Twenty-five Mexican National Guardsmen are dead. So is one prison guard and an innocent woman. Their deaths came not in a single battle but across a wave of coordinated terror that swept through at least 18 states throughout Mexico, all because one cartel kingpin was finally put down.
The Government of Mexico confirmed the toll following the killing of Ruben Nemesio "El Mencho" Oseguera Cervantes, the leader of the Cartel Jalisco New Generation, or CJNG. El Mencho died Sunday after a high-stakes raid by special forces soldiers from Mexico's Army. Two others, including his son-in-law, also died while being airlifted from the scene.
The cartel's answer was immediate and savage. Shootings, carjackings, blockades, buildings, and convenience stores were set ablaze. Forty cartel gunmen were killed in the violence. Authorities made 70 arrests during the day.
By Monday morning, Mexican President Claudia Sheinbaum announced that her forces had cleared all blockades and that life could return to normal.
Consider what "return to normal" means in Mexico. It means a country where a single cartel can paralyze 18 states simultaneously because its boss was killed. It means the death of one man triggers a paramilitary response across a nation of 130 million people. Normal, in this context, is not a reassurance. It is an indictment.
The CJNG did not scramble to organize this response. The infrastructure for nationwide terror was already in place: the vehicles, the weapons, the personnel, the communications networks, the gasoline. All of it is ready to deploy on command. This is not an insurgency that materialized overnight. It is a standing army that the Mexican government has tolerated for years. Breitbart reported.
American policymakers who still treat Mexico as a functional partner in border security should study this weekend carefully. A government that cannot prevent a cartel from waging war across the majority of its own territory is not a government that can be trusted to manage migration flows, interdict fentanyl shipments, or honor bilateral enforcement agreements.
Mexico's Secretary of Defense General Ricardo Trevilla Trejo spoke about the operation in which Mexican soldiers fought El Mencho's forces. He appeared to choke back tears when he talked about the 25 National Guardsmen who died in the attacks.
The emotion would land differently if not for the history. Breitbart Texas has previously reported on a close friendship between Trevilla Trejo and El Mencho, a relationship that dates to Trevilla Trejo's time serving as a regional head of the Mexican Army in Michoacan. The nature and extent of that friendship remain questions that Mexican authorities have never adequately answered.
Meanwhile, Mexico's top security official Omar Garcia Harfuch revealed that the operation against El Mencho was based on intelligence that included tracking down the cartel boss's mistress in an attempt to locate him. That is a detail worth noting: Mexico's most wanted man was found not through the kind of sustained institutional pressure that dismantles organizations, but through a single intelligence thread tied to a personal relationship. It raises an obvious question about why this couldn't have happened years ago.
The left's preferred framing on cartel violence centers on "root causes" and American culpability. We are told the problem is gun trafficking flowing south, or insufficient economic aid, or American drug demand. This framing serves one purpose: to shift accountability away from the Mexican government and onto American taxpayers.
The facts from this weekend tell a different story. The CJNG operates as a parallel state within Mexico. It fields soldiers. It controls territory. It conducts coordinated military operations across 18 states on a few hours' notice. No amount of American foreign aid addresses that. No "root causes" program in Washington fixes a sovereignty crisis in Mexico City.
What does matter is what happens at the border. Every failure of the Mexican state is a force multiplier for illegal immigration, drug trafficking, and cartel operational reach into American communities. The worse things get south of the border, the more critical American enforcement becomes. Not as a complement to Mexican efforts, but as a substitute for them.
Twenty-five guardsmen. One prison guard. One woman who had nothing to do with any of it. These are the numbers that matter most and will be forgotten fastest. They died because a cartel had the capacity and the will to punish an entire country for the loss of a single leader.
Sheinbaum says the blockades are cleared. Life can return to normal. But the 27 families burying their dead this week know what normal costs in Mexico. And so should we.
Two House Democrats are demanding the Justice Department appoint a special counsel to investigate Attorney General Pam Bondi, accusing her of perjury over her testimony that no evidence links President Trump to criminal conduct in the Epstein files.
Reps. Ted Lieu of California and Dan Goldman of New York sent a letter to Deputy Attorney General Todd Blanche requesting the probe. Their basis: Bondi's statement at a February 11 House Judiciary Committee hearing that "there is no evidence that Donald Trump has committed a crime," which they claim is contradicted by documents the DOJ itself has released.
The letter pulls no punches in its language:
"We request that you immediately appoint a special counsel to investigate Attorney General Bondi for committing perjury. America cannot have a liar and a criminal as our top law enforcement officer."
Bondi dismissed the effort entirely. "This is so ridiculous," she said, adding that Democrats are "trying to deflect from all the great things Donald Trump has done."
The dispute traces back to a heated exchange between Lieu and Bondi earlier this month. During the hearing, Lieu showed video footage of a younger Trump at a party alongside convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein and asked whether underage girls were present. He also presented what was described as a document containing unverified allegations from a limo driver about Trump. The Hill reported.
Bondi held firm. When Lieu pressed her, she fired back:
"Don't you ever accuse me of committing a crime."
Goldman, for his part, pointed to a 21-page internal slideshow presentation released by the DOJ that summarized witness testimony. Democrats argue this material contradicts Bondi's blanket claim that no evidence exists. The DOJ has a different view of what constitutes "evidence" versus unverified accusations, a distinction the Democrats in question appear uninterested in drawing.
The controversy deepened when journalist Roger Sollenberger first reported that serial numbers tracking various documents showed a woman had spoken to the FBI four times and that roughly 50 pages related to her interviews were not publicly released. This fueled Democratic claims that the DOJ was suppressing material.
Rep. Robert Garcia, ranking member of the Oversight Committee, said he personally reviewed unredacted evidence logs at the Justice Department. His statement escalated matters considerably:
"Oversight Democrats can confirm that the DOJ appears to have illegally withheld FBI interviews with this survivor who accused President Trump of heinous crimes. Oversight Democrats will open a parallel investigation into this."
The DOJ responded directly, explaining that a file was temporarily removed for victim redactions and was backed up by Thursday. On X, the department pushed back hard against the Democratic narrative:
"Oversight Democrats should stop misleading the public while manufacturing outrage from their radical anti-Trump base. The Justice Department has repeatedly said publicly AND directly to NPR prior to deadline – NOTHING has been deleted."
The department further clarified that all responsive documents have been produced unless they fall into specific categories: duplicates, privileged material, or documents connected to an ongoing federal investigation.
The House Oversight Committee minority spotted what they believed was an opening. In a post on X, they wrote that records of FBI interviews with a woman who alleged Trump sexually assaulted her as a child "aren't duplicates or shouldn't be privileged," then asked pointedly whether DOJ was confirming an active, ongoing federal investigation into the president.
It was a rhetorical trap, designed to force DOJ into either admitting a live investigation or conceding that the files should be public. The DOJ did not take the bait. Instead, the department fired back at Lieu specifically:
"First: these salaciously insane accusations are in the library- UNredacted. Second: they were found to have ZERO credibility. Ted Lieu is a disgrace, who pushes baseless accusations to further his political ambition. Do better, Ted."
Lieu told The Hill that Bondi "should be prosecuted" and urged Blanche to act before it was too late. His framing was characteristically dramatic:
"If Deputy Attorney General Todd Blanche doesn't want to be complicit in a cover up, and go down with his ship, then I sure hope he responds and appoints a special counsel."
Strip away the theatrics, and the picture comes into focus. Democrats have spent weeks trying to weaponize the Epstein file release, the very transparency they demanded, into a political bludgeon. The DOJ released the documents. It released the slideshow. It made unredacted accusations publicly available. And the department has stated plainly that those accusations were found to have zero credibility.
Yet Democrats are treating unverified allegations as though they are proven facts, then accusing the Attorney General of perjury for not treating them the same way. The logic is circular: the existence of an accusation is treated as "evidence," and anyone who distinguishes between an accusation and evidence is labeled a liar.
This is not oversight. It is opposition research dressed in subpoena power.
The call for a special counsel is itself revealing. Democrats know Todd Blanche will not appoint one. They know the legal threshold for perjury requires proof that a witness knowingly made a false statement, not that she characterized disputed, unverified claims differently than her political opponents would prefer. The demand exists to generate headlines, not indictments.
Consider the sequence:
Every step of compliance becomes the predicate for the next accusation. The goal is not truth. The goal is perpetual investigation.
Bondi said it plainly: "There is no evidence that Donald Trump has committed a crime." The DOJ, which has reviewed the actual files, says the accusations in question have zero credibility. Democrats can disagree with that assessment. But disagreement is not perjury, and an unverified allegation is not a conviction.
The special counsel's request will go nowhere. But it was never meant to arrive.
Four people are dead, and a fifth, the suspect, was shot and killed by deputies after a violent stabbing spree erupted on a residential street in Purdy, Washington, on Tuesday morning. The small community, about an hour southwest of Seattle and roughly 20 minutes northwest of Tacoma, became the site of a massacre that unfolded in less than an hour.
The 32-year-old male suspect, who has not been publicly identified, killed three victims at the scene. A fourth was pronounced dead at the hospital. Authorities have not released the identities of any of the victims.
What makes the timeline even more chilling is what preceded the bloodshed.
The Pierce County Sheriff's Office received a call just after 8:45 a.m. about a man entering a Purdy home in violation of a no-contact order. Deputies were dispatched to serve the order. But by the time the law arrived to enforce the piece of paper, the killing had already begun, according to Fox News.
At about 9:30 a.m., multiple witnesses reported a man was "stabbing people" outside the house. Just three minutes later, responding deputies shot and killed the suspect at the scene.
Three minutes. That's how quickly law enforcement ended the threat once they arrived. It is a grim reminder of a truth that plays out again and again in these situations: the police cannot be everywhere, and protective orders are only as strong as the willingness of violent people to obey them.
The investigation is still in its early stages. The Pierce County Force Investigation Team is leading the probe, and officials did not immediately respond to inquiries from Fox News Digital. It remains unclear what led to the attack or what relationship, if any, the suspect had to all four victims.
We know a no-contact order existed. We know it was violated. We know four innocent people are dead.
The gap between the 8:45 a.m. call and the 9:30 a.m. witness reports raises unavoidable questions. What happened during those 45 minutes? Were deputies en route the entire time? Could a faster response have changed the outcome? These are not accusations. They are the questions that any community deserves to have answered when four of its members are slaughtered in broad daylight.
No-contact orders serve a purpose. They establish a legal boundary and create a mechanism for enforcement. But they are reactive instruments, not shields. They work when the person subject to them has enough respect for legal consequences to comply. When that person has already decided to kill, the order is meaningless.
This is a reality that conservatives have long understood and that policymakers too often ignore. The debate over how to protect vulnerable people from violent individuals cannot begin and end with court filings. It must include an honest conversation about the tools available to potential victims for their own defense, the speed and capacity of law enforcement response, and the criminal justice system's track record of keeping dangerous people away from the people they've threatened.
Every time a protective order fails catastrophically, the same cycle plays out. Shock. Grief. Calls for reform. Then silence until the next one.
Credit where it belongs: responding deputies neutralized the threat within three minutes of the first witness reports. That is fast, professional, and decisive policing. Four people were already dead, which is a tragedy. But the body count could have been higher. The officers who pulled the trigger under pressure did exactly what the public expects of them in the worst possible moment.
In an era when law enforcement is routinely second-guessed, scrutinized, and politically undermined, it is worth stating plainly that these deputies ran toward a man with a knife who had just murdered four people, and they stopped him.
Purdy is a small, unincorporated community. It is not the kind of place that expects to make national news for a mass killing on a Tuesday morning. The victims were adults. Their names have not been released. Somewhere in Pierce County, families are learning the worst news of their lives.
The investigation will eventually fill in the gaps. The suspect's identity, his connection to the victims, the history behind the no-contact order, and whatever warning signs were missed or ignored. Until then, four people are dead because a violent man decided a court order was just a piece of paper.
He was right. It was.
President Trump took to Truth Social on Monday to torch a string of media reports suggesting that Joint Chiefs Chairman Gen. Dan Caine harbors reservations about military action against Iran, calling the coverage "100 percent incorrect" and insisting that Caine knows "one thing, how to WIN."
The pushback came after outlets including Axios, The Wall Street Journal, and The Washington Post published stories characterizing Caine as cautious, even reluctant, about the prospect of a major operation against Tehran. Trump wasn't having it.
"Numerous stories from the Fake News Media have been circulating stating that General Daniel Caine, sometimes referred to as Razin, is against us going to War with Iran. The story does not attribute this vast wealth of knowledge to anyone, and is 100 percent incorrect."
The same day, the State Department announced that all nonemergency personnel and family members of staffers should be evacuated from the U.S. Embassy in Lebanon, according to The Hill. The diplomatic and military pieces are moving in tandem.
The pattern here is almost too predictable. Anonymous sources feed sympathetic reporters a narrative designed to suggest internal dissent within the administration. The stories frame a military leader as the reluctant adult in the room, quietly pushing back against a reckless commander-in-chief. The goal is never to inform the public. It's to constrain the president's options by manufacturing the perception of chaos before a single decision has been made.
Axios reported that Caine has been "more cautious in talks about planning against Iran" and views "a potential major operation against Iran as inviting a higher risk for U.S. casualties." The Wall Street Journal placed similar warnings in meetings at the Pentagon and the National Security Council. The Washington Post added that a major operation could face hurdles due to "a low stockpile of munitions."
None of the reports, notably, quoted Caine as being against military action. There is a significant difference between a military commander presenting risks, which is literally his job, and a military commander opposing his president's policy. The press collapsed that distinction because the collapsed version makes for a better headline.
A source familiar with the matter told The Hill on Monday that Caine has presented Trump and other top national security officials in recent days a range of strike options the U.S. military could execute against Iran. That detail sits awkwardly next to the narrative of a general pumping the brakes.
The president left no ambiguity about who holds the pen on this decision. He praised Caine's credentials, calling him the architect of the U.S. bombing of Iran's three premier nuclear sites last June, an operation known as Midnight Hammer. He pointed to Caine's role in the early January raid in Venezuela, where U.S. personnel captured Nicolás Maduro. This is not a president worried about his general's resolve.
"General Caine, like all of us, would like not to see War but, if a decision is made on going against Iran at a Military level, it is his opinion that it will be something easily won."
"He has not spoken of not doing Iran, or even the fake limited strikes that I have been reading about, he only knows one thing, how to WIN and, if he is told to do so, he will be leading the pack."
Trump also made clear that diplomacy remains the preferred lane. Special envoy Steve Witkoff and Trump's son-in-law, Jared Kushner, are slated to meet with Iranian officials for another round of nuclear talks in Geneva, Switzerland. On Friday, the president said he was considering limited strikes against Iran if those negotiations over the country's nuclear program fail.
That sequencing matters. Diplomacy first, credible force behind it. This is not saber-rattling for its own sake.
"I am the one that makes the decision, I would rather have a Deal than not but, if we don't make a Deal, it will be a very bad day for that Country and, very sadly, its people, because they are great and wonderful, and something like this should never have happened to them."
Diplomatic engagement without military credibility is just talking. Every serious negotiation in history has been shaped by what happens if the talking stops. Iran's regime understands this calculus better than most. They watched Midnight Hammer level three nuclear sites. They watched the Venezuela operation succeed. The question Tehran faces isn't whether the United States can act. It's whether this president will.
The media's insistence on framing military readiness as internal conflict serves one audience: Tehran's negotiators. Every story suggesting American hesitation is a story that weakens the diplomatic hand. Whether that's the intent or merely the effect, the result is the same.
Trump acknowledged the human weight of what's at stake, calling the Iranian people "great and wonderful" and lamenting that "something like this should never have happened to them." That distinction, between a regime that has brought its country to the brink and the population suffering under it, is one the press rarely bothers to draw.
The embassy evacuation in Lebanon, the Geneva talks, and the strike options on the table. These are the actions of an administration that has prepared for every outcome and prefers the one that doesn't involve fire. But preparation is not hesitation, and presenting options is not dissent.
The media needed a story about a president at war with his own general. What they got was a president and a general reading from the same page, with the press writing fiction in the margins.
New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani wants you to bring two original forms of identification, copies of each, a Social Security card, and two small passport-style photos just to pick up a shovel and clear snow for the city. Voting, apparently, requires none of the above.
Ahead of Sunday's winter storm, Mamdani announced an "Emergency Snow Shoveler" program, inviting New Yorkers to show up at their local Sanitation Garage to register for paid work clearing streets and sidewalks. The pitch sounded neighborly enough:
"And 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. Prospective shovelers had to arrive between 8 am and 1 pm with two original forms of ID plus copies, a social security card, and two 1½-inch square photos. For a temporary gig pushing snow.
The irony was not lost on the internet.
Democrats have spent years insisting that requiring identification to vote is an unconscionable burden, a relic of voter suppression designed to disenfranchise minorities. Sen. Chuck Schumer has gone so far as to label proposed voter ID laws "Jim Crow 2.0."
So when according to the Washington Examiner, a progressive mayor demands more paperwork to hand someone a snow shovel than his party thinks appropriate for casting a ballot in a federal election, people notice.
Comedian Jimmy Failla distilled the absurdity into four words: "Jim Snow 2.0." Former Michigan Republican gubernatorial candidate Tudor Dixon flagged the contradiction directly:
"Here's the catch: Mamdani demands you show 2 forms of ID plus copies and a social security card!"
Sen. Ron Johnson of Wisconsin drew the logical connection that Democrats would prefer everyone ignore:
"If Zohran Mamdani supports showing ID to shovel snow, Senate Democrats ought to support showing ID to vote."
Johnson urged the Senate to pass the SAVE America Act by unanimous consent. Don't hold your breath.
When pressed at a Sunday press conference, Mamdani didn't back down. He didn't apologize for the paperwork burden, either. He justified it.
"Federal law requires that employers get authorization and documentation to pay people for their work. We are not allowed to just cut checks for individuals for their work."
He also called the program and its requirements "long-standing," as though precedent dissolves the hypocrisy.
Here's what makes this so instructive. Mamdani is conceding, in plain English, that the government has a legitimate interest in verifying identity before disbursing public funds. He's acknowledging that federal law mandates documentation when someone is getting paid. He's admitting that "just cutting checks" without knowing who you're paying is irresponsible.
Every single one of those principles applies with far greater force to the ballot box. Voting determines who controls the treasury, the courts, and the military. If identification is a reasonable prerequisite for a temporary snow removal gig, on what planet is it an undue burden for choosing the leader of the free world?
This is the feedback loop the left can never escape. They simultaneously argue:
These positions cannot coexist in a coherent governing philosophy. They can only coexist in a political strategy, one that treats identity verification as a tool to be deployed or discarded depending on which outcome Democrats need in a given moment.
When ID requirements keep non-citizens off voter rolls, they're Jim Crow. When ID requirements ensure the city's payroll isn't exploited, they're just good governance. The principle doesn't change. Only the political convenience does.
Mamdani is still new to the mayor's office, and he's already developing a pattern. The same week he demanded two forms of ID for snow shovelers, reports surfaced that he's proposing a 9.5% property tax hike as part of his new city budget. New Yorkers get to pay more and prove more, all for the privilege of living in a city whose leadership treats basic civic accountability as optional when it comes to elections but mandatory when it comes to shoveling a sidewalk.
The snow will melt. The double standard won't.
The U.S. Department of Labor has deployed a specialized "strike team" to California to investigate what federal officials describe as systemic fraud and financial mismanagement within the state's unemployment insurance program. The action targets a system that borrowed $21 billion in federal funds just to keep running and now faces mounting evidence of improper payments, eligibility failures, and outright theft of taxpayer money.
Labor Secretary Lori Chavez-DeRemer announced the move alongside DOL Inspector General Anthony D'Esposito, a former NYPD officer and ex-congressman from Long Island. The strike team will include specialists from the Labor Department's national and regional offices.
Chavez-DeRemer did not mince words about what prompted the intervention:
"Financial issues and potential fraud in California's unemployment insurance program will be fully examined. The previous administration turned a blind eye toward failing Labor programs. This ends now."
California received roughly $290 billion in COVID relief. That staggering sum was supposed to sustain the state through the pandemic, including its unemployment insurance system. Instead, California's UI trust fund was depleted, forcing the state to borrow $21 billion in federal funds to keep checks going out the door, as Fox News reports.
The Labor Department cited an 83-page California State Auditor report in building its case. Chavez-DeRemer also wrote a letter to California's Employment Development Department citing a litany of failures:
That list reads less like a policy critique and more like a systems autopsy. Every checkpoint designed to prevent fraud either failed or was ignored. And while the trust fund bled dry, California workers faced the downstream consequence: higher UI taxes to cover the gap.
The people who played by the rules got punished for the failures of the people who didn't.
Inspector General D'Esposito painted a grim national picture that implicates California as a central player. His office found nearly $1 billion in taxpayer funds "at risk" nationwide due to COVID-related UI fraud. An analysis of 6.5 million prepaid debit cards used for pandemic unemployment benefits revealed $720 million still sitting on those cards, unrecovered.
"My office has warned that, absent swift action, U.S. taxpayers risk losing nearly a billion dollars in fraudulently obtained benefits."
Think about that number in concrete terms. Seven hundred and twenty million dollars loaded onto debit cards, floating somewhere in the system, belonging to no legitimate claimant. That money didn't vanish into the ether. Someone has those cards. Someone spent or is spending that money. And until now, no one with the authority to act seemed particularly bothered by it.
D'Esposito framed the stakes plainly:
"This is taxpayer money, and it demands immediate attention."
This is not an abstract accounting problem. At least one California UI steward, someone entrusted with managing the system, was convicted of using her position to file nearly $860,000 in fraudulent claims. Civilians were also convicted of exploiting the program, though specific case details remain limited in the public record.
A government employee, hired to administer benefits for people who lost their jobs, instead used her access to steal nearly a million dollars. That is the kind of fraud that erodes public trust not just in a single program but in the entire apparatus of government aid. Every legitimate claimant who waited weeks for a delayed payment while insiders looted the system has a right to be furious.
And it raises the uncomfortable question that Sacramento apparently never wanted to ask: if the people running the program were stealing from it, how many claims that looked legitimate on paper were anything but?
California governs by announcement. New programs, expanded eligibility, record spending, all delivered with the confidence of a state that believes scale equals competence. But the backend, the actual administration, the fraud controls, the auditing, the accountability, consistently collapses under the weight of its own ambitions.
The EDD has been a known disaster for years. Legitimate claimants during the pandemic reported months-long waits, frozen accounts, and unanswered calls by the hundreds of thousands. Meanwhile, fraudulent claims sailed through. The system was simultaneously inaccessible to the people who needed it and wide open to the people exploiting it.
Fox News Digital reached out to Governor Gavin Newsom for comment. No response was noted.
The silence is its own statement. When $21 billion in borrowed federal money and a conviction of your own staff for fraud don't warrant a public response, you are either confident the press won't press you or indifferent to the outcome. In California, it may be both.
Chavez-DeRemer's deployment of specialists is a direct assertion of federal oversight over a state that treated pandemic relief money like a blank check with no memo line. The strike team approach signals that this administration views California's UI failures not as a bureaucratic hiccup but as a front in a broader fight against government waste and fraud.
"Immediately, we are engaging a specialized strike team to uncover any potential fraud or abuse and quickly moving to protect the American worker and taxpayers. I look forward to restoring the California UI program's integrity and financial health."
D'Esposito connected the fraud directly to the cost of living, a link that politicians who benefit from bloated spending never want voters to make:
"When we root out fraud, we protect taxpayers and lower the real cost of living."
He's right. Every dollar stolen from UI programs is a dollar that either adds to the national debt or gets clawed back through higher taxes and reduced services. Fraud is not a victimless line item. It lands on the paychecks of working Americans who never filed a false claim in their lives.
For years, the prevailing attitude toward pandemic-era spending was that speed justified sloppiness. Money had to go out the door fast, the argument went, and some waste was the price of urgency. That framing conveniently absolved every bureaucrat and politician who failed to build even minimal guardrails against theft.
The urgency argument had a shelf life, and it expired a long time ago. California has had years to audit its own system, recover stolen funds, and hold bad actors accountable. An 83-page state auditor report apparently wasn't enough to trigger serious internal reform. It took the federal government showing up with a strike team.
California borrowed $21 billion to fund a system it couldn't manage, oversaw fraud it couldn't detect, and employed at least one steward who stole from the people she was supposed to serve. Somewhere in that wreckage are the workers who actually lost their jobs during the pandemic and deserved a system that worked for them.
The strike team is there for them, too.
Maryland Governor Wes Moore sat across from CNN's Kasie Hunt on Wednesday and did something politicians do when the facts aren't on their side: he changed the subject.
The Daily Mail reported that Hunt asked Moore directly about a Washington Free Beacon report challenging his oft-repeated claim that the Ku Klux Klan forced his family out of the United States and into exile in Jamaica in the 1920s.
The Free Beacon's reporting, published February 4 by reporter Andrew Kerr, cited church records that appear to show Moore's great-grandfather, Rev. Josiah Johnson Thomas, publicly accepted a transfer to a church in Jamaica to replace a pastor who had passed away unexpectedly.
Not a flight from terror. A professional appointment. Hunt laid the question out plainly:
"They say that the story is - they report - they look at church records, they say the story is not true, that the Ku Klux Klan did not force your family to leave, your family left voluntarily."
Moore's response was not to address the records. It was to redirect:
"They should really ask the Ku Klux Klan about what their activities were during the 1920s."
Hunt had initially raised the matter two minutes earlier. She pressed again, asking whether the church records showing a voluntary departure were wrong. Moore dismissed the Free Beacon entirely, calling it "a right-wing blog" and insisting there was no truth to its reporting.
"There is no truth to what a right-wing blog writes about me. No. There is not. Because I know my family's history."
What Moore calls a smear from a "right-wing blog" is actually documented church history. The Free Beacon's report cited records that appear to indicate an ordinary professional transfer, not a desperate escape from racial violence. A Virginia Commonwealth University map referenced in the reporting suggested there was no KKK chapter operating in Pineville, South Carolina, the family's hometown, at the time of the departure.
Moore has built this narrative into the architecture of his public identity. The story of ancestors fleeing the Klan, forced into exile, is not some minor biographical footnote. It is a centerpiece. He has told it repeatedly. It carries weight in the political marketplace because it is designed to.
And when confronted with documentary evidence that contradicts it, the 47-year-old governor offered no counter-evidence. No competing records. No family documents. Just an appeal to the general horrors of the 1920s South and a dismissal of the outlet that did the reporting.
That is not a rebuttal. That is a deflection.
Moore pivoted to his grandfather, James Joshua Thomas, who was described as a toddler at the time of the 1920s departure. The governor spoke with evident emotion:
"He still returned to this country. He became the first black minister in the history of the Dutch Reform Church. He died while I was in Afghanistan, fighting for this country. And he had a deep Jamaican accent his entire life. And he's maybe the most patriotic man I've ever met."
None of that is in dispute. No one has questioned his grandfather's service, his faith, or his patriotism. The question is narrower and more specific: Did the KKK force the family to leave, or did Rev. Thomas accept a church posting in Jamaica?
Moore told Fox News on Thursday that he stood by his story, adding that the scrutiny was "hurtful" and "offensive." The Free Beacon has stood by its reporting.
There is a pattern in American politics where personal biography becomes political currency, and the temptation to embellish or dramatize that biography grows in proportion to its usefulness. We've seen it before. The details get sharper, the villains clearer, the stakes higher with each retelling.
And when someone pulls the thread, the response is almost always the same: attack the questioner, invoke broader historical suffering, and hope the emotion drowns out the evidence.
Moore denied rumors of a 2028 presidential run back in September. Whether or not those denials hold, his national profile has been rising since he was sworn in as governor in 2023.
A story about ancestors exiled by the Klan is not just a family memory in that context. It is a political asset, carefully deployed, and it demands the same scrutiny that any candidate's biographical claims receive.
Hunt, to her credit, did not let Moore skate on generalities. She pointed to the specific church records. She asked the specific question. Moore chose not to answer it specifically. That choice tells its own story.
When a politician says "ask the Klan," what he really means is: don't ask me.
Federal prosecutors investigating the alleged weaponization of intelligence against President Donald Trump have sent a formal request to the U.S. Senate for evidence tied to former CIA Director John Brennan. The request, described as secret and rare, seeks documents, transcripts, and testimony related to Brennan's statements about efforts to link Trump's 2016 campaign to Russian collusion.
The written request was sent last Friday by the team of U.S. Attorney Jason A. Reding Quiñones, who operates out of Miami and was assigned by Attorney General Pam Bondi to review evidence for possible crimes and conspiracy. Overtures between his team and the Senate began over the last month, and negotiations are now underway for the transfer of evidence, including a possible visit by prosecutors to Washington.
Meanwhile, a federal grand jury in Fort Pierce, Florida, has already begun collecting evidence.
Just the News reports that the core of the case against Brennan centers on what he told Congress versus what the record actually shows. In 2017, Brennan testified before the Senate Intelligence Committee that the now-discredited Steele Dossier played no role in the Intelligence Community Assessment on Russian interference in the 2016 election. His words were unequivocal:
"[The dossier] was not used in any way as far as the judgments in the ICA were concerned."
He also told senators that top CIA officials were "very concerned about polluting the ICA with this material." The picture he painted was clear: the CIA resisted the dossier, and the dossier stayed out of the assessment.
That picture has since collapsed under the weight of declassified documents.
A declassified House Intelligence Committee report found the opposite of what Brennan claimed:
"[C]ontradicting public claims by the DCIA that the dossier 'was not in any way' incorporated into the ICA, the dossier was referenced in the ICA main body text, and further detailed in a two-page CIA annex."
That same report revealed that two senior CIA officers, one from Russia operations and the other from Russia analysis, argued directly with Brennan that the dossier should be excluded because it failed to meet basic tradecraft standards. Brennan overruled them. When one officer raised concerns, Brennan reportedly responded: "Yes, but doesn't it ring true?"
Analytical soundness, apparently, was optional if the narrative fit.
The story of how the Steele Dossier ended up inside a presidential intelligence assessment is a case study in institutional corruption dressed up as an interagency process.
In December 2016, then-FBI Director James Comey and Deputy Director Andrew McCabe pushed to include the dossier, compiled by former MI6 agent Christopher Steele, who had been hired by opposition research firm Fusion GPS. Fusion GPS, in turn, was being paid by Clinton campaign lawyer Marc Elias. The dossier was, from its inception, a political product. It was later used by the FBI to obtain FISA warrants against a Trump campaign official.
Comey testified before the Senate in June 2017 about his role in getting the material included:
"I insisted that we bring it to the party, and I was agnostic as to whether it was footnoted in the document itself, put as an annex. I have some recollection of talking to John Brennan maybe at some point saying: I don't really care, but I think it is relevant and so ought to be part of the consideration."
Brennan's own written position, as cited in a CIA review memo, stated that he believed "the information warrants inclusion in the report." This directly contradicts his testimony that the CIA opposed its inclusion.
On December 29, 2016, the CIA's own Deputy Director for Analysis emailed Brennan warning that including the dossier in any form risked "the credibility of the entire paper." Brennan proceeded anyway.
The result: the dossier was referenced as the fourth supporting bullet for the ICA's judgment that Putin "aspired" to help Trump win. A CIA review later concluded that this placement:
"[I]mplicitly elevated unsubstantiated claims to the status of credible supporting evidence, compromising the analytical integrity of the judgment."
That same review found Brennan "showed a preference for narrative consistency over analytical soundness." In plain English: he wanted a story, not the truth.
Adding another layer of institutional failure, the Senate Intelligence Committee itself issued reports in 2020 that appeared to provide cover for Brennan's claims. The committee's April 2020 report stated it "found that the information provided by Christopher Steele to the FBI was not used in the body of the ICA or to support any of its analytic judgments." Its August 2020 fifth volume echoed that the "dossier material was not used in the ICA and did not contribute to its findings."
These findings have since been contradicted by declassified documents showing the dossier was, in fact, referenced in the ICA's main body text and detailed in a two-page annex. A host of top Democrats, including former President Barack Obama and Senate Democrats, attempted to point to the 2020 Senate report to push back against evidence declassified by DNI Tulsi Gabbard.
The committee's own records are now the subject of the prosecution's request. That irony needs no commentary.
The scope of this investigation extends well beyond a single instance of alleged false testimony. FBI Director Kash Patel drafted a memo last year recommending that the full chain of actions against Trump and his allies, stretching from the Crossfire Hurricane probe through Special Counsel Jack Smith's now-dismissed indictments, be viewed as "an ongoing criminal conspiracy to deprive American citizens of their civil rights." That legal framework would allow prosecutors to charge crimes outside the standard five-year statute of limitations as overt acts of a continuing conspiracy.
This matters because Brennan's last known testimony contacts with the Senate occurred on June 23, 2017, and May 16, 2018, both well outside a standalone five-year window. His May 2023 testimony before the House Judiciary Committee falls within range, but the conspiracy framework opens a much broader field.
House Judiciary Committee Chairman Jim Jordan said last October that Brennan made "numerous willfully and intentionally false statements of material fact," contradicted by the record established by the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence and the CIA itself. The committee formally referred Brennan for prosecution last year.
CIA Director John Ratcliffe followed with his own criminal referral to the FBI after conducting a "lessons-learned" review of the ICA. DNI Gabbard sent declassified evidence to the Justice Department in July, describing the matter as a "treasonous conspiracy" involving top intelligence officials during the Obama administration who allegedly politicized intelligence related to Russia and the 2016 election.
For years, the phrase "walls closing in" was a punchline, the breathless prediction of cable news anchors who were certain that Trump, not the people who surveilled his campaign, would face legal consequences. The irony is that the phrase may finally apply to the right target.
Brennan, now a senior national security and intelligence analyst for NBC News and MSNBC, did not respond to a request for comment sent through his lawyer. His post-government career as a cable news commentator has been spent reinforcing the very narrative his own agency's analysts warned him was analytically unsound.
The declassified House report put the matter bluntly:
"[B]y devoting nearly two pages of ICA text to summarizing the dossier in a high-profile assessment intended for the President and President-elect, the ICA misrepresented both the significance and credibility of the dossier reports."
An intelligence assessment written at the direction of a sitting president, based partly on opposition research funded by the opposing candidate's campaign, was used to justify surveillance of American citizens and to cast a cloud over an incoming administration. The people who built that cloud are now the ones under investigation.
The grand jury in Fort Pierce is collecting evidence. The Senate is negotiating the transfer of documents spanning nearly a decade. And John Brennan, the man who told Congress the dossier wasn't part of the assessment while his own written communications show he pushed to put it there, sits in silence.
The record speaks loudly enough.
The U.S. Air Force is repainting Air Force One and the rest of the executive airlift fleet in a bold red, white, and dark blue color scheme, replacing the light blue and white design that has adorned presidential aircraft for more than six decades. The first C-32 has already been painted and is expected to be delivered to the Air Force in the next few months.
An Air Force spokesperson confirmed the scope of the project:
"The Air Force is implementing a new paint scheme requirement (red, white and dark blue) for VC-25B as well as the additional executive airlift fleet, which will include the new 747-8i and four C-32 aircraft."
The C-32s will be painted during regularly scheduled maintenance, meaning the overhaul rolls into existing upkeep cycles rather than requiring standalone operations. The VC-25B, the Defense Department's designation for its next-generation Boeing 747 airliners, will carry the new colors as well.
This is a story about persistence. During his first term, President Trump unveiled a model airplane bearing his preferred color scheme for Air Force One: the deep red, white, and blue of the American flag, Breitbart reported. It was a deliberate departure from the Kennedy-era aesthetic, which dates back to the early 1960s.
Then Joe Biden canceled the redesign for the VC-25Bs, according to CBS News. No fanfare. No public explanation of why a sitting president felt compelled to undo a predecessor's cosmetic preference for the presidential fleet. Just a quiet reversal, the kind of reflexive undoing that defined much of the Biden era's approach to anything bearing Trump's fingerprints.
Now it's back. Last summer, Trump put it plainly:
"We're painting it red, white and blue like the American flag, which is incredible."
And so it is happening.
Critics will call this vanity. They always do when a president puts his stamp on something visible. But the Kennedy-era livery wasn't sacred scripture. It was a design choice made by one administration and inherited, without serious reconsideration, by every administration since. Six decades is a long time to coast on inertia and call it tradition.
Something is fitting about a paint scheme modeled on the American flag flying on the aircraft that represents American power abroad. The light blue design carried its own elegance. But the argument that presidential aircraft should look like the flag of the country they represent is not exactly radical.
The fact that Biden felt the need to cancel a paint job tells you more about the previous administration's priorities than it does about this one's. There was no policy consequence to the Kennedy-era scheme. No strategic downside. The cancellation was purely symbolic, an act of erasure for its own sake. That the current administration simply reinstated its vision and moved forward speaks to a different operating philosophy: do the thing you said you'd do.
The scope extends beyond Air Force One itself. The full executive airlift fleet is getting the treatment, including:
L3 Harris's facility in Greenville, Texas, is involved in upgrading the Air Force Two planes, though the precise relationship between the upgrades and the repainting effort remains unclear from available information. What is clear is that the first repainted C-32 is already done and headed for delivery.
The original design will always carry historical weight. The image of President John F. Kennedy and First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy descending the stairs of Air Force One at Houston International Airport on November 21, 1963, the day before Dallas, is seared into the American memory. That pale blue fuselage is part of the visual vocabulary of a generation's grief.
But honoring history doesn't require freezing it in place. Every era marks its moment. The Kennedy design reflected midcentury restraint and sophistication. A red, white, and blue scheme reflects something more direct: the flag, unadorned. Both are legitimate aesthetic choices. Only one has been treated as untouchable.
After sixty years, the executive fleet finally looks like the country it serves.
Actor Shia LaBeouf was arrested in New Orleans early Tuesday after allegedly punching two people outside a Royal Street business during Mardi Gras celebrations, police say. The 39-year-old "Transformers" star was charged with two counts of simple battery.
According to the New Orleans Police Department, LaBeouf was kicked out of the business after causing a disturbance. What followed was not a graceful exit.
"Once removed from the building, the victim reported being struck by LaBeouf who used his closed fists on the victim several times."
Police said LaBeouf then left the scene, only to return "acting even more aggressively." He allegedly struck the same person again with a closed fist to the upper body, then punched a second person in the nose. Multiple bystanders held LaBeouf down until officers arrived.
He was transported to a hospital for treatment of "unknown injuries," then arrested upon release.
Early Wednesday morning, LaBeouf posted two words to his X account: "Free me."
This is not the first time LaBeouf has found himself on the wrong side of a police report, NBC News reported, and the timeline is not flattering.
When the FKA Twigs lawsuit was filed, LaBeouf issued a statement that read less like a denial and more like a confession:
"I have been abusive to myself and everyone around me for years. I have a history of hurting the people closest to me. I'm ashamed of that history and am sorry to those I hurt."
He said at the time that he had no excuses for his "alcoholism or aggression, only rationalizations."
There is a particular species of famous person who collects arrest records the way other people collect frequent flyer miles. LaBeouf, a former Disney child actor who became a blockbuster leading man, has now racked up criminal charges across multiple states and over more than a decade. Each incident follows the same arc: the outburst, the arrest, the public contrition, and then silence until the next one.
The circumstances leading to Tuesday's incident remain unclear. Police have not said what triggered the initial disturbance inside the business, and representatives for LaBeouf did not respond to requests for comment. What is clear is the outcome: two people struck, one in the nose, and an actor in handcuffs.
TMZ reported that videos circulated online Tuesday night showing LaBeouf on the streets of New Orleans, seemingly partying with revelers in the French Quarter. Hours later, the "Free me" post went up.
There is something almost too neat about it. A man with a documented history of violence and addiction, who publicly acknowledged that history in his own words, winds up charged with battery during one of the most alcohol-soaked events on the American calendar. It is not surprising. That is the problem.
American culture has a weakness for the redemption narrative, especially when the person seeking redemption has a recognizable face. LaBeouf leaned into that arc in recent years, speaking publicly about faith and sobriety. The details of whether that journey was genuine are between him and the people in his life.
But the legal system does not run on narrative arcs. It runs on charges, evidence, and consequences. Two counts of simple battery now sit on LaBeouf's record alongside a trail of prior incidents stretching back more than a decade.
At some point, the apology stops being the story. The pattern is.