From Prison to Purpose, I Fight On

From prison cells to podcast mics, I’ve survived Trump’s wrath and the system’s betrayal. This isn’t just my story; it’s America’s reckoning. And we’re not done fighting. Not even close.

Illegitimi non carborundum.

Don’t let the bastards grind you down.

That’s the phrase I muttered to myself while pacing the filthy linoleum floors of solitary confinement at Otisville. Fifty-one days in a closed-door cell designed to break your mind, to sever your soul from your sense of self. And before that? A pit stop in the dungeon they call The Tombs, where hope goes to die and silence screams louder than anything you’ve ever heard.

I’ve been tested. Tortured—not with whips and chains, but with paperwork and power, humiliation and the heavy hand of a government I once served. The same government that broke the rules to silence me when I refused to stay loyal to a mad king. They turned the law on its head just to muzzle my voice. My crime? Writing a book. Telling the truth.

And yet, I’m still standing.

You don’t come through hell unchanged. But if you’re lucky, and if you’ve got people behind you, you come through different. Stronger. Smarter. Sharper. I’m still standing because of you. Every message, every note of support, every podcast listener who whispered, “We believe you,” helped piece me back together. You reminded me what they tried to erase: that the fight is never over. Not when justice is on the line.

When I close my eyes, I still see the old Donald. The one I met long before he descended that golden escalator into madness. He was flawed—God knows, he was flawed—but he hadn’t yet become the monster we see today. That man, back then, was a danger to your wallet, maybe your dignity. But today’s Trump is a danger to the very soul of our republic.

What a difference a presidency makes.

The cruelty now is deliberate. The anxiety, orchestrated. The horror, normalized. From inside the belly of the beast, I saw the transformation. A man who always worshipped power learned how to wield it with zero accountability. And worse, he learned how to teach others to do the same.

He turned a political party into a personality cult. He turned Americans against each other. He took the sacred oath of office and spit on it. He turned the flag into a marketing prop, patriotism into performance. And the people cheering him on? Ass-kissing moths to the flame—drawn to the heat, oblivious to the burn.

But here’s the thing: while he builds his empire of retribution, we are building something else. Something stronger. Enduring. Real.

We are at war for the soul of America.

Not in some metaphorical, feel-good way. This is real. Every lie that goes unchecked, every judge installed to shred our rights, every book banned from a child’s hands, every law twisted to punish dissent—it’s all part of a bigger plan. A plan to bury the America we love and replace it with one ruled by fear, by loyalty tests, by revenge.

But here's where history is on our side: America always needs a sacrifice. And sometimes that sacrifice is painful, brutal, unjust. I am one of them. But so are the whistleblowers, the journalists, the mothers at the border, the teachers who stand up to censorship, the everyday citizen who says “no more” and refuses to sit down.

We are all forced to become warriors now.

You don’t get to sit this one out. None of us do. The stakes are too high. The children—their future—is on the line. If you ever loved this country, if you ever cried during the national anthem or stood in awe at the Lincoln Memorial, now is the time to prove that love.

Because Trumpism cannot be beaten. No. It must be broken. Shattered. Reduced to shards we bury deep so that no one ever forgets how close we came to losing it all.

And when I say we, I mean it. I’m not fighting alone. I can’t. This isn’t my journey anymore; it’s our journey. You’ve walked it with me. Through my mistakes, my remorse, my redemption. Through every Mea Culpa podcast and Political Beatdown episode. We’ve shared the tears, the anger, the outrage—and the resolve.

They want me quiet. They want me forgotten. They want to grind me down until there’s nothing left.

But guess what?

I’m still standing. And I’m not backing down.

And neither should you.

We’ve got work to do—not just to resist, but to rebuild. To teach our kids that truth matters. That character counts. That no man—no matter how rich or loud or cruel—is above the law.

The journey continues.

And this time, we walk it together.

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THIS IS AN IMPORTANT PERSONAL NOTE:
ARE YOU WITH ME? I CAN’T DO THIS ALONE!

If you’re reading this, it means you care. You care about truth. About justice. About saving our democracy from the grip of grifters, liars, and power-hungry con men. But let’s be real: I can’t carry this weight on my own.

I’m asking—no, urging—you, my loyal Substack readers, to help grow this platform into a force they can’t ignore. We’re not building a newsletter; we’re building a movement. One loud enough, sharp enough, and relentless enough to push back against the lies and hold the corrupt to account.

Now more than ever, independent journalism needs you. Your support keeps this alive—not corporate sponsors, not shady billionaires with agendas. You.

And yes, as a personal thank you, the first 240 Founding Members will receive a rare, signed, numbered Substack edition of my New York Times bestseller, Revenge: How Donald Trump Weaponized the U.S. Department of Justice Against His Critics. A collector’s item—and a statement.

But this is bigger than a book. It’s about standing up while others stay silent. It’s about building a community that calls out the bullshit and fights like hell for what’s right.

So here’s what you can do:

1. Become a supporter.

2. Share this Substack with family and friends.

3. Bring your people into the fight.

Do your part. Stand up. Speak out. The time is now—and together, we will be heard.