Debilyn Molineaux is the lead catalyst for American Future, a research project that discovers what Americans prefer for their personal future lives. The research informs community planners with grassroots community preferences. Previously, Molineaux was the president/CEO of The Bridge Alliance.
I have a secret love of crime dramas.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve watched as the good guys (presumably the cops, the U.S. agents, etc.) tracked and caught the bad guys (presumably the criminals, the terrorists, etc.) to protect the order of our society, with justice. Given the number of true crime podcasts, cop shows and serial killer documentaries, I am not alone. Many Americans love these stories about seeking justice.
As a lower-middle-class white girl now a middle-aged (still white) woman, I continue to love stories about justice. My tastes have shifted to stories about fact-based, evidence-gathering, and deduction-logic-based justice instead of rebellious vigilantes seeking justice outside the established rule of law. In short, my tastes run to the more nerdy crime dramas and less to the dick-swinging.
The closing words of the Pledge of Allegiance about “liberty and justice for all” were woven into my soul and so many of my generation as an aspiration to pursue. The tension between these ideals grows or lessens as we peer through our history. Our nation was founded on individual freedom (for some) and justice as defined by the rule of law. It was imperfect then and is imperfect now.
I have long aspired to understand how to better navigate individual freedom (liberty) with responsibility for actions and impact (justice).
Between 2008 and 2011, I experienced a loss of confidence in our nation and our ability to achieve justice for all. From the Great Recession to the Occupy Wall Street protests, I and many others witnessed that those with tremendous wealth could not, or would not, be held accountable.
And then in August 2014 in Ferguson, Mo., a young man named Michael Brown was shot in the back by a police officer for refusing to obey. His suspected crime was shoplifting. The community of Ferguson was not surprised by the shooting, but the media attention was new. Americans' love of true crime was being watched in (almost) real time.
Americans could personally witness how “justice” worked differently, from place to place and person to person. Including how it could provide a sense of safety for some, but threaten others. Over the next six years, we would witness the injustice of Black men and women dying at the hands of police, over and over again. With the murder of George Floyd, police officers were finally held accountable.
And here is where we should pause to consider what “accountable” means to each of us. In our society, governed by the “rule of law,” accountability mostly means receiving a punishment proportionate to the offense committed. Of course, “proportionate punishment” has proven to be harsher for Black and Brown people. This harsher treatment coupled with societal prejudices is a form of ongoing and perpetual trauma.
Every one of us has experienced traumatic events. When that trauma is experienced as a child and left unaddressed, there is an exponentially greater likelihood they will be re-victimized or become a perpetrator. Either way, they interact with the criminal justice system which equates accountability with punishment and ignores the underlying trauma.
In 2024, studies show an intersection between our criminal justice system and childhood trauma. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention says, “Adverse childhood experiences (ACEs) can have a tremendous impact on future violence victimization and perpetration, and lifelong health and opportunity.”
When childhood trauma is untreated in prior generations, habits of thinking and behavior become generational trauma. There is growing evidence that collective, intergenerational trauma is embedded in our culture. For those not familiar with this psychological term, please read more here.
When people react from unconscious trauma, they often react inappropriately and disproportionately to whatever situation triggers them. How might we mitigate this trauma? What do we need that both calls us to account, but loves us anyway?
We need more Bad-Ass Grandmothers. Seriously!
Bad-Ass Grandmothers is an inspiration from Junauda Petrus’s poem, “Can We Please Give the Police Department to the Grandmothers?” Petrus’s first draft was written in 2014, in response to the killing of Michael Brown. In 2020, the murder of George Floyd happened in the neighborhood where Petrus lives.
The positive vision imagined in the poem resonates in my heart. Please buy the illustrated book because it’s beautiful and you want to support Petrus’s creative spark! (The book is available on eBay and at Walmart.)
What I love most about the poem:
- The Grandmothers’ squad cars are vintage Corvettes, Jaguars and Cadillacs with white interiors.
- They play their music loud, obviously a “cool Queen” vibe.
- “If you are up to mischief, they will pick you up swiftly in their sweet rides and look at you until you catch shame.” (Think early intervention before mischief becomes criminal acts.)
- The Grandmothers’ are looking out for every child, feeding them and providing a safe place to “make your mouth water and soul arrive.”
- Grandma is a sacred child herself, “comfortable in loving fiercely.”
And so I try to imagine what our world would be like if everyone had this type of Bad-Ass Grandma in their life. Imagine for a moment if everyone were nurtured and provided with basic life skills. Instead of repeating traumatic patterns through punitive means, what if a Bad-Ass Grandma intervened at the early stage of mischief, to correct the course of each young person? My heart yearns for this.
Of course Bad-Ass Grandma energy won’t address the millions of people currently incarcerated, who have been through our punishment-oriented system. While incarcerated, some people become more resilient, others more criminal. What if we figured out how to use tax dollars for Bad-Ass Grandmas and the education they provide rather than spend our resources on increasing numbers of prison beds that do little to help people grow.
I believe all adults need to be “loved fiercely,” too, by someone who can “look at you until you catch shame” and “feed you to make your mouth water and soul arrive.” We need more Bad-Ass Grandmothers in general, not just for those with problems.
For me, the vision offered by Petrus is how we can better manage the tension of our aspiration for “liberty and justice for all.” Being lovingly accountable instead of punitive. Thinking prevention instead of reaction. Offering healing guidance instead of dehumanizing judgment.
Let’s all be Bad-Ass Grandmothers. Which gives rise to the question, what would a Bad-Ass Grandfather offer? Please share your thoughts!




















A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.