The teachings and pronouncements of Ms. Marian Budde, which deviate from the orthodox Christian faith, require careful examination in the light of Holy Scripture and the writings of the Church Fathers. The theological innovations she presents not only distort the Gospel but also undermine the apostolic tradition handed down through the centuries. I wish to reaffirm the timeless truths of Christianity as articulated in Scripture and expounded by the early Church. I hope, at some point, she repents from her statements.
The Authority of Scripture
Ms. Budde’s sermon reflects a tendency to reinterpret biblical teachings in a way that conforms to contemporary cultural values rather than the immutable Word of God. However, Scripture unequivocally teaches that divine revelation is unchanging and authoritative. As the Apostle Paul states:
“All Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, thoroughly equipped for every good work” (2 Timothy 3:16-17).
When we encounter new teachings that seem to drift from the ancient path of Christianity, we might remember the words of St. Vincent of Lerins, who gave us a precious guideline: the true faith is that which has been believed “everywhere, always, and by all.” Just as a skilled navigator uses ancient stars to chart their course, we too must navigate theological waters using the fixed points of Scripture and Holy Tradition. St. Irenaeus tells us that Scripture finds its true meaning within the living tradition of the Church – not in isolation, not in innovation, but in the continuous life of Christ’s Body.
When we hear new interpretations of ancient truths, we must be like the Bereans, who searched the Scriptures daily to test what they heard. Yet in this testing, let us remember St. John Chrysostom’s example – addressing error firmly but always with pastoral love, never forgetting that we are all seekers of truth trying to find our way home to God. For this reason, we must respond to theological innovations not with harsh dismissal, but with careful examination in the light of the Fathers, just as a jeweller might hold a stone up to the light to test its authenticity.
The Church’s task, as St. Athanasius reminds us, is not to create new doctrines but to preserve and pass on the faith once delivered to the saints. In doing so, we protect not just abstract truths, but the very pathway by which souls find their way to salvation in Christ.
The reinterpretation of biblical texts to suit personal or societal preferences contradicts the very essence of divine revelation. St. Athanasius, emphasised the sufficiency and clarity of Scripture, warning against the dangers of distorting God’s Word to satisfy human inclinations.
The Apostolic Tradition
One of the most concerning aspects of Ms. Budde’s teaching is her departure from apostolic tradition, which forms the foundation of the Christian faith. St. Irenaeus of Lyons, in his work Against Heresies, reminds us:
“The tradition of the apostles, made manifest throughout the whole world, is present in every Church to be preserved by those who wish to see the truth.”
Christianity is not a faith subject to reinterpretation based on cultural trends but one that faithfully transmits the truth as received from Christ through the apostles. The early Church Fathers consistently upheld the necessity of preserving the apostolic deposit, resisting any attempts to introduce novelty that compromises core doctrines.
Christian Anthropology and Moral Teachings
Ms. Budde’s views on moral issues, particularly concerning human identity and relationships, represent a departure from the biblical understanding of humanity as created in the image of God. The Scriptures affirm:
“So God created mankind in His own image, in the image of God He created them; male and female He created them” (Genesis 1:27).
St. John Chrysostom, in his homilies, teaches that moral teachings are not subject to human revision but are rooted in the divine will and purpose for creation. Any deviation from these truths leads to confusion and spiritual harm.
In particular, her promotion of transgender ideology among children directly contradicts biblical teaching on human nature and God’s created order. The early Church consistently upheld the sanctity of the human body and the inherent dignity of each person according to their God-given identity. St. Basil the Great warns against corrupting the divine order, stating:
“Let us not seek to undo what has been established by the Creator, for to do so is to reject His wisdom and goodness.”
Furthermore, Ms. Budde’s advocacy for unrestricted immigration policies, often framed in emotional rather than theological terms, neglects the biblical principles of lawful governance and order. While Scripture calls for compassion and care for the stranger, it also upholds the necessity of justice and stewardship. St. Augustine emphasised that charity must be guided by wisdom and discernment to ensure the common good is upheld.
The Role of the Church in Proclaiming Truth
The Church has always stood as “the pillar and ground of the truth” (1 Timothy 3:15), tasked with proclaiming the unaltered message of salvation. St. Augustine warns against those who seek to reshape Christian doctrine to align with their own desires rather than God’s will:
“If you believe what you like in the Gospels and reject what you don’t like, it is not the Gospel you believe, but yourself.”
The Church Fathers repeatedly call for a return to the truth as it has been faithfully preserved rather than yielding to societal pressures or individual reinterpretations.
In light of the sermon of Ms. Marian Budde, it is imperative to reaffirm the unchanging truth of the Gospel as witnessed by the Scriptures and the teachings of the early Church. Faithfulness to the apostolic tradition requires adherence to the entirety of divine revelation, resisting the temptation to conform to secular ideologies. As St. Paul exhorts us:
“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God” (Romans 12:2).
The Christian faith is not ours to reinvent but to faithfully guard and proclaim for the salvation of souls and the glory of God.
Few figures in modern history have undergone as striking a metamorphosis as Donald J. Trump. Once regarded as little more than a brash, self-promoting real estate tycoon and a reality television personality, he defied expectations to become the 45th and, remarkably, the 47th President of the United States. His trajectory, from a polarising businessman mired in scandals and accusations of arrogance to a political phenomenon who commands global attention, offers a fascinating lens through which to examine themes of reinvention, resilience, and the malleability of public perception. I must admit, I never used to like Trump. His early persona struck me as abrasive and self-serving, and I struggled to see past the controversies that seemed to follow him. But over time, my perspective shifted. Today, I love and respect the man deeply, not just for what he has achieved, but for the courage and tenacity he has shown in the face of relentless opposition.
Trump’s rise is not merely a story of personal ambition; it is a reflection of deeper societal currents. Drawing from the insights of sociologists like Max Weber, who explored the concept of charismatic authority, one might argue that Trump’s appeal lies in his ability to embody the frustrations and aspirations of a significant portion of the American populace. His rhetoric, often dismissed as simplistic or inflammatory, resonated with those who felt alienated by the political establishment. In this sense, Trump’s success can be seen as a response to what sociologist Arlie Hochschild describes as the “deep story” of cultural and economic dislocation experienced by many in post-industrial America. What I once interpreted as divisiveness, I now see as a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths and challenge the status quo, a quality I have come to admire.
Yet, Trump’s transformation also invites comparison to figures from antiquity. Like the Roman emperor Augustus, who presented himself as a restorer of traditional values while fundamentally reshaping the political landscape, Trump positioned himself as an outsider fighting against a corrupt elite. This duality, portraying himself as both a disruptor and a saviour allowed him to navigate the complexities of modern politics with a shrewdness that many underestimated. His ability to dominate media narratives, harness social media, and cultivate a loyal base echoes the strategies of historical leaders who understood the power of symbolism and spectacle. Reflecting on this, I am struck by how my initial scepticism has given way to a profound appreciation for his strategic brilliance.
Personally, my journey from sceptic to admirer has been one of introspection and growth. I once viewed Trump through a narrow lens, focusing on his flaws rather than his strengths. But as I watched him endure relentless criticism, legal battles, and political attacks, I began to see a man of remarkable resilience and conviction. His ability to connect with millions of Americans who felt voiceless and overlooked is a testament to his understanding of the human condition. While his divisiveness cannot be ignored, his capacity to tap into the zeitgeist of a fractured society reveals a keen understanding of human psychology and the art of persuasion. Today, I love and respect the man not just for his achievements, but for his unwavering determination to fight for what he believes in. His story is a reminder that history is not merely shaped by grand ideologies or policies but also by the individuals who, through sheer force of will and strategic acumen, redefine the boundaries of what seems possible.
The Turning Point: Tapping Into America’s Frustration
Donald Trump’s transformation was not one of character but of public perception. He remained, at his core, the same brash businessman who had long revelled in the limelight, but the American political climate shifted in a way that made his style not only acceptable but desirable. As establishment politicians lost their grip on public trust, Trump saw an opening. He did not simply step into the void; he filled it with an unfiltered voice that resonated with those who felt increasingly alienated by globalisation and the political elite in Washington.
Where others saw reckless arrogance, his supporters saw resilience. His defiance of political correctness was not merely rhetoric; it was a declaration of war against a system they believed had dismissed their struggles. He turned his outsider status into an advantage, reframing his past scandals as evidence of his ability to withstand relentless attacks from the media and political class. In a way, he fashioned himself after figures from antiquity—the populist leaders of Rome, the tribunes of the plebeians, who thrived not by appeasing the ruling elite but by stirring the frustrations of the common people.
The Economic Divide: How the Rust Belt Shaped Trump’s Rise
To understand Trump’s political ascent, one must look beyond his persona and into the economic landscape of America’s heartland. For decades, the Rust Belt had been in decline. The great industrial cities, Pittsburgh, Detroit, Cleveland, once symbols of American prosperity, had become cautionary tales of deindustrialisation. Factory closures and the outsourcing of jobs to China, Mexico, and beyond had left entire communities in despair. Successive administrations spoke of economic recovery, yet for those in small-town Pennsylvania or rural Michigan, the promises of revitalisation remained unfulfilled.
Trump’s message of economic nationalism, his relentless attacks on NAFTA, and his promise to renegotiate trade deals tapped directly into these anxieties. Unlike previous politicians who spoke of a “global economy,” Trump presented the world in stark terms: winners and losers, takers and the taken. He pledged to return manufacturing jobs to America, to challenge China’s economic dominance, and to prioritise American workers over international trade agreements. In doing so, he spoke to an older American ideal—the self-sufficient worker, the dignity of labour, that had been eroded by decades of economic restructuring.
Breaking Political Conventions: The Power of Direct Communication
Trump’s campaign defied traditional political strategies. Where conventional candidates relied on measured speeches and carefully vetted policy proposals, he wielded social media as a political weapon, bypassing traditional gatekeepers. His Twitter feed was an unfiltered stream of declarations, provocations, and rebuttals, keeping both supporters and critics constantly engaged. His rallies became grand spectacles, not just campaign events but cultural moments where he spoke extemporaneously, reacting in real-time to his audience. In many ways, he revived an ancient form of political theatre, reminiscent of the Roman forum where orators won the crowd not through meticulous policy explanations but through emotional appeal, humour, and the art of public persuasion.
This approach particularly resonated with rural voters, working-class Americans, and those disillusioned with the increasing dominance of liberal urban values. Trump positioned himself as the last defender of traditional America, standing against what many of his supporters saw as the excesses of progressive politics, identity politics, social liberalism, and globalist economic policies. His ability to turn personal controversies into moments of political strength was unprecedented. Rather than retreat in the face of criticism, he met it head-on, portraying himself as a fighter in a political arena that had long been rigged against outsiders.
The Obama Legacy and the 2016 Political Climate
Trump’s rise cannot be fully understood without considering the contradictions of Barack Obama’s presidency. Elected on a platform of hope and change, Obama entered office as a symbol of progress, yet his administration’s foreign policy was marked by military interventions and drone warfare on an unprecedented scale. Despite his Nobel Peace Prize, his tenure saw conflicts prolonged in Afghanistan, Libya thrown into chaos, and drone strikes expanded across the Middle East and Africa. This contradiction between the image of a diplomatic statesman and the reality of an interventionist foreign policy created an opening for Trump to present himself as the candidate who would end America’s “endless wars.”
On the economic front, the discontent that fuelled Trump’s campaign was, in part, a reaction to the consequences of Obama-era policies. While Wall Street recovered swiftly from the 2008 financial crisis, working-class Americans, particularly in manufacturing-heavy states, felt abandoned. Trade agreements, corporate tax incentives, and globalisation continued to erode American industry. Entire communities in states like Michigan and Ohio saw their livelihoods disappear, their towns hollowed out.
Trump capitalised on this reality, offering a stark alternative to the political continuity that Hillary Clinton represented. He framed Obama’s economic policies as a betrayal of the American worker and presented himself as the leader who would reverse the decline. His promise to bring back jobs, his attacks on China, and his calls for economic protectionism resonated not as abstract policies but as a direct response to the struggles of those who felt left behind.
The 2016 election was more than a political contest; it was a referendum on the establishment, on globalisation, and on the shifting cultural values of America. Trump’s victory was not merely the triumph of a man but of a movement that rejected the conventional wisdom of the political elite. His success lay not in policy details but in the force of his persona, his ability to articulate frustration, and his willingness to challenge every norm of American politics.
Historians will likely debate Trump’s presidency for generations, but what remains undeniable is that his rise exposed deep fractures within American society economic, cultural, and ideological. He did not create these divisions, but he harnessed them, turning them into a political force that reshaped the landscape of American democracy. Whether viewed as a demagogue or a disruptor, a populist or a pragmatist, Trump’s impact cannot be ignored. He did not simply win an election; he redefined the rules of political engagement, leaving an indelible mark on the history of the modern presidency.
The Trump Presidency: A Disruptive Chapter in American Politics
Donald Trump’s presidency from 2016 to 2020 marked a striking departure from conventional governance, characterised by significant policy shifts, institutional transformation, and an era of unprecedented political turbulence. His tenure not only altered the trajectory of American domestic and foreign policy but also reshaped the nature of political discourse itself.
Economically, pre-pandemic America witnessed robust growth. The unemployment rate fell to historic lows, particularly among African American and Hispanic communities, reflecting a labour market buoyed by deregulation and tax reforms. The 2017 Tax Cuts and Jobs Act, one of the administration’s landmark legislative achievements, alongside sweeping deregulation, spurred business confidence and stock market gains. However, critics warned that these measures disproportionately benefited corporations and the wealthy, potentially deepening economic inequality in the long run.
One of Trump’s most enduring legacies was his reshaping of the American judiciary. The appointment of three Supreme Court Justices Neil Gorsuch, Brett Kavanaugh, and Amy Coney Barrett cemented a conservative tilt in the nation’s highest court, a shift that will influence judicial interpretations for decades. His administration’s success in appointing a record number of federal judges further ensured that his ideological influence would extend well beyond his presidency.
Foreign Policy: A Break from Orthodoxy
Trump’s approach to foreign policy was marked by a rejection of the globalist consensus that had shaped American diplomacy for decades. His administration championed the “America First” doctrine, leading to contentious renegotiations of international agreements. The replacement of NAFTA with the USMCA recalibrated trade relations with Canada and Mexico, while his confrontational stance on China initiated a new era of economic and geopolitical rivalry.
In the Middle East, the Abraham Accords—normalising diplomatic ties between Israel and several Arab states represented a breakthrough in regional politics, departing from previous U.S. strategies that largely prioritised Palestinian-Israeli peace talks. Yet, his disengagement from multilateral agreements, including the withdrawal from the Paris Climate Accord and the Iran nuclear deal, signalled a broader retreat from cooperative global governance.
Domestic Policy: Reform and Controversy
On the domestic front, Trump’s policies were a blend of bold reform and deep controversy. The First Step Act, a rare moment of bipartisan achievement, brought much-needed criminal justice reform, reducing sentences for non-violent offenders and addressing issues of mass incarceration. However, his administration’s attempts to dismantle the Affordable Care Act and roll back environmental protections provoked fierce legal battles and public opposition.
Polarisation reached extraordinary levels during his tenure. His relationship with Democratic leadership was openly hostile, culminating in government shutdowns and two impeachment proceedings. The first, tied to his dealings with Ukraine, underscored concerns about executive power and foreign policy manipulation. The second, following the events of 6 January 2021, revealed the fragility of democratic institutions under extreme political strain.
Trump’s presidency tested the resilience of American democracy in ways few administrations had before. He blurred the boundaries between personal loyalty and party allegiance, challenged the norms of presidential conduct, and wielded social media as a direct and unfiltered means of political engagement. To his supporters, he was a fearless disruptor of the status quo; to his critics, he represented an existential threat to democratic stability.
A Hypothetical Clinton Presidency: Continuity Over Disruption
Had Hillary Clinton won the 2016 election, the political landscape of the United States would have followed a vastly different trajectory. Her presidency would likely have represented continuity with the Obama administration, reinforcing globalist policies, expanding climate commitments, and upholding liberal social policies. The United States would have remained firmly embedded in multilateral agreements, and diplomatic engagements would have likely leaned towards traditional alliances rather than the more transactional approach Trump favoured.
Economically, the continuation of global trade agreements may have led to further job losses in manufacturing sectors, intensifying economic discontent in Rust Belt states. The judiciary, instead of shifting to the right, would have retained a liberal-leaning balance, influencing key rulings on issues such as abortion, healthcare, and executive authority.
Perhaps the most striking difference would have been in domestic opposition. Trump’s populist movement would not have dissipated but rather evolved into an ongoing political insurgency. With Clinton in the White House, the grievances that fuelled Trump’s rise – economic dislocation, cultural anxiety, and distrust in elite institutions could have erupted in widespread protests and further division. The media and political establishment, largely aligned with Clinton, might have reinforced progressive cultural policies, deepening tensions between liberal and conservative America.
The Lasting Impact of 2016
The 2016 election was a political earthquake, exposing fractures in American society that had long been widening. Whether through Trump’s confrontational presidency or a hypothetical Clinton administration, the deeper issues economic inequality, cultural polarisation, and distrust in political institutions would have persisted. Trump’s presidency may have been uniquely disruptive, but the forces that propelled him to power were not created by him alone. They were the culmination of decades of economic and political shifts, a reckoning with the costs of globalisation, and a fundamental challenge to the legitimacy of the ruling elite.
As history continues to assess the Trump era, his impact remains undeniable. He did not simply hold office; he redefined the very nature of American politics. His presidency revealed the strengths and vulnerabilities of the system, proving that democracy is not an immutable structure but a fragile equilibrium, shaped by those who wield power and those who respond to it.
The Rise of Woke Ideology and Cultural Shift
Wokeism, a movement born from progressive activism, has grown into a powerful force shaping social policies and political debates. While its roots lie in addressing inequality, it has increasingly been criticised for undermining free speech, individual freedoms, and traditional societal structures. One of its most contentious effects is its impact on the nuclear family, as traditional roles and values are challenged by fluid identities and an expanding role for the state in family life.
Reflecting on this shift, I am struck by how history often serves as a mirror to the present. Societies throughout time have grappled with the tension between tradition and change, but the pace and scale of today’s transformations feel unprecedented. I think of conversations with older generations, who spoke of a time when family, faith, and shared cultural heritage provided a stable foundation for life. Parents once held the primary role in shaping their children’s values, and moral frameworks were rooted in enduring principles rather than shifting ideologies. Today, however, these foundations seem to be eroding, replaced by a fragmented vision of identity and authority.
From a sociological perspective, the family has long been seen as the bedrock of society. Thinkers like Emile Durkheim argued that strong familial bonds foster social cohesion, while the breakdown of these ties can lead to alienation and instability. Similarly, ancient philosophers such as Aristotle emphasised the importance of the household as the basic unit of a flourishing community. He believed that the family nurtured virtues like loyalty, responsibility, and mutual care—qualities essential for a healthy polity. Yet, in our current climate, these ideas are often dismissed as outdated or oppressive, replaced by a focus on individual autonomy and state intervention.
Personally, I find myself torn between the desire for progress and the need to preserve what is valuable in our traditions. While it is important to challenge injustices and embrace diversity, I worry that in our haste to deconstruct the old, we risk losing the wisdom it holds. The nuclear family, for all its flaws, has provided a sense of belonging and continuity for countless generations. To dismantle it entirely, without offering a viable alternative, feels like a dangerous experiment.
In the end, the question is not whether society should evolve, it must, but how we can do so without discarding the lessons of the past. History teaches us that stability and change are not opposites but partners in the dance of progress. As we navigate these turbulent times, we would do well to remember that the values of family, community, and shared heritage have endured for a reason. They are not relics to be discarded but foundations to be built upon.
Philosophers from antiquity, with their timeless wisdom, often cautioned against the kind of societal upheavals we see today. Plato, in The Republic, painted a vivid picture of the dangers that arise when we abandon the natural order and hierarchy that, in his view, underpinned a stable society. He warned that striving for an artificially imposed equality without regard for individual differences or the organic structure of communities would lead not to harmony, but to chaos. In his eyes, such a shift risked destabilising the very foundations of a just society, leaving it vulnerable to corruption and decay. Reflecting on this, one cannot help but notice the echoes of his warnings in our modern debates about equality and fairness. Are we, in our pursuit of a more egalitarian world, inadvertently undermining the very structures that sustain us?
Aristotle, too, offered profound insights in his Politics. He saw the family as the cornerstone of civilisation, the first and most essential unit from which all larger social structures emerge. For him, the family was not merely a private arrangement but a microcosm of the state, a place where moral virtues like loyalty, respect, and responsibility were nurtured. He argued that if familial bonds were weakened, the moral fabric of society would begin to unravel, leading to a decline in civic virtue and a loss of collective purpose. Today, as we witness the redefinition of family and the increasing fragmentation of communal ties, Aristotle’s words feel strikingly relevant. Are we, in our quest for individual freedom and self-expression, neglecting the deeper human need for connection and belonging?
These ancient thinkers, though separated from us by millennia, offer a lens through which we might examine our own times. Their warnings remind us that societal change, while often necessary, must be approached with care and respect for the delicate balance that holds communities together. As we navigate the complexities of modern life, perhaps we would do well to heed their counsel, blending progress with a mindful appreciation for the enduring wisdom of the past. After all, as the old adage goes, those who forget history are doomed to repeat it—and in the case of societal upheaval, the stakes could not be higher.
Throughout history, political movements have leveraged ideology not merely as a means of social transformation but as a tool for consolidating power. The Democratic Party’s embrace of wokeism is no exception. At its core, this ideological shift is not simply about justice or equality but about restructuring societal allegiances in a way that ensures political dominance. By championing identity politics, the party has successfully fragmented traditional social bonds—familial, religious, and cultural—replacing them with new affiliations based on race, gender, and sexuality. This recalibration of social identity fosters division over unity, positioning the party as the necessary arbiter of justice, the only legitimate defender of marginalised groups.
This strategy is not unprecedented. The Roman statesman Cicero warned of demagogues who, rather than striving for true civic harmony, would divide the populace into factions for personal gain. He saw the deliberate stoking of discord as a means for leaders to consolidate power, ensuring that the people remained too preoccupied with internal disputes to challenge the authority of those orchestrating them. Wokeism operates in a similar manner. By redefining oppression and privilege along ever-shifting lines, it demands perpetual struggle, ensuring that no stable social consensus can emerge.
From a sociological perspective, this phenomenon reflects the theories of Antonio Gramsci, who argued that cultural hegemony is the real battleground for power. Rather than securing authority through direct political control, elites maintain dominance by shaping cultural narratives and moral frameworks. Woke ideology serves this function, redefining what is acceptable, who may speak, and whose grievances are valid. It is no longer enough to engage in democratic debate; those who challenge the prevailing orthodoxy are branded as regressive, oppressive, or even dangerous.
This approach has profound consequences, particularly for conservative and religious communities, which have historically provided a counterweight to state overreach. By characterising traditional values as relics of an oppressive past, wokeism erodes the moral and cultural foundations that sustain these groups. What was once a matter of philosophical or theological difference is now framed as an existential threat, ensuring that conservative perspectives are not merely debated but delegitimised.
Yet history suggests that such strategies are ultimately unsustainable. Societies that prioritise ideological purity over civic cohesion often find themselves in states of perpetual instability. The French Revolution, for instance, began with noble aspirations for liberty and equality but quickly descended into factional purges, where those who once led the charge found themselves devoured by the very forces they had unleashed. Similarly, the Soviet Union’s insistence on ideological conformity resulted in a climate of paranoia, where even loyal adherents lived in fear of ideological betrayal.
The question, then, is whether the Democratic Party’s embrace of wokeism is a temporary political strategy or an enduring transformation. If history is any guide, movements that rely on perpetual division for power eventually find themselves consumed by the instability they create. True societal strength comes not from endless fragmentation but from a shared civic identity, a recognition that differences—while real—need not be insurmountable. Cicero’s warnings remain as relevant today as they were in ancient Rome: a society that thrives on discord ultimately undermines itself, leaving room for more stable and resilient forces to take its place.
The Erosion of Truth: A Civilisation in Flux
As I reflect on the shifting tides of our society, I cannot ignore the unsettling transformation of public discourse. What was once rooted in logic, shared understanding, and the free exchange of ideas has become an ideological minefield. Conversations are no longer about debate but survival—careers ended, reputations destroyed, friendships severed—not for radical views, but for defending what was, until recently, considered common sense. It feels as though we are living through an age of soft tyranny, where the cost of free speech is social exile.
Under President Biden’s administration, the Democratic Party accelerated its push towards progressive social policies, embedding woke ideology deeply into the fabric of government institutions, corporate culture, and the education system. What had once been an undercurrent of academic theory transformed into a dominant force reshaping social structures. Policies promoting gender fluidity, diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) were elevated to central tenets of governance, often prioritised over merit, competency, and national interest.
The consequences were immediate. Hiring practices in key institutions including the military, intelligence agencies, and corporate leadership—began favouring ideological alignment over experience and expertise. Transgender activists and social justice advocates, some with no relevant qualifications, were elevated to influential positions. This approach, echoing the warnings of Marcus Aurelius, placed political dogma above wisdom and virtue. Governance, he warned, should be rooted in prudence and justice, not in transient ideological trends. Yet, in modern America, ideological conformity became a prerequisite for power.
The Fracturing of the Family
One of the most significant battlegrounds in this cultural shift has been the family. Progressive ideology, particularly in the realm of gender and sexuality, has led to increasing state intervention in the upbringing of children. Schools, once bastions of knowledge, have become arenas for ideological indoctrination, where curricula prioritise identity politics over academic excellence. Parents across the country have found themselves powerless as educational institutions introduce their children to radical gender theories, often without their consent.
I have met parents who feel helpless as they watch their children exposed to teachings that contradict everything they have instilled in them. Fathers and mothers who once felt secure in their role as guides and protectors now find themselves at odds with an education system that seeks to redefine childhood itself. Their frustration is palpable; their sorrow, profound. The erosion of parental authority is not merely a cultural phenomenon but an existential threat to the structure of society.
History offers sobering parallels. Seneca, reflecting on the decline of Rome, observed that when a civilisation loses its moral and familial anchors, it sets itself on the path to disintegration. The family, he argued, is the foundation upon which stable societies are built. When that foundation is undermined whether through the erosion of parental rights or the redefinition of biological realities—the consequences are profound. Today, the decline in birth rates, the destabilisation of marriage, and the weakening of parental influence all point towards a society unmoored from its foundations.
Identity Politics and the Rejection of Truth
Beyond the family, the ideological battle extends to the very nature of truth itself. Woke ideology thrives on the rejection of objective reality in favour of subjective identity politics. Biology, history, and even language are no longer considered fixed but fluid, dictated not by fact but by social narrative. This shift has not fostered inclusivity; rather, it has deepened division, weakened institutions, and silenced dissenting voices. Those who advocate for biological reality and traditional values are branded as bigots, their perspectives dismissed as relics of an oppressive past.
The consequences of this intellectual upheaval are evident. Young people, bombarded by ideological dogma, are experiencing identity crises at unprecedented rates. Mental health issues have surged, yet instead of addressing the root causes, society continues to push further into abstraction, prioritising ideological affirmation over genuine well-being.
The Greeks and Romans understood the danger of unbridled ideological experimentation. Plato, in The Republic, warned that when private desires become public virtues, society loses its moral anchor. His vision of a well-ordered state depended on the regulation of passions and the pursuit of wisdom, not the indulgence of fleeting social trends. Similarly, Saint Augustine of Hippo saw in the moral decay of Rome a cautionary tale, one that modern society seems determined to repeat.
The Political Response: A Battle for the Nation’s Soul
Against this backdrop, Trump and the Republican Party positioned themselves as defenders of tradition, casting the struggle against wokeism as a fight for the soul of the nation. His administration worked to reverse gender identity policies in schools, pushed back against DEI mandates in federal institutions, and sought to reassert parental rights. For conservatives, this was more than a political stance it was an existential stand against a societal shift they believed was eroding American culture.
The reaction was swift. Conservative-led states enacted legislation banning gender-affirming treatments for minors, restricting DEI mandates, and reinforcing traditional educational curricula. The backlash against corporate endorsements of radical social policies led to boycotts, and legal battles over religious freedoms intensified. Public discourse became a battlefield, with both sides entrenching themselves further, making compromise increasingly impossible.
Yet history reminds us that societies do not collapse solely from external pressures but from internal decay. The late Roman Republic saw traditional virtues give way to moral relativism, the integrity of its institutions corroded by personal ambition and ideological excess. Revolutionary France, in its fervour to remake society, tore down centuries-old institutions only to descend into chaos. In both cases, the result was not renewal but destruction.
The Unresolved Question
And so, we find ourselves at a crossroads. The modern era bears unsettling similarities to these historical precedents. The dismantling of the nuclear family, the rejection of biological realities, and the rise of a culture that punishes dissenting voices all point to a civilisation in decline.
Yet, despite the bleak outlook, I refuse to surrender to despair. History has shown that resistance, courage, and truth have the power to reclaim what is lost. The question remains: will society awaken in time to preserve the values that have shaped it for millennia? Or will it follow the path of Rome, of France, of civilisations that, having abandoned their foundations, could no longer stand?
What we are witnessing is not merely a political struggle but a civilisational reckoning. The stakes are not just policies or elections, but the very nature of truth, identity, and human flourishing. The lessons of history are clear. The only question left is whether we will heed them.
Trump’s Post-Presidency: The Struggle for Political Survival
Donald Trump’s departure from office did not mark the end of his influence, nor did it bring a moment of quiet retreat. Instead, it signalled the beginning of a relentless campaign to neutralise him politically, legally, and personally. What followed was an unprecedented series of legal and political manoeuvres, ranging from impeachment trials to financial investigations, all aimed at ensuring he never returned to power. Yet, rather than diminishing his standing, these relentless attacks solidified his status as a political martyr in the eyes of his supporters.
History is replete with examples of rulers and reformers who, having challenged the prevailing order, became the focus of systemic retribution. The fate of the Gracchi brothers in ancient Rome comes to mind, popular tribunes who sought land reforms to aid the lower classes, only to be violently purged by the Senate, not for any criminal wrongdoing, but because their ideas threatened the entrenched aristocracy. Trump’s predicament mirrors this historical precedent: his opponents see him not simply as an adversary but as a disruptor who must be neutralised. His movement, like that of past populist leaders, does not dissolve under pressure but often strengthens in the face of persecution.
Biden’s Presidency: A Return to the Status Quo
If Trump’s presidency was defined by disruption, Biden’s tenure has been marked by continuity. Far from ushering in a new political era, his administration has largely been perceived as an extension of Obama’s policies, with many of the same officials returning to positions of power. The economic difficulties, growing concerns over border security, and a diminished global standing under Biden have only reinforced the sense that his presidency was less about governance and more about maintaining the status quo.
Critics argue that Biden’s leadership has been largely symbolic, with real decision-making resting in the hands of establishment figures. His frequent verbal missteps, extended holidays, and moments of apparent cognitive decline had intensified questions about his ability to lead. His administration’s decision to prioritise progressive ideological initiatives over economic recovery and national security has deepened divisions, fostering resentment among those who feel left behind by globalist policies.
A particularly striking moment of cultural friction came when Biden’s administration declared Easter Sunday as Transgender Day of Visibility. For many Christians, Easter is the most sacred day of the year, symbolising Christ’s resurrection and the triumph of hope over despair. The decision to use this occasion for an overtly political statement was met with widespread condemnation from religious groups, who viewed it as an intentional effort to marginalise Christian traditions.
The backlash was swift. To conservatives and traditionalists, this move was emblematic of the broader secularisation of American society, where faith and historical identity are increasingly sidelined in favour of political correctness. From a historical perspective, such tensions are not new. The early Christian church often clashed with Roman authorities who sought to supplant religious traditions with state-sanctioned celebrations. In the late Roman Empire, figures such as Julian the Apostate attempted to revive paganism at the expense of Christianity, not through outright persecution, but by diminishing the significance of Christian observances. The parallels are striking: when a ruling power prioritises ideological conformity over cultural heritage, it inevitably deepens social divisions.
The Extremes of Political Hostility: Assassination Attempts on Trump
Beyond political and legal opposition, Trump has faced direct threats to his life, an alarming reminder of the volatility that defines modern American politics. The attempt to assassinate him at a 2016 rally in Las Vegas, the intercepted ricin-laced packages sent to the White House, and more recent foiled plots during his post-presidency underscore the extremes to which political hostility has escalated.
Political violence is not new in American history. Abraham Lincoln, John F. Kennedy, and Ronald Reagan all faced assassination attempts, with Lincoln and Kennedy succumbing to them. But what sets Trump apart is the sheer scale of the ongoing attempts to neutralise him—politically, legally, and physically. The parallels with antiquity are once again inescapable. Julius Caesar, whose populist reforms angered the senatorial elite, was ultimately assassinated by those who feared his growing influence. Yet, as history proved, his death did not restore the Republic; it ushered in imperial rule, demonstrating that eliminating a leader does not quell the ideological struggle but often intensifies it.
Tacitus once observed that “the desire for safety stands against every great and noble enterprise.” Leaders who seek radical change invariably invite hostility, for entrenched systems do not relinquish power without resistance. The question is not merely whether Trump will face continued opposition, but whether America itself can withstand the consequences of such deep-seated division.
Trump’s 2024 Victory: A Rejection of Woke Ideology and the Dawn of Reform
Despite the relentless opposition, Trump’s political resilience culminated in a decisive 2024 electoral victory, marking not just a personal comeback but a broader cultural shift. His triumph was a resounding rejection of progressive policies that had taken root in American institutions. The electorate, disillusioned by the ideological direction of the country, turned against the policies that had reshaped schools, workplaces, and public discourse.
Parents, concerned about radical education policies, mobilised against gender and race-based curricula that they felt undermined family values. Working-class Americans, struggling under the weight of inflation and deindustrialisation, saw in Trump a leader who could prioritise national economic interests over globalist trade policies. His campaign, built on themes of national revival and cultural restoration, resonated with millions who believed the nation had lost its way.
Upon returning to office, Trump moved swiftly to dismantle the progressive policies entrenched in federal agencies. Executive orders banning gender ideology in schools, reversing DEI mandates in corporations, and enforcing stricter immigration policies marked a dramatic shift in governance. His Justice Department took aim at politicised law enforcement practices, vowing to restore fairness to a system many believed had been weaponised. Internationally, Trump reasserted America’s sovereignty, renegotiating trade agreements and reaffirming military strength.
The consequences of his victory extended beyond the United States. Inspired by his populist resurgence, nationalist movements in Europe and beyond gained momentum, challenging the globalist consensus that had dominated international politics for decades.
Trump’s evolution from a brash businessman to a transformative political figure bears striking similarities to the great disruptors of history. Like Julius Caesar, who began his career as an outsider challenging the aristocracy, Trump’s political ascent defied the expectations of the ruling elite. His ability to channel public frustration, to stand unwavering in the face of systemic opposition, and to reshape political discourse mirrors the journeys of leaders who reshaped their nations.
Augustus, Rome’s first emperor, inherited a fractured republic filled with economic instability and social division. Through decisive action and bold reforms, he established a new era of stability, restoring Rome’s prestige. Trump’s approach, prioritising national strength, economic self-sufficiency, and cultural identity echoes the principles of past leaders who recognised that societies thrive when rooted in strong, unyielding foundations.
Even in more recent history, figures such as Winston Churchill faced relentless criticism before ultimately proving their leadership indispensable in times of crisis. Churchill, once dismissed as a political outcast, became Britain’s steadfast wartime leader. His famous words, “You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something,” could just as easily be applied to Trump, whose presidency has been defined by his refusal to conform to political expectations.
The Unfinished Struggle
Trump’s political career remains an unfolding chapter in history. Whether he is ultimately remembered as a revolutionary reformer or a controversial disruptor will depend on the trajectory of the years ahead. But one thing is undeniable: his presence has fundamentally reshaped the American political landscape.
Machiavelli wrote in The Prince that “there is nothing more difficult to take in hand, more perilous to conduct, or more uncertain in its success, than to take the lead in the introduction of a new order of things.” Trump’s leadership represents such an attempt. The battle between globalism and nationalism, between progressivism and tradition, between elite control and populist resurgence, is far from over.
The question remains: will America, like Rome, succumb to internal decay, or will it reclaim its foundational ideals? As history has shown, the fate of great nations is determined not just by their leaders but by the resilience of the people who stand with them.
