Ohio has a political scandal sitting in plain sight.

Not hidden in some dark corner of the internet. Not whispered about in back rooms. Not buried in anonymous Reddit threads or political gossip pages. It is out in the open: a sitting Ohio congressman, Representative Max Miller, is facing serious allegations from his ex-wife, Emily Moreno, the daughter of U.S. Senator Bernie Moreno, while Bay Village police continue investigating a report involving suspected child abuse.

And yet, in Columbus, the political capital of this state, the silence has been loud.

Miller, a Republican who represents Ohio’s 7th Congressional District, denies the allegations. No criminal charges have been filed. That matters. Allegations are not convictions, and custody fights can be ugly, complicated, and weaponized by all sides.

But that does not make this story private. Not anymore.

Not when police have confirmed an open investigation. Not when court filings are being reported by multiple outlets. Not when one Ohio Republican congressman is publicly accusing one Ohio Republican senator — his former father-in-law — of helping fuel a campaign to destroy him. And definitely not when the public officials involved are both backed by the same political movement that loves to lecture everyone else about family values, law and order, and protecting children.

Share

According to News 5 Cleveland, Bay Village police are investigating claims of suspected child abuse involving Miller’s young daughter. The outlet reported that a county child protective specialist went to police about “suspected child abuse,” and police said they would not release more details because the investigation remains open. Days later, Emily Moreno filed a motion asking a judge to make her the sole custodian of the couple’s 2-year-old daughter. In that filing, according to News 5, Moreno alleged Miller spoke to her in an aggressive and demeaning manner and engaged in dangerous physical behavior in the child’s presence.

Miller’s side has pushed back hard. His attorney, Larry Zukerman, gave News 5 what he described as a county document saying one report of alleged physical abuse involving Miller’s daughter was “unsubstantiated,” meaning no evidence of child abuse or neglect was found in that specific inquiry. Zukerman called the allegations false. Miller has also sought psychological evaluations in the custody case, arguing that Moreno has made repeated unsubstantiated claims.

That is the legal fog this story sits inside: one side saying there is a pattern of dangerous conduct, the other side saying the allegations are false and politically motivated.

But then the story got bigger.

Subscribe now

The Daily Beast reported that Emily Moreno has accused Miller of years of physical abuse, including an alleged February 1 custody exchange where she says Miller struck her while their daughter was present. The outlet reported that photographs obtained by the Daily Mail showed bruising and redness after alleged incidents, and that Bay Village police confirmed it responded to a child-abuse report that day and that the investigation remains open.

The Daily Beast also reported an earlier allegation from June 2024, where Moreno claims Miller threw boiling water at her during an argument while their daughter was home. Miller denies the allegations. His attorney told the Daily Mail that Miller denied the claims, and Miller later posted materials online that he said refuted the reporting.

People reported that Miller publicly accused Sen. Bernie Moreno of funding what Miller called a “malicious campaign” against him. People also reported that Miller called the Daily Mail report false, posted videos and screenshots he said supported his denial, and accused Emily Moreno of focusing on hurting him instead of caring for their child. Sen. Moreno had not publicly responded to Miller’s accusation, according to People’s May 8 report.

So let’s be clear about what we know and what we do not know.

We know there is an open police investigation.

We know there is an active custody battle.

We know Emily Moreno has made serious allegations.

We know Miller denies them.

We know at least one abuse-related inquiry was described by Miller’s attorney as unsubstantiated.

We know the political stakes are high because this is not just any family dispute. This involves a sitting member of Congress, the daughter of a sitting U.S. senator, and two prominent Ohio Republicans tied directly to Donald Trump’s political orbit.

Purchase Today

And we know something else: this story has not been treated by much of Ohio’s political media with the urgency it deserves.

News 5 Cleveland has reported on it. National outlets have picked it up. TiffinOhio.net published a detailed summary tying together the Daily Mail reporting, the Daily Beast confirmation, Miller’s denial, and the Ohio Democratic Party’s reaction. The Ohio Capital Journal appears to have included the matter in a May 12 news roundup, but as of this writing, Kin+ did not find a major standalone Columbus newsroom treatment matching the seriousness of the allegations.

That matters.

Because Columbus is where Ohio power gets laundered into respectability.

Columbus is where state officials hold press conferences about “values.” Columbus is where lawmakers pass bills in the name of children, parents, safety, morality, schools, bathrooms, sports, religion, police, and family. Columbus is where political operatives decide which scandals become breaking news and which ones get filed away as “personal matters.”

But when the allegation involves a powerful Republican man, a wealthy family network, a custody fight, and possible abuse, suddenly everybody wants to act like the room got quiet by accident.

It did not.

The silence is part of the story.

This is not about turning domestic violence allegations into a partisan weapon. That would be too cheap and too easy. Domestic violence is not a Democratic issue or a Republican issue. Abuse is abuse. Power is power. Courts are courts. Evidence is evidence. A denial is a denial. An investigation is an investigation.

But the public has a right to ask whether powerful men receive a different level of patience, protection, and presumption than everybody else.

The public has a right to ask whether Ohio’s political class would be this quiet if the accused official were a Democrat from Cleveland, Columbus, or Cincinnati.

The public has a right to ask whether “protect the children” is a real governing principle or just a campaign slogan printed on mailers.

And the public has a right to ask what Ohio’s Republican leadership has to say.

Miller has been a Trump-backed congressman since 2023. Moreno is now one of Ohio’s two U.S. senators. Their family connection was once part of the same Republican power ecosystem. Miller and Emily Moreno married in 2022 at Trump National Golf Club Bedminster, according to the Daily Beast, and later divorced after a bitter split.

Now that the relationship has spilled into court filings, police records, national media, and public accusations.

That is not merely a “messy divorce.”

That is public accountability territory.

There is also another layer here: the legal system itself.

A New York Post report republished by Zashin Law says Miller’s attorneys later acknowledged that his girlfriend was “not likely present” during a February custody exchange, despite Miller previously claiming in a notarized statement and hearing testimony that she was there. Moreno’s attorney then demanded sanctions and attorney fees, arguing that Miller was weaponizing the legal process in the custody dispute. Miller’s attorneys still argued that the video of the exchange showed no altercation.

That detail deserves scrutiny because courts rely on sworn statements. Protection orders rely on credibility. Custody decisions rely on facts. When any party in a case is accused of misrepresenting a witness, that is not a side note. That goes directly to the integrity of the process.

And again, Miller denies wrongdoing.

But denial does not end a story. It defines one side of it.

That is where journalism comes in.

The job is not to convict someone in public. The job is not to run somebody through a digital gallows. The job is to separate what is known, what is alleged, what is denied, what is documented, and what public officials still refuse to answer.

That is what Ohio’s political press should be doing right now.

Not with tabloid thirst. Not with partisan laziness. But with discipline.

Ask Bay Village police for updates.

Ask the Cuyahoga County court for accessible filings.

Ask Miller’s office whether he will answer questions beyond social media posts.

Ask Sen. Moreno’s office whether he denies, confirms, or refuses to address Miller’s accusation that he helped fund a campaign against him.

Ask Ohio Republican leaders whether allegations involving domestic violence and child safety deserve public comment when the accused official is one of their own.

Ask House Republican leadership whether they are monitoring the situation.

Ask the Ohio Democratic Party what accountability looks like beyond campaign messaging.

Ask everyone the same question: if this were your political enemy, would you be louder?

That is the question Columbus should not be allowed to dodge.

Because this is bigger than Max Miller.

It is about what happens when family power, political power, legal power, and media power all collide — and whether Ohioans are expected to look away because the people involved are too connected to touch.

Kin+ will not pretend to know what a court has not decided. But we also will not pretend an open police investigation involving a sitting congressman is just somebody else’s local story.

This is Ohio.

This is power.

And power should never get privacy when the public interest is this clear.

Columbus is doing that thing cities do when the vibes get toxic: everybody starts fumbling for the nearest bottle of hand sanitizer and pretending nobody touched the doorknob.

The doorknob, in this case, is Les Wexner—the billionaire retail kingmaker whose name is on half the city and whose proximity to Jeffrey Epstein has never been a secret, but is suddenly being treated like breaking news now that new batches of Epstein-related records are out and Wexner is headed toward a congressional deposition.

So now a bunch of elected officials are announcing they’re donating Wexner campaign contributions to local nonprofits. Rep. Joyce Beatty says she’s donating Wexner money to organizations supporting survivors of sex trafficking and abuse. Columbus City Council President Shannon Hardin says he donated the “total sum” to Columbus Promise. Franklin County Commissioner John O’Grady donated to Ours Brothers Keepers.

And then there’s Mayor Andrew Ginther, who—according to The Columbus Dispatch—isn’t giving his Wexner donations away. The local outlet The Rooster also reports Ginther told reporters nobody asked him to return the money, and he brushed off concerns about Wexner’s Epstein ties.

Which brings us to the real question: Is donating the money away accountability… or is it just reputation management with a receipt?

We track the influence chain—who pays, who benefits, who dodges, and how “accountability” gets staged for cameras. Join the #KinFam for more like this.

Subscribe now

Here’s what was really happening: “Return the money” is the cheapest form of morality

Donating Wexner money to charity sounds like a righteous cleanse. It photographs well. It reads well in a press release. It lets you say “I stand with survivors” without doing anything that might upset the donor ecosystem that keeps local politics humming.

But functionally? It doesn’t rewind time. It doesn’t erase the access the donation bought. It doesn’t undo the advantage that money gave when it was sitting in the account—paying for mailers, staff time, event space, field operations, or just plain political security.

It’s like saying, “I cashed the check, but don’t worry—I gave the same amount to charity later.” That’s not repentance. That’s laundering the optics.

And the timing isn’t subtle. Wexner is back in headlines because (1) his name appeared among newly unredacted Epstein-related material and was discussed publicly by members of Congress, and (2) the House Oversight Committee is moving forward with a deposition. The pressure got louder, so the politicians got holier.

Share

Key moments in the Wexner “donate it away” scramble

1) The Epstein files get louder—and Wexner gets pulled back into the frame

Wexner hasn’t been charged with a crime, and his representatives have denied wrongdoing and said he was not a target in 2019.

At the same time, reporting around the latest document releases has put his name back into public view—including references to an FBI document that listed him as a “co-conspirator,” while also noting limited evidence. That’s not a conviction. But it’s also not nothing—especially in a country that routinely treats suspicion like smoke and “smoke” like fire when the person isn’t rich.

2) Beatty moves first—because her math is ugly

Beatty says she’s donating Wexner money to survivor-support organizations. WOSU reports she has received $61,100 from Les and Abigail Wexner since 2013. That’s enough money to become a story all by itself, especially when your district includes Columbus and your political brand has to survive the phrase “Epstein associate” in the same paragraph as “campaign contributions.”

3) Hardin and O’Grady discover charity—right on schedule

Per The Rooster, O’Grady donated to Ours Brothers Keepers; Hardin donated to Columbus Promise. Whether you love those choices or side-eye them, the logic is the same: announce a donation, exit the blast radius.

And yes, it conveniently overlaps with the unspoken local reality: Columbus political succession is always loading in the background. (Hardin, Klein, and Ginther are basically in a long-running “who’s next” chess match.)

4) Ginther doesn’t budge—and that’s why he’s the headline

If you’re the mayor and everybody around you is sprinting toward the moral high ground, standing still reads like defiance.

Even if Ginther’s internal logic is “the donations were legal,” politics is not a courtroom. Politics is vibes plus power. And right now, the vibe is: why are you the last person still holding the bag?

So what? What donating the money away actually changes

It changes three things—none of them are the big one.

1. It reduces future dependency.
   If Wexner money is still sitting in a campaign account, donating an equivalent amount to charity can at least stop it from funding future political activity.

2. It’s a signal—mostly to donors and endorsers.
   This is a way of saying: “I’m safe. I won’t let this become a liability for the coalition.”

3. It’s narrative control.
   It flips the story from “why did you take it?” to “look what I did with it.” That’s not accountability. That’s PR.

What it doesn’t do: it doesn’t address the deeper issue—a local power structure that treated Wexner money as normal, acceptable, and not worth explaining until national scrutiny forced everybody’s hand.

Is this just because it’s an election year?

Mostly, yes.

Not because every politician is cartoon-villain evil, but because election years are when:

• opponents go digging,

• reporters have incentives to connect dots,

• donors get skittish,

• and “values” suddenly become a campaign asset again.

Also: the congressional deposition date puts a clock on the story. Every week closer to it increases the chance new details drop, and nobody wants to be caught flat-footed with a quote like “no comment” while the internet does what the internet does.

Will Wexner’s name start coming off buildings?

That process has already started—at least politically and culturally—even if the signs haven’t changed yet.

Survivors of OSU’s Richard Strauss abuse have been publicly pressuring Ohio State leadership around Wexner’s institutional influence, including calls to remove his name from facilities. Ohio State has denied at least one formal request to remove Wexner’s name from the Woody Hayes Athletic Center complex. And OSU’s president has publicly acknowledged paying attention to the latest Epstein-file reporting while also saying there’s “no reason not to believe” Wexner’s denials.

Translation: the university is bracing, not pivoting.

Name removals happen when two things converge:

1. sustained public pressure (not just a one-week flare-up), and

2. institutional stakeholders deciding the reputational cost exceeds the financial/history cost.

The pressure side is rising. The institutional side? Still in “wait it out” mode.

What could break this? (Failure modes)

1. The deposition is a dud.
   If the congressional deposition yields no new, headline-worthy information, the urgency fades, and everybody’s “donation cleanse” becomes the closing chapter.

2. The story gets localized into petty politics.
   If this turns into “Hardin vs. Ginther” personality content, the structural question—who runs Columbus, and how—gets buried.

3. Nonprofits become props.
   If donations look like opportunistic checks without transparency, the nonprofits get used as moral shields and the public gets even more cynical.

What to watch next (signals)

1. Does Ginther eventually donate—or double down?
   A late donation would scream “I resisted until it hurt.”

2. Do other city/county officials disclose totals and timelines?
   “Donated to charity” is not a number. Watch for specifics.

3. Do institutions move on naming decisions—or stall again?
   OSU’s current posture is “no.” Watch if that changes as pressure escalates.

4. Does the deposition produce new documentation?
   Even one new detail can re-ignite the whole cycle.

5. Do journalists keep pulling the thread locally?
   Because Columbus has lived with Wexner’s influence for decades. The real story is what people accepted before the national spotlight arrived.

The honest bottom line: donating the money away is not accountability. It’s harm reduction—for the politician. Real accountability would be (a) rejecting the money going forward, (b) disclosing totals cleanly, (c) explaining the relationship and access patterns, and (d) supporting structural reforms that make it harder for a single billionaire to become an unofficial branch of local government.

Until then, “I gave it to charity” is just the political version of “my bad.” Cute. Not sufficient.

We don’t just report the headline—we map the power, the incentives, and the cover stories that keep it all running.

Subscribe now

SOURCING / TRANSPARENCY FOOTER (sources used)

• WOSU Public Media — “U.S. Rep. Joyce Beatty will donate campaign money from Leslie Wexner to charity” — Feb. 13, 2026

• ABC6 / WSYX — “Ohio politicians scramble to return campaign donations tied to Wexner” — Feb. 16, 2026

• Reuters — “US congressional panel to subpoena billionaire Leslie Wexner over Epstein ties” — Jan. 8, 2026

• NOTUS — “Ohio Lawmakers Stay Mum on Donations From Epstein Associate Les Wexner” — Feb. 10, 2026

• Ohio Revised Code — Section 3517.08 (charitable donation expenditures) — effective Sept. 30, 2025

• Federal Election Commission — “Charitable donations” guidance

• The Rooster (D.J. Byrnes) — “Shannon Hardin & Joyce Beatty return Leslie Wexner’s dirty money” — Feb. 13, 2026

• The Rooster (D.J. Byrnes) — “Ohio State University still honors notorious Jeffrey Epstein associate Les Wexner” — Dec. 18, 2025

By the time Norah O’Donnell finished setting the scene in Cambridge, Maryland—historic town, Underground Railroad lore, civil rights echoes—you could already tell what CBS wanted this hour to be: a glossy audition tape for Gov. Wes Moore as “the future of the Democratic Party.”

And honestly? Moore played the role like he understood the assignment.

But here’s the twist: the most important thing Moore did wasn’t flirt with 2028. It was drag his own party for being allergic to urgency—while staring straight at a country that’s watching Trump-style politics sprint across the field like it stole the whistle.

Because that’s where we are. This isn’t the “ideas marketplace.” It’s speed chess with consequences.

“No and slow” is a death sentence

Moore’s clearest argument—under all the talk about Trump, Epstein, immigration, rising prices, and the general vibes of national dysfunction—was basically this:

Democrats can’t keep responding to real pain with studies, task forces, commissions, and “we’re going to explore options.”

People aren’t asking for a five-year plan. They’re asking if you see them right now.

And yes, that’s partly an indictment of the party. Not because Democrats don’t have policies. They do. The problem is they keep communicating like the policy itself is the victory. Like the press conference is the finish line. Like the spreadsheet is dinner.

Meanwhile, the other side is moving like they don’t even believe in guardrails.

That’s why Moore’s framing hit: the question isn’t whether Democrats are right. The question is whether they’re credible as doers. Whether they can execute with enough speed to match the moment without turning into the moment.

That’s the needle.Trump insulted him—Moore refused to audition for the circus

CBS made sure to include Trump’s usual brand of public disrespect toward Moore—calling him “foul-mouthed,” accusing him of lying about military medals, blaming him for Baltimore crime, and the Francis Scott Key Bridge rebuild.

And Moore didn’t do what a lot of Democrats do in these moments: the trembling, over-explaining, “let me clarify the record” thing.

He basically said: I’m not doing mental gymnastics inside Trump’s psyche. I have a state to run.

That matters.

Because one of the ways Trump dominates the room—even when he’s not in it—is by forcing his opponents to speak in his language. To respond on his terrain. To spend precious minutes addressing disrespect instead of delivering power.

Moore’s move was: I’m not playing.

He repositioned it as a leadership argument: leadership means building a table, integrity, making people feel like they belong here. And Trump’s behavior, he suggested, isn’t just beneath the office—it’s beneath the country.

That’s the best version of “don’t wrestle the pig.” You can’t win the mud contest. You can only refuse it.

Subscribe now

The racism question—and Moore’s most telling answer

Norah asked the question America always asks Black leaders like it’s a pop quiz: “Do you believe Trump is racist?”

Moore didn’t take the bait in the simplistic way. He didn’t do the cable-news “Yes, obviously” mic drop. He said (paraphrasing): ask Trump. But I can tell you how his actions land on Black people and people of color.

Then he ticked through the impact: assaults on HBCU scholarship programs, attacks on Black female employment, book bans, history minimization, and the grotesque “apes” imagery aimed at the Obamas.

That answer matters not because it’s clever—it’s because it’s strategic. Moore refused to let the conversation become a morality play about one man’s heart. He forced it back to outcomes.

Black people have been trapped in this cycle forever: prove the racism, explain the racism, document the racism, debate the racism—while living inside the consequences of the racism.

Moore’s answer was basically: you don’t need an admission when the evidence has a body count.

Immigration: the rare Democrat who said “Biden didn’t have it right” without self-sabotage

On immigration, Moore did something Democrats struggle to do: admit failure without handing over the whole argument.

He said what a lot of people already know: the immigration system is broken and Congress has punted for decades. He acknowledged the Biden years weren’t some clean, solved era—and then pivoted to what Democrats don’t do enough of: talking about competence and reform in the same sentence as human dignity.

He also drew a bright line around ICE enforcement practices and accountability—arguing that if untrained, unqualified, unaccountable agents are being deployed into communities, the state has a responsibility to keep people safe.

This is where “yes and now” either becomes real—or collapses. Because immigration is the kind of issue where “faster” can mean “crueler” if you aren’t careful. Moore’s pitch is that you can be decisive without becoming inhumane. Voters want order. They also want the country to still be the country.

That’s not easy. But it’s necessary.

Share

Epstein: “Accountability” is the last bipartisan language left

If there was one moment where you could feel the entire room—left, right, tired, cynical—lock into the same frequency, it was Epstein.

Moore called the details sickening and grotesque and demanded accountability for anyone found guilty—regardless of background or political affiliation. He pointed to the core trust problem: people feel like “we’ve known” for a long time and yet almost nobody has faced consequences.

This is bigger than Epstein. This is the institutional crisis in one sentence:

When people believe elites can harm children and still walk free, they stop believing anything else the system says.

They stop distinguishing between error and cover-up.
They stop trusting investigations.
They stop trusting courts.
They stop trusting journalists.
They stop trusting each other.

That’s how societies break.

Moore tapped into something real: America is spiritually exhausted from watching “accountability” be a slogan instead of a verb.

The most important exchange was with a Black Republican woman

And this is where Moore either earned his reputation—or proved he’s just another talented messenger.

A Black woman in the audience—registered Republican, digital media business owner, former Democrat—basically said what you hear more and more:

“I left because I got tired of racial framing on every issue that didn’t solve real problems like crime, failing schools, high taxes, and cost of living. How do you earn voters like me back who want results, not racial narratives?”

Here’s what Moore didn’t do:
He didn’t scold her.
He didn’t “well actually” her.
He didn’t treat her like a betrayal story.

He agreed with the premise that outcomes matter, and then reframed the assignment for Democrats: it’s not just to energize the base—it’s to enlarge it. Speak to everybody. Show up in places you lost. Deliver results, and people will find their political home where results live.

That answer is the only path forward.

Because the truth is: people don’t abandon Democrats because they suddenly love conservative ideology. A lot of times, they abandon Democrats because they don’t feel like Democrats are building a life that works.

Results are persuasive.
Lectures are not.

So what was this, really?

This was Wes Moore presenting himself as a different kind of Democrat: an operator with narrative skill. A leader who wants to move with urgency without losing legitimacy. Someone trying to be tough without being theatrical.

And if Democrats are serious about surviving the next few years, they need more than charismatic prosecutors of Trump.
They need governors who can show receipts.
They need leaders who can talk like adults and govern like the building is on fire.

Moore’s “yes and now” line is either a real governing philosophy—or it’s another slogan destined to die in a focus group.

But for one hour in Cambridge, he made the case that Democrats don’t have a messaging problem.

They have a velocity problem.

And in the era we’re in, slow isn’t thoughtful.

Slow is fatal.

Let’s unpack what’s going on, why it matters for Black folks, and what history tells us about how this story plays out.

The Breakdown: What’s in the Bill?

In a tight 215-214 vote, House Republicans passed what they’ve dubbed the “One Big Beautiful Bill.” Beyond tax cuts and spending slashes, it includes a lesser-known provision: limiting judges’ ability to enforce contempt of court orders — unless a financial bond was posted ahead of time.

If you’re like, “Wait… what’s a contempt order?” — it’s how courts enforce their rulings when people (especially government officials) ignore them. Think of it as the court saying, “We meant what we said.”

Now imagine courts saying that to ICE or DHS over illegal deportations — but with this new law, the judge’s power could be blocked if no money was posted beforehand.

And the kicker? This rule would apply retroactively. That means past violations of court orders — including ongoing contempt threats against Trump-era deportation efforts — could suddenly be swept under the rug.

Count Me In

Why This Matters: A Look Back to Look Ahead

Here’s the thing: courts have always played a critical role in defending the civil rights of Black people in this country.

From Brown v. Board of Education to the federal orders enforcing school integration, it was judicial contempt power that forced states to comply. Judges jailed segregationist governors and fined school boards who defied rulings.

Now, imagine if they couldn’t do that because plaintiffs didn’t pay a bond upfront.

Let’s call it what it is: a rollback of judicial power that has historically been vital to protecting our rights.

So Why Now?

This isn’t just about process. It’s about power. The courts have become one of the last remaining checks on a political movement increasingly comfortable ignoring democratic norms — and targeting the rights of immigrants, voters, and yes, Black communities.

Several judges are currently weighing contempt charges against Trump officials for defying rulings tied to deportations and constitutional violations.

With 2024’s election echoing in the rearview and Trump’s political machine revving back up, this bill feels like a preemptive strike — a shield against legal accountability.

More Information

The Hidden Cost: Making Justice Too Expensive

Rep. Joe Neguse, a Black Democrat from Colorado, nailed it: “We’ve never said to American citizens that in order to vindicate their rights in federal court, they must pay a fee.”

But under this law, that’s exactly what would happen.

Imagine someone challenging a policy that violates their constitutional rights — now they’re told they can’t enforce a ruling unless they front a bond. That’s not access to justice. That’s justice for sale.

And for Black folks already navigating systemic economic and legal barriers, it’s another wall in the way.

Subscribe now

What We Can Do

Let’s be clear: this bill isn’t law yet. It’s headed to the Senate, where it’ll need serious support to pass. But we’ve seen how fast things can move when folks aren’t paying attention.

Here’s what you can do:

• Call your Senators and demand they vote no on any bill that strips courts of their enforcement power.

• Support organizations that are fighting in the courts and in Congress.

• Talk about this. Share this post. Educate your people. We are our best defense.

Share

Final Thought

Judges don’t always get it right. But they’ve often been the last line of defense when politics fail us. Weakening that line — especially now — isn’t just about Trump or immigration. It’s about whether the courts can still stand up when power overreaches.

We’ve been here before. And history shows that when Black folks mobilize, speak out, and organize, the arc of justice bends back.

Don’t sleep on this.

✊🏾 Stay woke, stay bold, stay together.