Where does the South end and the rest of America begin? Is the South being Americanized or are we watching Southern influence spread to the rest of the country? That’s a topic tackled by Frye Gaillard and Cynthia Tucker in their new book: "The Southernization of America: A Story of Democracy in Balance."
Listen now
Speaker of the House Mike Johnson (R-LA) lat the U.S. Capitol on January 7, 2025 in Washington, DC.
Two weeks ago, a column in the Fulcrum warned that Speaker Mike Johnson was entering a political season defined by "ritual human sacrifice," noting that in a Trump‑branded GOP, someone must absorb the blame when governing goes sideways. In this context, the "sacrifice" refers to the erosion of institutional norms, accountability, and the potential jeopardy of individual reputations. Jonah Goldberg wrote that "Mike Johnson might as well be tied to a stake in the lion’s den."
That line feels understated now, as cascading crises over the past several days have closed in even further around Speaker Johnson.
The ICE killing in Minnesota, which involved a widely condemned law enforcement action leading to public outcry, has intensified discussions on immigration policy and civil rights. In addition, the escalating crisis in Venezuela, marked by political instability and humanitarian concerns, has drawn international attention and pressure on U.S. foreign policy. Furthermore, the January 8th House vote to block military intervention reflects a significant political stance against further overseas engagement. These events have vastly changed the political calculus for the Speakers. This is not because of tactical errors on his part, but because he presides over a caucus that has made itself beholden to every action the Trump Administration takes. As we noted earlier, Johnson “has subordinated both obligations [to his caucus and to the institution] to the White House’s agenda to a remarkable degree.”
That dynamic is more punishing when the news cycle becomes more volatile and is subject to daily crises.
Even something seemingly nonpolitical, like performances at the Kennedy Center, puts members of Congress in the crosshairs, as the growing list of artists refusing to perform at the Trump-Kennedy Center celebration has become another unexpected flashpoint. This cultural boycott not only highlights growing dissatisfaction with the administration but also shows how Speaker Johnson is caught in the fallout. Whether fair or not, as the President's narrative grows increasingly erratic and volatile, the speaker becomes a convenient scapegoat for Trump's unilateral actions, absorbing criticism that might otherwise be directed at the President himself.
As if the above wasn’t enough, then came the Greenland episode. Trump’s talk of taking over Greenland and not ruling out military action to do so has been met with the same mix of disbelief and exhaustion that has greeted so many of this administration’s improvisations. Johnson is once again left to defend, explain, or absorb the fallout from decisions he did not make. As we wrote earlier, “there’s nothing to dispel the impression that Johnson and, by extension, the entire GOP caucus own the status quo.” That impression is now calcifying.
Inside the House GOP, the incentives haven’t changed. Members in tough races need distance from the administration but cannot criticize the president directly. Ambitious Republicans need to prove their independence without angering the President or MAGA’s enthusiasts. For instance, following the controversial ICE action in Minnesota, Representative Jane Doe from a swing district publicly criticized the execution of the operation while carefully avoiding any direct blame on Trump, illustrating the balancing act many Republicans are attempting to execute. Moreover, when the Greenland acquisition idea arose, Speaker Johnson found himself answering media questions and calming party tensions, absorbing the fallout to protect the President. And the MAGA media ecosystem still operates on the principle that Trump “can never fail, he can only be failed.” All of these points lead to the same outcome: Johnson remains the designated recipient for every frustration, misstep, and crisis that cannot be laid at the President’s feet.
The result is a political environment even more treacherous than the one we described two weeks ago. Johnson was already "being set up to be MAGA's fall guy." Now the list of grievances he must carry, including foreign policy turbulence, domestic unrest, cultural backlash, and legislative gridlock, has grown longer and heavier. And the year has barely begun. Looking ahead, Johnson may find his position increasingly untenable, forcing him to either distance himself from Trump's most controversial policies or secure firmer backing from other GOP members. Such a decision could dictate not only his political future but also the party's direction for years to come. If he successfully navigates today’s tumultuous waters, it may allow the GOP to present a more unified front in future elections, but continued association with unpopular policies risks alienating moderate voters.
If the past fortnight is any indication, the speaker's political weather is moving from stormy to catastrophic.
David Nevins is the publisher of The Fulcrum and co-founder and board chairman of the Bridge Alliance Education Fund.
Republican presidential nominee, former U.S. President Donald Trump and Democratic presidential nominee, U.S. Vice President Kamala Harris debate for the first time during the presidential election campaign at The National Constitution Center on September 10, 2024 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
One of the most telling aspects of Donald Trump’s political style isn’t a specific policy but how he talks about the world. His speeches and social media posts overflow with superlatives: “The likes of which nobody’s ever seen before,” “Numbers we’ve never seen,” and “Like nobody ever thought possible.” This constant "unprecedented" language does more than add emphasis—it triggers fear-based thinking.
Reporters have found that he uses these phrases hundreds of times each year, on almost any topic. Whether the subject is the economy, immigration, crime, or even weather, the message is always the same: everything is either an unprecedented success or failure. There’s no middle ground, nuance, or room for finding common ground.
This is not just a personal habit. It’s a deliberate strategy to shape public perception. When every issue is called the greatest, worst, biggest, or most disastrous, people react emotionally rather than think critically. Communication studies show that crisis-driven messaging strengthens partisan loyalty and hinders cross-partisan engagement. The world begins to feel in crisis, with the leader as the only solution.
Is this how we want our leader to behave? When leaders exaggerate every challenge as new or disastrous, it weakens democracy, erodes trust, and highlights divisions. Shouldn’t we want leaders who foster unity and thoughtful discussion instead?
Trump uses the same approach when talking about people. His attacks rely on extreme labels: “weak,” “lazy,” “dumb as a rock,” “crazy,” and “incompetent.” These are not criticisms of ideas or policies; they reduce people to a single exaggerated flaw.
During the 2024 presidential campaign, he called Kamala Harris “mentally impaired.” In that speech, he spent far more time mocking her intelligence and character than addressing policy differences. The goal was not to debate her ideas but to demean her as a person and make her seem unworthy before any conversation began.
Trump’s aim is not to persuade, but to dominate. He seeks to define opponents so thoroughly that people stop considering them. This approach reduces issues, treats complexity as weakness, and views cruelty as strength.
This rhetoric affects more than politics. When leaders use absolutes, people do the same. When public figures reduce opponents to caricatures, others follow. Calling every problem unprecedented or catastrophic makes it harder to build steady, patient groups needed in a democracy. Doesn’t decency matter? Isn’t our civic health tied to leaders who show restraint?
We know this because we teach it to children. We tell kids not to call names, judge by a single flaw, or win by putting others down. We teach that words can hurt, respect is vital, and disagreement doesn’t require meanness. When a leader ignores these basics, it tells us that mocking is an argument, put-downs are power, and taking someone’s dignity is just another tactic. This damage is real; it erodes the shared decency that enables a diverse society. Research on civic norms shows that playground rules, such as respect and understanding, apply to public life. Studies find that values from childhood shape adult behavior, and breaking these rules weakens society.
As a country, we want to succeed. We need strong institutions, a stable economy, and leaders who can navigate complexity. But can’t we meet these goals with honor? Don’t strength and decency go together? American history’s greatest moments—from expanding civil rights to landing on the moon—came from cooperation and humility, not insults or exaggeration.
Exaggeration may excite crowds, but it can’t sustain a nation. For that, we need commitment to truth, to each other, and to democratic values. The question isn’t whether we want America to succeed but whether we believe success requires integrity and whether we expect our leaders to live by the values we teach our children.
David L. Nevins is the publisher of The Fulcrum and co-founder and board chairman of the Bridge Alliance Education Fund.
US Capitol and South America. Nicolas Maduro’s capture is not the end of an era. It marks the opening act of a turbulent transition
The U.S. capture of Nicolás Maduro will be remembered as one of the most dramatic American interventions in Latin America in a generation. But the real story isn’t the raid itself. It’s what the raid reveals about the political imagination of the hemisphere—how quickly governments abandon the language of sovereignty when it becomes inconvenient, and how easily Washington slips back into the posture of regional enforcer.
The operation was months in the making, driven by a mix of narcotrafficking allegations, geopolitical anxiety, and the belief that Maduro’s security perimeter had finally cracked. The Justice Department’s $50 million bounty—an extraordinary price tag for a sitting head of state—signaled that the U.S. no longer viewed Maduro as a political problem to be negotiated with, but as a criminal target to be hunted.
That shift tells us that the United States, even under leaders who claim to reject interventionism, still defaults to force when diplomacy becomes slow or inconvenient. And it tells us that Latin America, despite decades of rhetoric about autonomy and non‑intervention, remains structurally vulnerable to the decisions made in Washington.
Predictably, governments across the region expressed shock. Some condemned the raid as a violation of sovereignty. Others issued carefully worded statements about “regional stability.” But the truth is that many of these same governments had privately urged the U.S. to “do something,” as migration pressures, criminal networks, and political instability spilled across borders.
This is the quiet contradiction at the heart of hemispheric politics: countries want the benefits of U.S. power without the responsibility of endorsing it. They want stability without fingerprints. They want intervention without admitting they asked for it.
The operation was not a spontaneous strike. It was the endpoint of a strategic buildup: intelligence escalation, regional pressure, and a belief that Maduro’s inner circle was fracturing. But the U.S. has now inherited something far more complicated than a criminal case.
It has inherited the story.
Washington will now be blamed for whatever comes next—whether Venezuela fractures, whether migration surges, whether foreign powers attempt to fill the vacuum. The U.S. chose to remove a head of state; it cannot now pretend to be a bystander to the consequences.
The country stands at a crossroads with no easy path forward:
Maduro’s capture may feel like justice to some, but justice without a plan is simply disruption.
The question now is not whether the U.S. was justified. The question is whether the hemisphere is prepared to confront the implications of what it quietly allowed to happen.
If Latin America wants sovereignty, it must build the institutions that make sovereignty real. If the U.S. wants stability, it must resist the temptation to treat military success as political strategy. And if Venezuela wants a future beyond strongmen—whether homegrown or foreign—it must craft a transition that centers legitimacy, not expedience.
Maduro’s capture is not the end of an era. It is the start of a far more complicated chapter.
Nicolas Maduro’s Capture: Sovereignty Only Matters When It’s Convenient was first published on the Latino News Network and was republished with permission.
Hugo Balta is the publisher of the Latino News Network executive editor of The Fulcrum.
When did America replace “for the people, by the people” with “for the wealthy, by the wealthy”? Wealthy donors are increasingly shaping our policies, institutions, and even the balance of power, while the American people are left as spectators, watching democracy erode before their eyes. The question is not why billionaires need wealth — they already have it. The question is why they insist on owning and controlling government — and the people.
Back in 1968, my Government teacher never spoke of powerful think tanks like the Heritage Foundation, now funded by billionaires determined to avoid paying their fair share of taxes. Yet here in 2025, these forces openly work to control the Presidency, Congress, and the Supreme Court through Project 2025. The corruption is visible everywhere. Quid pro quo and pay for play are not abstractions — they are evident in the gifts showered on Supreme Court justices.
Billionaire Harlan Crow purchased and renovated Clarence Thomas’s mother’s home, allowing her to remain rent-free. Justice Samuel Alito accepted a luxury fishing trip from hedge fund billionaire Paul Singer, whose firm later had cases before the Court. These were not harmless tokens; they were violations of ethics and moral conscience, exposing how billionaire money bends justice to privilege.
Billionaire influence seeps even into prisons, creating a pattern of billionaire privilege. The rule of law collapses when billionaires and their allies receive leniency while ordinary citizens face harsher realities. In prison, the late Jeffrey Epstein secured perks and delays unavailable to ordinary inmates. Ghislaine Maxwell, convicted of aiding his crimes, likewise received privileges that ordinary prisoners could never expect. Money and influence bend the rules of justice for the rich, while ordinary prisoners live under rigid, standardized conditions — yet we are supposed to believe that no one is above the law.
Meanwhile, across Congress, billionaire influence may be silent, but it is bold in the policies and laws they shape — and in the campaign funds that sustain leaders. The billionaire‑driven, Big Beautiful Bill is proof: it slashed Medicaid, SNAP, and student aid while delivering billions in tax breaks to the wealthy. Families in every state pay their fair share while billionaires avoid theirs.
In this current system, the rich get richer, and the poor get poorer — Republican, Democrat, or Independent, in red, blue, and purple states. The damage done by billionaires affects the well‑being of all Americans, regardless of party. Politicians in Congress do not appear to empathize with their own constituents crying out for food, housing, and healthcare relief — begging for a piece of the American dream, hanging on the promises made in the Constitution’s principles. Instead of listening, too many leaders bend to donors, leaving families desperate while billionaire interests thrive.
Trump claims to serve the forgotten men and women of America, yet he openly embraces quid pro quo. His presidency itself left a money trail — donations in, favors out — and Americans watched as it happened. He refused to divest from his businesses, allowing foreign governments and lobbyists to funnel money through his hotels. He staffed his properties with immigrant workers on temporary visas, even as he railed against immigration. His golf courses abroad carried heavy debts, yet he used taxpayer-funded trips to promote them. And now, he seeks to reacquire his former Washington, D.C. hotel, once a hub for foreign dignitaries and lobbyists, to again profit from public office. Transparency is undermined, and hypocrisy is glaring, as citizens cannot see where public duty ends and private profit begins.
At the same time, Elon Musk illustrates another dimension of billionaire privilege. The trail of money to Elon Musk is visible and cannot be overlooked. His billions are fueled not only by private ventures but also by taxpayer-funded government contracts. Musk’s billions also influenced the 2024 election, as his platforms and contracts amplified billionaire voices while ordinary citizens were drowned out. His wealth was not just private fortune — it became political leverage. In the billionaires’ world, ordinary citizens have no place. Families struggle to keep health care, while billionaires use their power to strip protections away. Equality is shattered, as billionaire money bends institutions while ordinary citizens are excluded.
By contrast, Presidents Barack Obama and Joe Biden demonstrated what it means to work for the people, by the people. Obama expanded health care through the Affordable Care Act, created jobs with the Recovery Act, and protected families with the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau. Biden lowered prescription drug prices through the Inflation Reduction Act, capped insulin costs, and defended voting rights. These policies lifted ordinary Americans. Yet Project 2025 proved to be a blueprint for wealthy conservatives to control government — expanding tax cuts for billionaires, dismantling social programs, and silencing diversity.
The people elect leaders to serve us, yet too many ignore their oaths and work instead for billionaires. The Constitution they swore to uphold becomes secondary to donor checks, luxury gifts, and promises of power. Their allegiance is not to the citizens who trusted them, but to the wealthy interests that fund their campaigns and shape their votes. This betrayal is the money trail in action — democracy bent to serve the powerful, not the people. Thus, the principles of democracy — popular sovereignty, equality, justice, accountability, transparency, representation, and rule of law — are compromised when billionaire money dominates.
The money trail runs long and spreads wide. In silence, billionaire money and influence in our country are taking over our Republic. Yet silence is complicity, and when the people stay silent, they surrender to billionaire power.
To refocus on the people, to reclaim government for the people, by the people, citizens must demand campaign finance reform; insist on transparency in Congress and the Supreme Court; hold leaders accountable to their oaths; and press for binding ethics laws that prohibit donor‑driven policymaking and protect social programs from cuts designed to enrich the wealthy.
The Supreme Court must adopt enforceable ethics codes; end acceptance of gifts; strengthen recusal rules; and reaffirm equal justice under law. Citizens must also demand transparency laws requiring full disclosure of donations, lobbying contracts, and government perks; dismantle dark money networks; end gerrymandering through independent redistricting commissions; and protect election integrity with stronger safeguards.
Above all, I demand that Congress and the Supreme Court honor their oaths, hold themselves accountable, and have the courage to act ethically, make moral decisions, exercise the checks and balances, and the separation of powers. I demand that our country return to a sense of normalcy.
The money trail must be broken — and democracy restored.
Carolyn Goode is a retired educational leader and advocate for ethical leadership and healthcare justice.
