Rep. Al Green, the Texas Democrat who has made a second career out of trying to impeach President Donald Trump, failed to clear the 50% threshold in his bid to hold onto a congressional seat and now faces a runoff against a fellow Democrat.
Green and Rep. Christian Menefee will square off on Tuesday, May 26, 2026, after neither secured a majority in the race for Texas's 18th Congressional District. The Associated Press reported Wednesday that Menefee pulled 46% of the vote to Green's 44.2%.
That means the man who has spent more time grandstanding against a sitting president than legislating for his own constituents now has to fight just to keep his job. And he's losing.
Green has served in Congress since 2005, originally representing Texas's 9th Congressional District. His tenure has been marked less by legislative accomplishment than by a singular, almost liturgical devotion to removing Donald Trump from office.
His impeachment push in November was described by Fox News as his fifth attempt to bring charges against the president. Five times. Green told local reporters at the time:
"We have to participate. This is a participatory democracy. The impeachment requires the hands and the guidance of all of us."
What that "guidance" has produced, in practical terms, is nothing. No successful impeachment. No coalition built. No legislation of consequence riding on the effort. Just a congressman who turned himself into a one-man protest movement while voters in his district waited for someone to address their actual concerns.
Green's flair for the dramatic extends well beyond impeachment resolutions. At the 2026 State of the Union, he brought a sign reading "black people aren't apes" into the chamber and was removed. The year before, at Trump's joint address to Congress on March 4, 2025, Green refused to be seated and waved his cane at the president until security escorted him out.
"I am not moving."
Voters, apparently, are.
Green isn't even running in his original district. Redistricting changes advanced by Republicans reportedly look to eliminate as many as five Democrat-held seats in Texas, and Green's 9th District was among the casualties. Rather than retire, he announced he would pursue reelection in the 18th Congressional District.
"So, I announce I will be running for the permanent seat."
The problem: he's not the only Democrat who wanted it. Menefee, a former Harris County Attorney, won a January special election to fill the seat after Rep. Sylvester Turner died in office last March at age 70. Menefee had announced his own candidacy for the district before Texas had even completed its redistricting plans, staking his claim early.
The Congressional Progressive Caucus Political Action Committee endorsed Menefee in 2025. A post on his website last March framed his decision in revealing terms, noting that he had been mentioned as a potential statewide candidate but chose Congress instead because "the prospects for breaking the Republican hold on state politics in Texas appeared dim for Democrats in the short term."
That's a remarkable concession from a Democrat. Texas isn't turning blue, and even their own candidates know it. The honest play, at least for Menefee, was to grab a safe House seat while one was available.
What voters in the 18th District are choosing between tells you everything about where the Democratic Party stands in 2026. On one side: a 20-year incumbent whose national profile rests entirely on performative opposition to Trump, culminating in repeated ejections from the House chamber. On the other: a progressive-backed newcomer who openly admits his party can't compete statewide in Texas.
Neither candidate is offering a vision. Green offers spectacle. Menefee offers managed decline.
Under Texas law, if no candidate captures a majority of the vote, the race heads to a runoff. That runoff is now set for May 26. In a solidly blue district, the winner will almost certainly head back to Congress.
The question isn't really who wins. It's what either victory would mean. Green has spent two decades in the House and is best known for waving a cane at the president. Menefee arrived months ago through a special election and already outpaced him at the ballot box. One represents a Democratic Party that mistakes disruption for resistance. The other represents a party that has stopped pretending it can win the fights that matter.
The 18th District will make its choice. The rest of the country already has.
Three people are dead and more than a dozen wounded after a gunman opened fire at a bar scene in Austin on Sunday morning, and the two leading candidates in the Texas Democrat Senate primary have yet to utter the words "Islamic terrorism."
Ndiaga Diagne, 53, carried out the attack wearing a hoodie with the words "property of Allah" emblazoned on the front. Police searching his home with a warrant later discovered an Iranian flag and photos of Islamic leaders. Diagne was shot dead by local police.
Austin Police Chief Lisa Davis said her department had invited federal authorities to investigate the attack as a possible act of terrorism:
"We're looking at the totality of this. We see these indicators, we're thinking about events and what's occurring in the country as well. The motives – all of those things, that's what the investigation is about right now."
The shooting came just a day ahead of the Texas Senate primary and in the shadow of strikes carried out by the U.S. and Israel on Saturday that targeted Iran's military leadership and killed its supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. The timing alone should have sharpened every candidate's focus. Instead, the Democrat frontrunners reached for the same stale playbook they always do.
According to Fox News, James Talarico, one of the two Democrat frontrunners, chose to focus on prayer and gun control. In an interview with MS Now, he turned the tragedy into a sermon against his own voters:
"I believe in the power of prayer. I believe prayer changes lives. But there is something profoundly cynical in asking God to solve a problem we're not willing to solve ourselves."
He followed that by claiming God had "sent lawmakers with commonsense gun safety proposals like universal background checks, red flag laws." Talarico did acknowledge that the U.S. should prevent "dangerous people from entering the country," but spent his airtime doubling down on red flag proposals rather than addressing what the evidence at the crime scene plainly suggested.
Rep. Jasmine Crockett, who announced her run in the Democrat primary for U.S. Senate on Dec. 8, 2025, took a different but equally evasive route. She warned viewers on TikTok:
"Listen, every time there's some crazy situation like this, black folks sit around and say, 'Oh, I hope they're not black,' because we know that's going to be an additional target on our backs. We know that the immigrant community was probably holding their breath and saying, 'Oh, I hope it wasn't an immigrant.'"
Crockett then pivoted to a familiar statistical claim, asserting that "the vast majority" of mass shooters have been White, male, and homegrown. She did not explain how that insight, even if accurate, would have prevented a 53-year-old man in an "property of Allah" hoodie from killing three people in Austin. She did not address any mention of Islamic terrorism. She did not engage with what the police actually found in the suspect's home.
What she did say was direct enough:
"We need to actually do something about guns. Don't sit there and say that it's the immigrants. Maybe it's your lax laws when it comes to guns."
Neither Talarico's nor Crockett's campaign replied to a request for comment.
Notice the structure. A man wearing Islamic insignia murders three Texans. Police find an Iranian flag in his home. Federal authorities are called in to investigate terrorism. And the Democrat response is to talk about background checks and the racial demographics of mass shooters.
This is not a failure of messaging. It is the messaging. The left has constructed a rhetorical framework in which Islamic terrorism simply cannot be named, because naming it would validate the conservative position on border security, vetting, and immigration enforcement. So they change the subject. Every single time.
Gun control becomes the universal solvent. No matter the motive, no matter the ideology, no matter what is stitched across the killer's chest, the answer is always the same: red flag laws, universal background checks, and a lecture about prayer. The facts of the individual case become irrelevant. The template was written before the bodies were cold.
RNC spokesman Zach Kraft did not mince words:
"Absolutely disgusting stuff. James Talarico and Jasmine Crockett are blaming hardworking Texans who go to church and lawfully own guns, instead of the radical Islamic terrorist who committed this heinous act."
The contrast from the Republican side could not have been sharper. GOP Sen. John Cornyn, speaking with Fox News Digital in San Antonio on Sunday, went straight to the core issue:
"Part of the problem is that the Biden administration, for four years, had open border policies and let who knows what into the country."
Cornyn emphasized that the current challenge is not about new arrivals. President Trump has secured the border. The question now is what to do about those already here and "what happens when people become radicalized."
Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton, speaking in Waco, acknowledged the difficulty of the problem honestly:
"There's no system that's perfect. If we have immigration, there's going to be no system that's perfect. We do need to do a better job of vetting people, and Congress is going to have to figure out how to do that."
Paxton pointed to the scale of the problem, noting that the burden of illegal immigration has made it harder for law enforcement to keep track of everyone. When millions enter the country outside legal channels, the system strains. That is not a talking point. That is arithmetic.
GOP Senate candidate Rep. Wesley Hunt, a West Point graduate who flew Apache helicopters in combat and is a rising MAGA star in his second term in Congress, was the most direct of all. Speaking Monday night in suburban Houston, Hunt laid the blame squarely where it belongs:
"This is what happened when you had four years of an open border. This is what happens when 20 million people enter your country illegally. You have no idea what they are. This is what happens when you have a derelict of duty at the top of the ticket with leadership. And this is why President Trump, quite frankly, got elected. He got elected because he wanted to fix the immigration system."
While the suspect's specific motives remain under investigation, the material evidence is not ambiguous. The clothing. The flag. The photographs. Federal authorities do not get invited to investigate a bar fight.
The question facing Texas voters on primary day is simple: When the evidence points to Islamic terrorism, do you want a senator who says the words or one who talks about red flag laws?
Talarico and Crockett had every opportunity to address the terrorism indicators, express concern about radicalization, and still advocate for whatever gun policies they believe in. They chose not to. Not because the evidence was unclear, but because their ideological commitments will not permit the conclusion the evidence suggests.
Three Texans are dead. A man wearing "property of Allah" killed them. And two people who want to represent Texas in the United States Senate could not bring themselves to say so.
Republican Rep. Tony Gonzales of Texas is staring down what may be the final days of his congressional career. Trailing his primary challenger by 24 points in a recent poll, facing an active congressional ethics probe, and dogged by allegations of an extramarital affair with a staffer who later set herself on fire, the three-term congressman has refused to resign despite calls from more than half a dozen Republican colleagues to step aside.
He and challenger Brandon Herrera face off again Tuesday in a rematch of a razor-thin primary runoff Gonzales won two years ago by roughly 400 votes. This time, the math looks very different.
An internal campaign poll commissioned by Herrera's team in late February showed Gonzales at just 21% support, compared to Herrera's 45%. Another 26% remained undecided, with former Rep. Francisco "Quico" Canseco and construction executive Keith Barton each pulling 4%. If Herrera clears the 50% threshold, there is no runoff. The arrow, as Herrera put it, is already in flight.
At the center of the scandal is the death of Regina Santos-Aviles, a 35-year-old mother of one who served as Gonzales' regional director. Santos-Aviles self-immolated in the backyard of her Uvalde home and died on September 14. First responders reported that she told them she had discovered her husband was cheating on her with her best friend, and that she poured gasoline on herself and set herself on fire. Police records and autopsy notes indicated she had been drinking and taking antidepressants.
Text messages obtained by the New York Post from a May 2024 exchange, some 16 months before her death, reportedly show Santos-Aviles admitting to an "affair." One message attributed to Gonzales reads: "Then send me a sexy pic." Her widower, Adrian Aviles, denied the claim when contacted. A former colleague of Santos-Aviles also denied it.
Whatever the full truth, the human cost here is undeniable. A young mother is dead. A family is shattered. And a sitting congressman's only public response, delivered to CNN's Manu Raju on Capitol Hill, was this:
"What you've seen is not all the facts."
That is not a denial. It is not an explanation. It is the kind of sentence a lawyer approves and a voter sees right through.
The affair allegations accelerated Gonzales' decline, but they did not cause it. His standing with the Republican base in Texas's 23rd Congressional District had been eroding for years. The district stretches roughly 800 miles from San Antonio to El Paso across the border regions of west Texas, and all but a handful of its counties voted heavily for Trump in 2024. The voters there care about border security. Gonzales gave them reasons to doubt he did.
A former aide who worked for Gonzales from 2021 to 2023 in a border county office told the Post she was "done with Tony," and laid out her reasoning plainly:
"I don't feel he was doing enough for the border crisis to stop that, the red-flag laws, and then the last straw was him voting for all the LGBT stuff, same-sex marriage."
That is not one grievance. It is a list. Red-flag laws. Same-sex marriage. And a perceived lack of urgency on the border, in a district where the border is not an abstraction but a daily reality. When your own former staff is cataloguing your betrayals for reporters, the problem predates any scandal.
At an event in Corpus Christi on Friday, Gonzales was booed by some attendees. The chairman of the Congressional Hispanic Conference and father of six is watching his political coalition disintegrate in real time.
Brandon Herrera, the firearms enthusiast and YouTuber known as "The AK Guy" with more than 4 million online followers, has run a campaign squarely aimed at the district's priorities. His closing message to voters focused on border security, affordability, and veterans' issues. Speaking to the Post on Sunday, Herrera framed the stakes in terms that mirror the broader MAGA agenda:
"Let's help President Trump codify the things that he's done to secure the border; let's work on the massive financial crisis, the debt crisis we're in in this country; let's make sure that veterans get the health care that they deserve and that they were promised, especially in such a veteran-dense district like District 23."
That is a message built for the district: concrete, policy-forward, and aligned with what Republican voters in border country actually want from their representative. Herrera has also argued that Gonzales' refusal to come clean about the alleged affair creates a general election vulnerability, claiming that Gonzales' "lies" could allow Democrats to "flip a reliable Republican seat blue."
With Republicans holding 218 seats to Democrats' 214 heading into the 2026 midterms, that is not a hypothetical concern. It is arithmetic.
House Speaker Mike Johnson called the accusations against Gonzales "very serious" and said he had privately urged the congressman "to address" the matter "directly and head on with his constituents." That is about as far as a Speaker will go publicly against a sitting member of his own conference, but the message was clear enough. Johnson did not vouch for Gonzales. He did not rally to his defense. He told him to face his voters.
The Office of Congressional Conduct began probing the purported affair in November but will not be able to refer findings to the House Ethics Committee for potential punishments until after the primary election. The timeline means voters will render their verdict before the institution does.
This is a race where the outcome may already be determined, and the election is just a formality. Gonzales' support has collapsed among the people who know him best: his former staff, his colleagues, his constituents. The ethics probe hangs overhead. The text messages are public. The woman at the center of the allegations is dead, and his response has been to say the public doesn't have "all the facts" without offering any of his own.
Herrera does not need to be a perfect candidate. He needs to be an acceptable alternative in a district that has already moved on. In a deep-red stretch of border Texas where voters backed Trump by wide margins, the question is not whether the district stays Republican. It is whether the Republican who holds it deserves to.
Tuesday will answer that.
Marie Hurabiell, a San Francisco nonprofit executive and former Trump appointee, announced this week that she is running for the congressional seat held for nearly four decades by Nancy Pelosi. The move instantly complicates what was already shaping up to be a crowded Democratic contest in one of the bluest districts in America.
The Washington Examiner reported that Hurabiell, who leads the advocacy group ConnectedSF, framed her candidacy around pragmatism rather than ideology. In a post on X dated February 25, she laid out her pitch:
"I didn't plan to run for office this year — but San Francisco doesn't need more ideological extremes. We need results and reform."
"I'm running to bring pragmatic, common-sense Democratic leadership to Washington — focused on safety, innovation, and affordability. I've stood up to failed policies before. I'll do it again."
There's a detail her opponents will make sure voters don't miss: Hurabiell was appointed by President Donald Trump to the Presidio Trust Board of Directors. She was also a former member of the Georgetown University Board of Regents. And until 2022, she was a registered Republican.
Hurabiell switched her party affiliation from Republican to Democrat in 2022. That kind of conversion typically earns you suspicion from both sides, and Hurabiell's case is no exception. She has a paper trail that will thrill conservatives and terrify San Francisco's progressive establishment in equal measure.
Prior posts on X include the blunt declaration that "Trans women are NOT women" and a comparison of critical race theory to tactics "used by Hitler and the KKK." Those comments led to a protest outside the ConnectedSF gala in 2025.
None of this is the profile of someone who drifts quietly into a Democratic primary. Hurabiell is walking into the progressive lion's den with receipts that would get most San Francisco Democrats excommunicated from polite society.
Whether that's courageous or politically suicidal depends on how much the city has actually changed beneath its progressive veneer.
And there are signs it has changed. Through ConnectedSF, Hurabiell has worked on civic engagement and local policy advocacy. The group was an early endorser of San Francisco Democratic mayor Daniel Lurie, who returned the favor and has frequently appeared at Hurabiell's events, including a gala where he was the featured speaker.
That relationship suggests Hurabiell's brand of reform-minded politics has found real purchase among city leaders, even if they'd rather not discuss her old tweets at dinner parties.
Hurabiell faces two significant Democratic challengers who mounted their campaigns this year, and neither will make this easy.
Saikat Chakrabarti, a former tech executive who served as chief of staff to Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, drew more than 700 people to a rally in San Francisco's Mission District when he launched his campaign. He has invested more than $700,000 of his own money into the race.
Chakrabarti is running on the premise that the Democratic establishment is exhausted:
"Democrats are craving a generational change and need a new kind of leader who is not a part of the establishment, because the establishment has failed us."
Then there is state Sen. Scott Wiener, a Harvard-educated attorney who chairs the state Senate Budget Committee. Wiener is known around Sacramento for championing LGBT rights, combating climate change, and pushing for fair housing.
He also made headlines for pushing back on Trump's recommendation to send National Guard troops to San Francisco.
So the field offers voters a clear menu:
Only in San Francisco would all three of these people be competing in the same primary.
The real story here isn't whether Hurabiell wins. It's what her candidacy says about the state of progressive politics in its own heartland. Pelosi's departure leaves a seat shaped by nearly four decades of Democratic power and national influence. The scramble to fill it is exposing fault lines the party would rather keep hidden.
Chakrabarti thinks the establishment has failed. Wiener is the establishment. And Hurabiell is betting that enough San Francisco Democrats are tired of both factions to rally behind someone who called out failed policies when it was unpopular to do so, even if she did it from the other side of the aisle.
Hurabiell has lost two bids for a seat on the City College of San Francisco board of trustees, so the electoral track record isn't exactly encouraging. But this is a different race in a different moment.
San Francisco spent years watching its streets deteriorate, its schools falter, and its businesses flee while its leaders competed to see who could be the most progressive. Voters elected Lurie on a reform platform. The appetite for something different is real.
Whether that appetite extends to a woman who was posting conservative critiques of gender ideology and critical race theory just a few years ago is the open question. Hurabiell is gambling that results matter more than orthodoxy. In most of America, that's not a gamble at all. In San Francisco, it's a high-wire act without a net.
The primary will tell us exactly how far the city's political correctness has traveled.
President Trump reportedly dressed down FBI Director Kash Patel behind closed doors after a video surfaced of Patel chugging a beer and pounding a table inside the U.S. men's hockey team's locker room following their gold medal victory at the Winter Olympics in Milan.
The Daily Mail reported that Trump told Patel he was unhappy with the locker-room celebration and raised concerns about Patel's use of a government aircraft for the trip to Italy, which could cost taxpayers up to $75,000, according to NBC News.
The president, who does not drink alcohol, took issue with both the optics of the celebration and the travel arrangements, per a person familiar with the matter.
The FBI declined to comment on whether Trump expressed frustration with Patel.
Team USA won its first Olympic men's hockey gold since 1980. That's a legitimate historic moment. Patel was filmed enthusiastically drinking from a beer and shouting inside the locker room with the newly crowned champions. ProPublica first posted the video, which circulated widely.
Patel defended himself on X:
"For the very concerned media - yes, I love America and was extremely humbled when my friends, the newly minted Gold Medal winners on Team USA, invited me into the locker room to celebrate this historic moment with the boys- Greatest country on earth and greatest sport on earth."
The FBI maintained the trip was official in nature, stating simply that "it is not a personal trip." Patel said he met with Italian law enforcement officials and U.S. agencies involved in security during the visit.
Earlier, he had posted pictures from inside the Milano Santagiulia Ice Hockey Arena during Sunday's final.
There's nothing wrong with celebrating American greatness. There's nothing wrong with an FBI director being proud of Team USA. But government aircraft cost money, and the director of the FBI is not a sports ambassador. Trump understood that distinction immediately.
This is the kind of thing that hands your opponents ammunition for free. And sure enough, Senator Dick Durbin, the ranking Democrat on the Senate Judiciary Committee, wasted no time asking the Justice Department's inspector general to "investigate Director Patel's misuse or mismanagement of government resources."
Predictable as sunrise. But predictable doesn't mean unearned when you give them the material.
The $75,000 price tag for a government jet to watch hockey and pound beers in a locker room writes the attack ad itself. It doesn't matter that Patel also conducted official meetings. The video is what people saw. And in politics, what people see is what exists.
White House spokeswoman Abigail Jackson pivoted to the administration's record rather than relitigating the locker room footage. She pointed to the results:
"Crime rates are dropping across the board. This is a direct result of the President's law and order agenda which is being successfully implemented by his law and order team, including FBI Director Kash Patel."
Jackson added that "the President has full confidence in his Administration." That's the standard vote-of-confidence language, and notably, it came after the reported rebuke, not instead of it.
Trump corrected the problem privately and kept the public messaging unified. That's how leadership works: address the issue internally, present a united front externally.
Lost in the beer-chugging discourse is what the FBI was actually doing this week. The bureau fired at least 10 employees connected to the 2022 search of Trump's Mar-a-Lago estate, according to three people familiar with the matter.
That search uncovered classified documents and led to one of two federal criminal cases against Trump, both of which were ultimately dismissed.
This is the real story. Patel has been systematically cleaning house at an agency that spent years weaponizing against the man who appointed him.
He disclosed that his own cellphone "toll" records were obtained during those investigations. The man running the FBI knows firsthand what it looks like when the bureau targets people for political reasons.
Also, while Patel was in Italy, an armed man entered the security perimeter of Trump's Florida residence at Mar-a-Lago. Trump was not present at the time. The incident underscores the constant threat environment in which the administration operates and the seriousness of the security apparatus Patel oversees.
Democrats want this to be a scandal. It isn't. It's a moment of poor judgment that the president caught and corrected. The left would love nothing more than to turn a locker room beer into Patel's undoing, because what Patel is actually doing at the FBI terrifies them.
Every agent fired for the Mar-a-Lago raid, every institutional reform, every step toward accountability for the bureau's years of political overreach represents the thing they fear most: consequences.
Durbin's call for an inspector general investigation is theatrical. The same Democrats who shrugged at the FBI being used as a political weapon against a sitting president now want an audit because the FBI director celebrated a hockey game too enthusiastically. The selective outrage isn't even clever anymore.
Patel should take note. Keep the patriotism, lose the government jet to sporting events. The mission is too important and the enemies too eager for the FBI director to hand them distractions on a silver platter.
There's a bureau to rebuild. That job doesn't happen in a locker room.
Democratic Reps. Ilhan Omar (MN) and Rashida Tlaib (MI) began screaming during President Trump's State of the Union address on Tuesday, only to have their outbursts swallowed whole by Republican lawmakers chanting "U-S-A, U-S-A" across the House Chamber. Texas Democrat Al Green was ejected after brandishing a placard reading "Black people aren't apes." The joint session of Congress, meant to showcase a president's agenda, instead became the latest stage for Democratic theatrics.
The disruptions started early and escalated fast. As Trump spoke about domestic accomplishments from his first year in office, cameras caught Omar appearing distraught, almost overcome with emotion, before she and Tlaib began yelling. The pair shouted "You have killed Americans" and called the president a liar, their voices competing with, and ultimately losing to, the rolling "U-S-A" chants from the Republican side of the chamber.
Trump did not flinch. He branded the two members of Congress a "disgrace" and told them plainly from the podium:
"You should be ashamed."
The moment that appeared to trigger the outburst was Trump's direct remarks about fraud in Minnesota, the state Omar represents, according to the Daily Mail. The president did not mince words:
"When it comes to the corruption that is plundering America, there has been no more stunning example than Minnesota, where members of the Somali community have pillaged an estimated $19 billion from the American taxpayer."
He went further, arguing that the pattern of corruption in Minnesota illustrates a broader problem with immigration policy:
"Importing these cultures through unrestricted immigration and open borders brings those problems right here to the USA."
Omar, who represents Minneapolis and is herself Somali, took the remarks personally. That much was obvious from the cameras. But taking remarks personally and refuting them are two different things. The $19 billion figure Trump cited has been a subject of ongoing scrutiny in Minnesota, and screaming from the House floor is not the rebuttal that a serious legislator would offer if the numbers were wrong.
If Omar had data showing the president was mistaken, a press conference would have been the appropriate venue. A written rebuttal. A hearing request. Instead, she chose a primal scream on national television, which tells you everything about whether the goal was to inform or to perform.
Before the address even got underway, the evening had already been beset by protests. Al Green brought a sign into the chamber reading "Black people aren't apes," a reference to a recent Trump social media post featuring an AI video depicting Barack and Michelle Obama as primates.
GOP Senators Markwayne Mullin and Roger Marshall moved swiftly to stand in front of Green, blocking his sign from view. Trump kept walking. Green was subsequently ejected from the chamber.
Whatever one thinks of the social media post in question, the State of the Union is not a protest rally. There are rules governing decorum in the House Chamber, and Green knew them. The placard was designed for a camera, not for a conversation. He got his clip. He also got escorted out.
There was a time when the so-called Squad commanded enormous media attention simply by existing. Omar, Tlaib, and their allies were treated as the ideological vanguard of the Democratic Party, their every tweet amplified, their every accusation treated as moral authority. That era is visibly ending.
What played out on Tuesday was not powerful dissent. It was impotence dressed up as courage. The heckling accomplished nothing legislatively. It changed no votes. It persuaded no one who wasn't already persuaded. And it was physically overwhelmed by the opposing chant, a metaphor so on-the-nose it barely needs articulation.
Consider what voters actually saw:
The optics were brutal for Democrats. Not because conservative media will frame them that way, but because the footage speaks for itself. One side looked like it was governing. The other looked like it was melting down.
What's notable is not just what Omar and Tlaib said, but what the broader Democratic caucus did not say. No Democratic leader appears to have condemned the disruptions or called for decorum. No one from the party stepped to a microphone to distance themselves from the spectacle.
This is the trap that progressive theatrics set for the larger party. When your most vocal members turn a joint session of Congress into a shouting match, and your leadership says nothing, voters draw a reasonable conclusion: this is who you all are.
Trump told them they should be ashamed. The chants drowned out the screaming. And somewhere in that chamber, the Democratic Party's moderates, if any remain, watched their brand shrink a little further.
Speaker Mike Johnson (R-LA) told reporters Tuesday morning that he plans to sit down with embattled Texas GOP Rep. Tony Gonzales, who faces mounting calls from within his own party to resign over allegations of an affair with a former district staffer who later took her own life.
"I'll talk to Tony today," Johnson told Politico reporter Meredith Lee Hill.
The meeting comes after Johnson struck a more cautious tone just one day earlier, telling reporters Monday he didn't think "it's time" to call for Gonzales to step down. He urged patience instead.
"I think we have to wait for more of the facts to come out."
The facts already public are grim enough.
Gonzales is accused of having an affair with Regina Santos-Aviles, his former regional district director. The San Antonio Express-News obtained alleged text messages between the two from May 2024, in which Gonzales reportedly requested a "sexy pic" and asked about her "favorite" sexual position.
Santos-Aviles allegedly replied in one exchange:
"This is going too far boss."
That word, "boss," carries weight. This was not a relationship between equals. It was a congressman and his staffer, with all the power dynamics that arrangement implies. The texts were provided to the Express-News by Adrian Aviles, Santos-Aviles' widower.
On September 14, 2025, Regina Santos-Aviles committed suicide by setting herself on fire.
News 4 and Fox SA have also obtained a series of text messages related to the situation. No one should rush past the human devastation at the center of this story. Whatever the full picture turns out to be, a woman is dead, a family is shattered, and the man she worked for in Congress has serious questions to answer.
Multiple Republican members of Congress have already called for Gonzales to resign, The Daily Caller noted. The list is bipartisan in temperament if not in party, spanning populist firebrands and more conventional conservatives alike:
Mace has been the most vocal. In a long-form post on X Monday, she made her position unambiguous:
"Texans deserve a congressman who does not prey on women."
By Tuesday, she had moved beyond words. Mace announced she filed a resolution to publicly release all alleged sexual harassment violations by members of Congress. Not just Gonzales. All of them.
Mace framed her resolution as a response to something larger than one congressman's scandal. She pointed to the institutional rot that lets these situations fester in the first place.
"No one is held accountable here in Congress."
She went further, leveling a charge that should make members on both sides of the aisle uncomfortable: "Both sides protect each other."
That accusation stings because it rings true. Congress has a long and inglorious history of closing ranks when its members face misconduct allegations. Secret settlements paid with taxpayer money. Ethics investigations that drag on until the public loses interest. Quiet retirements dressed up as personal decisions. The pattern is well established, and voters are rightly sick of it.
What makes the Republican response here notable is the speed. There was no circling of wagons, no coordinated messaging operation to buy Gonzales time. Within days of the allegations gaining traction, five GOP members publicly demanded his resignation. That's not how Washington usually works.
The Speaker's position is understandable but precarious. Johnson holds a narrow majority, and every seat matters for the Republican legislative agenda. Calling for a member's resignation before all the facts emerge sets a precedent that could be weaponized later. His instinct toward caution is not unreasonable.
But caution has a shelf life. The alleged texts are specific. The woman at the center of the story is dead. The widower himself brought the messages to reporters. This is not an anonymous accusation from an unnamed source. It has names, dates, and words on a screen.
Johnson's meeting with Gonzales today will reveal whether the Speaker views this as a situation to manage or a situation to resolve. The distinction matters. Managing it means buying time. Resolving it means making a decision that prioritizes institutional credibility over one member's career.
Gonzales has not publicly commented on the allegations based on available reporting. The Caller reached out to Johnson's office for comment but did not receive a response before publication. Silence, at this stage, is its own kind of statement.
Mace's resolution to release all sexual harassment violations could reshape the conversation entirely. If it gains traction, the Gonzales situation becomes less about one man and more about a system that has shielded misconduct for decades.
That's a fight worth having, regardless of which names end up on the list.
Republicans have spent years arguing that they are the party of accountability, the party that doesn't tolerate the kind of institutional corruption that Democrats excuse or ignore. This is where that claim gets tested. Not in a press release. Not in a campaign ad. In a hallway conversation between a Speaker and a member whose conduct may have contributed to a woman's death.
Kansas lawmakers pushed a slate of election integrity measures through the House this week, targeting everything from all-mail elections to noncitizen voter roll scrubbing to advanced voting timelines. The bills, driven largely by House Elections Committee chair Rep. Pat Proctor, a Leavenworth Republican running for secretary of state, passed with comfortable margins and now head to the Senate.
Six bills cleared the chamber. The most consequential would repeal the state's Mail Ballot Election Act, require public benefits agencies to share data on non-citizens with election officials, put citizenship status on driver's licenses, and tighten deadlines for mail-in and in-person advance voting. One passed without any opposition at all.
Democrats called it a solution in search of a problem. The vote tallies suggest Kansas Republicans disagree.
The centerpiece of the push is a set of interlocking measures designed to keep noncitizens off voter rolls in the first place. House Bill 2491, which passed 87-37 on Wednesday, would require that names, addresses, and other personal identification information of people without U.S. citizenship who receive public benefits be regularly shared with the Kansas Secretary of State's Office, according to the Kansas Reflector.
That builds on a bill passed last year requiring the Kansas Department of Revenue to send personal data to the Secretary of State's Office, where it is compared side-by-side with statewide voter rolls. House Bill 2448, which passed 77-41 on Feb. 12, would add citizenship status to driver's licenses, giving election officials another verification layer.
Proctor framed the effort not as conspiracy-chasing but as basic institutional hygiene. He acknowledged on the House floor that noncitizen voting is not rampant, then made the case that even rare occurrences demand systematic prevention:
"But we owe it to Kansans to be able to tell them with confidence, 'No, noncitizens are not voting, and we know because we have all these different ways of scrubbing the voter rolls to make sure they never get on the voter rolls in the first place.'"
The facts back up the concern enough to justify action. Clay Barker, general counsel to the Secretary of State's Office, confirmed at a Jan. 29 committee hearing that two people have been indicted for fraudulent voting-related crimes, a third indictment is on the way, and 10 people are being examined. It has been explicitly illegal for immigrants to vote in federal elections since 1996. The Heritage Foundation's database catalogues 77 instances of noncitizens voting between 1999 and 2023.
Proctor put it plainly:
"One is too many."
That's a hard line to argue with. Either you believe election integrity matters at every margin, or you believe some amount of illegal voting is an acceptable cost of convenience. Kansas Republicans chose the former.
Democrats marshaled the predictable counterarguments. Rep. Kirk Haskins, a Topeka Democrat and ranking minority member on the House Elections Committee, led the opposition. His critique leaned less on principle and more on logistics and cost:
"We're not going to address the fact that county election offices, they don't even know how much it's going to cost. But we do need more people. This is called by definition an unfunded mandate."
Haskins also pointed to the committee hearing for HB 2491, where three proponents and 12 opponents testified. He questioned why the legislature keeps "emphasizing we have an issue when it's been proven we don't time and time again."
Proctor anticipated this. He noted the familiar pattern of shifting goalposts from opponents of election integrity reform:
"We used to hear, 'This never happens. Noncitizens never vote.'"
Now the line has moved to "seldom happens" and "it's infrequent." The concession embedded in the retreat is the whole point. If it happens at all, the system failed. The question is whether you build safeguards or shrug.
As for the unfunded mandate argument: county clerks manage elections with public money to serve the public interest. Verifying that only eligible citizens vote is not an add-on to that mission. It is the mission.
House Bill 2503, which passed 72-50 on Thursday, would repeal the Mail Ballot Election Act entirely, removing the possibility for local entities to carry out elections solely with mail-in ballots. This does not eliminate mail voting. It eliminates the option for jurisdictions to make mail the only way to vote.
The distinction matters. Conservatives have long argued that all-mail elections reduce the security and oversight that in-person voting provides. Repealing the act preserves mail as an option while ensuring voters always have access to a physical polling place.
House Bill 2453, passed 86-38 on Wednesday, restructures the advanced voting calendar:
Rep. Sandy Pickert, a Wichita Republican who sponsored HB 2453, was the only person to speak in support of the bill during its hearing in early February. The bill passed anyway, by 48 votes.
The logic here is straightforward. Tighter deadlines give election officials more time to verify ballots and less exposure to the logistical chaos that plagued elections in recent cycles. Earlier cutoffs also mean results come faster and with fewer outstanding ballots lingering in the count. Voters who care enough to participate can plan 25 days.
House Bill 2451, passed 88-36 on Wednesday, would bar government employees from advocating for or against proposed constitutional amendments or ballot questions. The bill drew bipartisan support, with Democratic Reps. Wanda Brownlee Paige of Kansas City and Angela Martinez of Wichita are joining Republicans.
This is a clean, good-government measure. Taxpayer-funded employees using their positions to influence ballot outcomes is a conflict of interest regardless of which side they advocate for. The public pays them to administer policy, not to campaign for it.
House Bill 2733, introduced by Rep. Bill Sutton, a Gardner Republican, passed the House on Tuesday without opposition. It requires certain elected officials to be residents of Kansas and their districts upon election and throughout their terms. That a residency requirement for elected officials needed to be codified at all tells you something about the state of modern politics.
Kansas has been here before. A previous law backed by Kris Kobach, then-Secretary of State and current Attorney General, required proof of citizenship to vote. It was struck down in court after preventing more than 30,000 Kansans from voting during the three years it was in effect.
That history looms over the current push. The new approach is notably different. Rather than imposing proof-of-citizenship requirements directly on voters at the point of registration, these bills work on the back end: cross-referencing public benefits data, flagging noncitizens through driver's license records, and giving the Secretary of State's Office tools to audit rolls proactively. It's a system designed to catch problems without creating a barrier that a court can paint as disenfranchisement.
Whether courts see it that way remains to be seen. But the legislative architecture is smarter this time, built to survive legal challenge by focusing on data-sharing between agencies rather than demanding documents from individual voters.
The bills now move to the Kansas Senate. Proctor, who is running for secretary of state, has made election integrity the signature issue of both his legislative work and his campaign. The margins in the House suggest the appetite for these reforms extends well beyond one ambitious lawmaker.
Kansas voters will eventually judge whether their elections are cleaner for it. The lawmakers who voted yes this week are betting they will.
Vice President JD Vance has been quietly perfecting shokupan, the pillowy Japanese milk bread that commands cult followings at high-end bakeries, and his wife just told the world about it.
Usha Vance shared the details during a joint appearance with the Vice President on Saturday's episode of "My View With Lara Trump," praising her husband's dedication to the craft.
"He's been working on it for a while and he does it really well. Almost as well, or as well, as some of the restaurants that we get it from."
The Vice President, never one to undersell himself, interjected: "I'd say almost as well."
The couple's appearance painted a picture of domestic normalcy that stands in sharp contrast to the gossip mill that churned around them over the past year.
Vance's baking skills have apparently come a long way, the Daily Beast reported. When Lara Trump asked him to name the best and worst dish he ever cooked for his wife, the Vice President didn't hesitate to revisit the disaster.
"Usha is a vegetarian, and I am not. So, I'm thinking to myself, what does a vegetarian eat? Vegetables, dairy, and bread. I got crescent rolls, rolled them out into a pizza shape, and put vegetables and ranch on top, and stuck it in the oven for 30 minutes."
The verdict was swift and self-inflicted.
"It was disgusting. Like, it was actually inedible."
Vance chuckled at the memory, adding that "it's amazing that the relationship lasted." Twelve years of marriage and a fourth child on the way suggest the relationship has done more than last. Usha added that her husband "doesn't believe in recipes," and the pair laughed off the incident together.
The appearance matters beyond its lighthearted content. Usha Vance was spotted several times without her wedding ring last year, feeding speculation that the couple's marriage was under strain. Vance was also the subject of tabloid chatter after being filmed in what was described as an intimate embrace with Erika Kirk, the widow of Charlie Kirk, during a Turning Point USA event.
None of that seemed to register on Saturday's episode. The Vances looked like what they presented themselves as: a married couple expecting another baby, ribbing each other about bad cooking.
There's a lesson here about the political media ecosystem. Every awkward photo and missing accessory gets fed into a narrative machine that runs on inference and innuendo. Sometimes the simplest explanation is the correct one. Sometimes a ring is at the jeweler. Sometimes a hug is a hug.
The shokupan detail is the kind of biographical color that humanizes a political figure without the usual stagecraft. Vance has long introduced himself as a "conservative hillbilly from Appalachia," a framing that served him well on the campaign trail and in the cultural conversation around his memoir. The self-taught baker working his way through Japanese bread techniques doesn't contradict that identity. It rounds it out.
Curiosity is not a betrayal of where you come from. A guy raised in a middle-class Ohio family who picks up a demanding baking technique because he wants to is the kind of story that cuts against every lazy caricature of conservative America as intellectually incurious or culturally monolithic. The left loves to sort people into boxes. Vance keeps refusing to fit.
Lara Trump, who has hosted "My View" since February of last year, drew out the couple with the kind of ease that comes from shared familiarity. She recently recounted her own early dating stories with Eric Trump on Miranda Devine's podcast, including his memorable first impression after learning she attended culinary school.
"He looked at me, and he grabbed my stomach, and said, 'Wow, you're too skinny for any of your food to taste good. You must be a horrible chef.'"
Bold opening line. It apparently worked.
Saturday's episode was not hard news. It was not meant to be. But in a political climate that treats every personal detail as ammunition, two couples trading embarrassing kitchen stories on camera carries its own quiet weight. The Vances showed up, laughed at themselves, and let the bread speak for itself.
Crescent roll pizza with ranch. Twelve years later, shokupan. People grow.
New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani wants you to bring your papers if you want to pick up a shovel. Just don't ask him to apply the same standard at a polling place.
As a winter storm bore down on the city over the weekend, Mamdani urged New Yorkers to sign up as emergency snow shovelers. The pitch sounded neighborly enough. During a Saturday press briefing, the mayor laid out the opportunity:
"For those who want to do more to help your neighbors and earn some extra cash, you too can become an emergency snow shoveler."
Then came the fine print. The New York Sanitation Department requires applicants to bring two forms of ID, plus copies and a Social Security card. According to the New York Post, there are no fewer than five forms of identification to bring to your local sanitation garage before you're cleared to push snow off a sidewalk.
Five forms of ID. To volunteer with a shovel.
According to the New York ABC affiliate, the backlash was immediate, and it wrote its own punchlines. Comedian Jimmy Failla captured the mood on X, mocking the mayor for "requiring TWO forms of ID to be a voluntary shoveler for the blizzard" and dubbing the whole affair "Jim SNOW 2.0."
But the sharpest criticism came from Indiana GOP Rep. Marlin Stutzman, who called Mamdani's request what it plainly is: hypocritical. Stutzman posted on X:
"Mamdani opposes the SAVE America Act for requiring ID at the polls — but sees nothing excessive about requiring proof of citizenship AND multiple forms of ID to volunteer part-time SHOVELING SNOW!?"
He followed up with a pointed conclusion:
"Liberal hypocrisy! This is why we need to establish consistency across states' voting laws."
Stutzman's point doesn't need much embellishment. The SAVE America Act would require identification to vote in federal elections. That's it. And yet politicians like Mamdani treat such proposals as unconscionable barriers to democratic participation, the kind of requirement that supposedly disenfranchises entire communities. But clearing snow? That apparently demands a full dossier.
This is the pattern that keeps repeating in progressive governance. Identification requirements are an unbearable burden when they apply to something the left wants to keep loose, like election integrity. But the moment a city bureaucracy needs to process paperwork for a temporary snow removal gig, suddenly IDs are a perfectly reasonable ask.
The contradiction isn't incidental. It reveals the actual principle at work: identification isn't the problem. Control is the point. Progressive leaders are perfectly comfortable with documentation requirements when they're the ones administering the program. They only object when ID mandates might tighten a system they'd prefer to keep porous.
Consider what Mamdani is actually communicating to New Yorkers. If you want to participate in civic life by casting a ballot, asking for your ID is suppression. If you want to participate in civic life by shoveling a public sidewalk, you'd better show up with two forms of ID, copies, and your Social Security card. The city needs to know exactly who you are before it hands you a snow shovel, but it bristles at knowing who's filling out a ballot.
The Libs of TikTok account on X piled on with a broader critique, noting that "mountains of snow and garbage were left on the streets for weeks" in New York City. It's a familiar story for residents who have watched city services deteriorate while the bureaucratic apparatus grows ever more demanding of the citizens trying to help.
This is modern progressive municipal governance in miniature. The city can't keep its own streets clear. It turns to volunteers. Then it buries those volunteers in paperwork before they can lift a shovel. The instinct to regulate, document, and process overtakes the simple objective of getting snow off the ground.
Mamdani told New Yorkers to "show up at your local sanitation garage with your paperwork, which is accessible online." Accessible online. For an emergency snow shoveling program during a storm. The bureaucratic reflex is so deeply embedded that even a crisis can't override it.
House Republicans were among those highlighting the absurdity, and the reason is obvious. The voter ID debate has been one of the clearest fault lines in American politics for years. The left insists that requiring identification to vote is discriminatory, burdensome, and unnecessary. Meanwhile, you need an ID to board a plane, buy cold medicine, open a bank account, pick up a prescription, and now, apparently, to shovel snow in New York City.
At some point, the "ID is a barrier" argument collapses under the weight of every other context in which progressives accept identification as routine. Mamdani just added the most absurd data point yet to that growing list.
New York City residents who want to vote won't be asked for their papers. But residents who want to clear their neighbor's sidewalk will need to assemble a small portfolio first. That's not a policy. It's a confession.