it.

Because greatness doesn’t come from slogans. It does not come from rage.
It does not come from lies.
It does not come from bullying the weak, demonizing immigrants, attacking education, or turning patriotism into a costume.

It comes from courage.
From sacrifice.
From intelligence.
From decency.

From citizens who are willing to stand up and say:

We can do better.

If we truly want to make America great again, then the first step is simple.

STOP saying YES to Donald Trump and the politicians who enable him. STOP voting for the unserious members of the GOP whose only goal is to get invited to Mara Lago.

And then let’s get back to the work that actually made this country great in the first place.

Building.
Inventing.
Discovering.
Learning.
And taking care of one another.

That is the America worth fighting for.

And that is the America we must build again. 🇺🇸

The Hidden Costs of War: Understanding Personal Sacrifice

Yesterday I wrote When easy victory isn’t easy peace. Here is part 2

The Invisible Cost of War — Who Fights and Who Bears the Burden

When the topic of war comes up in coffee shops, in newsrooms, or on social media, there’s often an unspoken gap between the abstract decisions of policy and the lived realities of service and sacrifice.

We prize technological dominance — drones, precision weapons, unmanned platforms — because they keep our soldiers physically safer. That’s a humane impulse. Yet in doing so, we risk making war feel distant from the lives of most Americans — until it isn’t.

War from a Distance — But Who Faces the Consequences?

One of the most profound effects of America’s All-Volunteer Force is that the duty of war is no longer a shared burden. Instead of a broad cross-section of society feeling the cost of conflict, the military becomes its own community — disproportionately composed of people from smaller towns, rural areas, and families with a tradition of service. 

That dynamic creates a quiet but growing divide:

  • For many Americans, war feels like a distant policy choice.
  • For others, it’s a lived reality — something that shapes their family’s future, their town’s demographics, their community’s hopes and fears.

That’s not just a statistic — it’s a human story. It’s the parent writing letters home, the small-town baker waiting for a son’s return, the neighbor whose family has served generation after generation.

The Psychological Distance of Remote Warfare

We’ve become experts at minimizing danger to our own forces — deploying drones and long-range systems that keep Americans off the ground. But that very safety can make military action feel risk-free to the vast majority of the public. When decisions about war are made in secure rooms thousands of miles from the battlefield, the human weight of those decisions can feel abstract, impersonal, even sanitized.

Two military personnel operating multiple computer screens in a command center, focused on monitoring and controlling various systems.
Major Dusty, 9th Attack Squadron MQ-9 Reaper pilot, and TSgt Trevis, 49th Operations Group MQ-9 sensor operator (last names omitted due to operational security concerns) fly an MQ-9 Reaper training mission from a ground control station on Holloman Air Force Base, N.M., Oct. 3. The Reaper is a multi-functional aircraft that supports both reconnaissance and combat roles. Holloman trains all Air Force MQ-1 Predator and MQ-9 Reaper pilots. (U.S. Air Force photo by Airman 1st Class Michael Shoemaker/Released)

That gap — between decision-maker and service member, between civilian majority and military minority — matters. It shapes how society perceives war, how politicians justify it, and how we, as a nation, understand sacrifice.

Re-Centering the Human Story

Let’s bring the narrative of war back to the people who live it:

  • The young recruit from a town with limited job prospects who saw service as a way forward.
  • The parent who wonders whether this deployment will take a child out of a wedding, a graduation, a town celebration.
  • The veteran who carries memories home that no amount of distance or technology could erase.

These are the real stories behind the headlines.

War should never feel like a video game.
It should never feel like an easy choice.
It should always, always feel like a last resort.

Because it changes people — not just places on a map — but hearts, families, communities, futures.

When “Easy” Victory Isn’t Peace — Reflections on Iran and the Peace After War

When “Easy” Victory Isn’t Peace — Reflections on Iran and the Peace After War

There’s something deceptively simple about how we talk about modern war: high-tech instruments, swift strikes, minimal casualties on our side. In the opening weeks of the current conflict with Iran, headlines and political comments have often framed this as a matter of American resolve — a powerful nation using precision weapons to thwart an adversary. 

But it’s worth pausing and asking: what comes after the violence? What happens when the bombing stops?

The Illusion of “Easy” Victory

Our military can destroy an adversary’s infrastructure with firepower unmatched in history. That’s not empty rhetoric — it’s a fact rooted in overwhelming technological advantage. Yet all the weaponized drones, bombs, and missiles can only end one aspect of conflict: the physical threat. They cannot magically build the trust, stability, or political structures that make peace sustainable.

Even in a moment where U.S. and allied strikes have damaged Iranian military capabilities, Iran still retains short-range missiles, drones, and conventional forces that could inflict harm — as analysts have pointed out in recent days. That’s a reminder that a weaker opponent is not a non-threat. And a defeated state from the air is still a society of human beings dealing with loss, fear, and uncertainty.

The Dangers of a Power Vacuum

When a regime weakens or collapses — whether through military pressure or internal upheaval — the world doesn’t instantly become safer. Power vacuums don’t tidy themselves up. Arms don’t disappear into thin air. Structures of governance don’t rebuild on their own. This was starkly evident after interventions in other countries, where the dismantling of existing power structures left behind chaos that no missile could target.

In Iran’s case, years of tension over nuclear development and regional influence didn’t suddenly evaporate. Even if the regime’s upper hierarchy is decimated or its nuclear ambitions delayed, the region remains volatile and people’s lives remain fragile. Compassionate policy must reckon with that.

Beyond Military Metrics

We talk about “operations,” “missions,” “targets hit,” even “success” in purely technical terms — as though human experience falls outside the calculus of war. But peace isn’t measured in how many planes return home. It’s measured in whether families can wake up without fear, whether cities can rebuild, whether neighbors can trust neighbors again.

This moment calls for a deeper conversation: not just about how we project power, but about how we rebuild trust, how we foster resilience, and how we make sure that those who survived don’t spend a generation reliving trauma.

Military might buys quiet — not peace.
Let’s remember that true peace isn’t the absence of bullets and bombs.
It’s the presence of hope.