I normally don’t give disclaimers to my writing, but I think it’s important for such a sensitive topic: There is going to be information I’m just not going to provide due to being too personal. I have no anger or resentment towards anyone, so the purpose of this isn’t to attack or judge anyone; it’s to tell my story.

However, this is going to be a longer-than-normal post due to the amount of details I am willing to provide.

If we are to start from the beginning: The man who I thought was my father wasn’t really active in my life. I’ve written in my book “The Children We Left Behind,” describing him as a stranger. After we left Detroit, where I was born and where he lived, I would hear from him maybe once a year and sporadically see him if he was driving to the northeast.

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When he did come to visit us, it never felt like he was there to see me. The best way of describing his visits is to compare them to a pit stop on the way to a greater destination for his travels.

We didn’t really interact much, and I never felt like he cared about me. At most, he felt obligated to do small gestures, but he didn’t genuinely care about my welfare or emotional state.

The last time I saw my father was when I was about 16 years old, and the last time I talked to him on the phone, I was about 21 years old, and it was a short conversation initiated by me. It was brief because it was clear that he wasn’t interested in talking to me and made it feel like I was bothering him.

From that moment on, I told myself that I wasn’t going to try to build a relationship with him, but if he were to call me, I’d answer. He never called back and has since passed away.

It took years of self-reflection and therapy to accept that my father didn’t love me, but his lack of love or care was not my fault. It’s no kid’s fault. This acceptance is the only way that I’m even able to talk about it because it stopped being a pain point for me. I can’t shed tears as if I’m responsible for his neglect.

I stopped hating him and being angry at him and forgave him for his failures. I used his faults as a lesson to not become like him with my son. My first motivation when my son was born was to be the opposite of him and build a wonderful relationship with him (my son will be 21 in less than a month).

Fast forward to several weeks ago, when I’m sitting on the couch watching talk shows featuring adults who are looking for their fathers and siblings. I’ve always known that I had a sister out there that was fathered by him, but just didn’t care to know more until that day. I thought to myself, “What if she’s looking for me?”

Based on information I knew, he wasn’t active in her life at all, and all I had was a first name and possible location. At first, I searched on Facebook and Google for some potential clues but found nothing. My wife suggested I get an Ancestry.com DNA test to see if something comes back linking me to her; I agreed that it was a good idea.

A few weeks later, I get a notification that my results are in. The way Ancestry results are separated is by mother and father. My father was born in Trinidad and migrated to the U.S. as an adult, so my expectation was to see information about lineage to the Caribbean.

However, when I clicked on my father’s side, his surname wasn’t listed and all of the names there were typical African American names.

The closest relative with DNA results was a first cousin, and in his tree, our lineage wasn’t directed toward the Caribbean but instead toward Mississippi.

I stared at my screen for about 20 minutes trying to make sense of what I was reading. It took that long to accept the reality: The only way this makes sense is if he’s not my biological father.

I called my wife over and discussed it with her to make sure that I wasn’t crazy to come to this conclusion.

I didn’t know what to do next. I sent my first cousin a message but got no response at the time. I mean, how do you go into a situation like this to tell someone that one of their relatives is my father?

I ultimately contacted a “Search Angel” who happened to be from the Detroit area. She took on my case for free to try to figure out who my father is. A couple weeks went by, and she figured out who my cousin was and contacted him directly.

He’s a police officer and thought that she was some sort of scammer at first, but eventually realized that what was being discussed was real.

The next morning, he replied to my message on Ancestry and we immediately had a phone call. I told him everything, gave him names and pictures. I supplied him with details that could be useful in the search. He agreed that it had to be someone in his family that he knew.

You see shows like what I’m going through where the family wants nothing to do with a person like me in this circumstance, but before the end of our call, he told me “You are loved and accepted. You are family.”

For a kid who grew up without half of my identity as part of my life, that meant the world to me. I didn’t know if we’d find my father at that moment, but I knew that I at least was accepted.

Later that afternoon, he called me.

“Are you sitting down?”

“No,” I replied.

“I think you should sit down.”

I sat down and then he delivered the news.

“We found your father.”

I audibly cried like a small child; that’s the only way I can describe what was coming out of me. I didn’t think I would find him and figured that half of my identity would be a mystery.

After our initial phone call, he called around and reached a relative, providing certain information but withholding some to see if it was a match. He remembered my mother, remembered the circumstance of her being pregnant, but didn’t know that I was his child. Coincidentally, my uncle remembers her too because it was through his first wife that she was introduced to him.

Before I spoke to my father on the phone, my uncle called me and told me the same thing as my cousin: You are loved, you are accepted, and you are family.

The moment came and I heard my father’s voice for the first time. He was happy to talk to me and apologized to me because he had no idea that I was his child. He’s 76 years old, a veteran and a father of other children.

Unlike the other man, he wants a relationship with me. He cares that I’m doing all right and has reached out to me every day since. My cousins and uncles message me all the time, and in such a short time, I feel a great closeness with them.

This past Father’s Day was a difficult one for me. I was at church without my wife, and while I’m always emotional at church, it was incredibly difficult for me to hold back tears that day. My deacon came by me and asked me if I was okay after the service, and I broke down crying.

I accepted that my father was dead and I was going to live the rest of my life never being able to have a bond with my father, but it didn’t mean I liked it. I was glad that my son never had to go through what I did as a child, but I would have given anything to have a father that actually cared about how I was feeling.

I feel like this entire situation was God hearing my cries. He answered a mystery that I didn’t even know existed. Growing up, everyone told me that I looked like my mother because I didn’t look like my “father.” Sounds silly, but I never agreed that my likeness was similar to my mother. I look exactly like my father and my siblings. I have facial features that are strong within my father’s side of the family. My father’s side features creatives too, like writers, songwriters (one wrote for Motown back in the day), and musicians. My father has been into photography for years, and my uncle does it professionally.

I’m currently sitting on the balcony of an Airbnb in Crete, Greece, and even though I’m thousands of miles away from him and eight hours ahead of my father, every morning I wake up to a message from him.

I plan to meet him in October as I’m attending a conference in the same state he lives in. I should also be meeting some of my cousins in October. My uncle, who lives in Detroit, said he wants to throw an entire family event just to welcome me to the family.

I think I would feel differently if the man who I thought was my father was incredibly close to me and I looked up to him, but in this case, my biological father is filling in the gaps of what I didn’t have my entire life.

I don’t know how many years or days I have with my father, and I’m just incredibly grateful that I found this out now while he’s still alive.

Because I know some might ask: No, I don’t believe that my “father” was distant because he suspected I wasn’t his. He was neglectful to all of his children and never questioned paternity. He was just a terrible father.

Every child wants and deserves to know where they come from. We all deserve an opportunity to build a bond with the people who brought us life.

There is absolutely no point in debating the past, especially from my position. All I care about is the truth, ugly or not, and having the opportunity to move forward with my real father and new family.

There is no room in my heart for anything other than happiness for God hearing my distress and bringing this truth to light. I am immensely grateful.

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If you haven’t seen the trailer, you can watch it here:

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I worked with trucking experts, reached out to families who lost loved ones and even got Secretary Sean Duffy to be a part of it.

So, today is the day I’ve been waiting for…the day I get to show the world what I’ve created. The official release date is September 29th, 6:00 AM, Exclusively on Rumble.

For more information on the film and future projects, you can visit www.wrongspeakfilms.com

I present to you the official trailer for “The Illegal Highways”

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WATCH THE TRAILER ON YOUTUBE | WATCH THE TRAILER ON RUMBLE

This has brought me into a place of directly helping people who need the most help while forcing me to consider the broader context of mortality.

I accepted an IT position that has me helping businesses and residents with their technical issues.

It came at a perfect time as I was winding down with filming my documentary, “The Illegal Highways,” and seamlessly transitioned into this role.

In my position, it’s a wide range of issues that I’m constantly dealing with, from helping multi-million-dollar businesses to sitting next to a 91-year-old woman helping her with her Zoom.

Coincidentally, we are about a mile away from a senior living facility and they always want our help for obvious reasons. At least once a week, I’m walking into their facility to give one of the many elderly people there assistance with their technical issues.

From my position, these issues are never difficult and don’t require me to bring tools to repair anything. It’s either education-oriented or they just needed some hands to connect something that they couldn’t do for themselves.

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I’ve been working with computers since I was a teenager and have almost 20 years of IT work experience. Maybe a different person would have an ego about doing simple things like these when they’re capable of much more complexity; but I don’t.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that every person that I’ve helped thus far has been incredibly kind and thankful for the help I’ve given them. I typically go the extra mile with them if need be, but more often than not, I try to give them confidence to work on their computer properly.

Last week, after helping a woman in her 90s connect her new computer, I realized that these are things that her children or grandchildren could be doing. I actually talked to her son who was states away and would periodically fly in to help his mother.

It hit me that these people are paying for a service because they are essentially by themselves. A number of them have told me they don’t know what they would do if we weren’t there.

I used to have thoughts of retiring and moving far away, but now that my son is 20 years old, I consider where he’ll be and if I’ll be an active grandparent the day he has children.

I was mostly thinking about it from a standpoint of being there for my son and future grandchildren but never considered that there might be a day where my body has deteriorated and I physically just can’t do certain things.

That 90-year-old woman had a walker and she certainly would have been stuck on the floor if she tried crawling underneath her desk to connect her new desktop like I did.

Going to this senior living facility has forced me to think about my own mortality and the latter part of my life. On August 1st, I’ll be 42 years old but instead of having a mid-life crisis, I’m having mid-life clarity.

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I think when you’re younger, you have a viewpoint of older people as being annoying or bothersome. You take for granted the ability to walk on your own, to not wake up in pain, or need help for simple tasks.

Coincidentally, younger people think their lives were successful when they can earn enough money to live far from everyone and retire early. They presume that they will always be as mobile as they are in their 30s.

In other words, we sometimes live like we are real-life Peter Pans, believing that we’ll never get old one day.

Going there has quickly become my favorite job because they actually need me. Even when I walk through their hallways, they always say “hello” and smile even if they are watching every step they make while using a walker.

We have one recurring customer who has a physical disability with his hands and he’s immensely grateful that we exist to help him.

I take my time with them because they are someone’s parent and grandparent. If I were in their shoes and had no choice but to hire someone, I’d want someone like myself to handhold simple things to have a little bit of relief.

I try to take lessons from every experience and person I encounter. Being wrapped up in daily culture war nonsense was wearing on me and being around real people, and some of the most vulnerable, has given me a necessary reality reboot.

We can argue about trivial things we have no control over or we can spend time enjoying life before it’s over. We can fight with our opposition or we can use that energy to embrace our family members before they end up 6 feet deep.

I wish my mother didn’t move so far away but I will be making more of an effort to see her.

Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. Spend your days wisely.

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This was filmed 9 days ago, I meant to post this before, but still a good conversation between myself and James.

Enjoy!

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I never told my father that I loved him nor did I hear that from him. Most people will never know what it’s like to have a father who doesn’t appear to care if you’re alive or not (thankfully).

Growing up, Father’s Day was no different than any other day. I had no father to celebrate because he was states away living his life.

Every child instinctively knows if their parents love them or not, and it centers on one word: Effort.

We don’t have perfect parents in this world; we just have a line between parents who care enough to try their best and those who don’t. Children are forgiving to a fault, but man, is it hard to make excuses for a man who didn’t even try.

When my father lacked, I felt it. When I needed him the most, he wasn’t there, and until the day he died, he felt like a complete stranger.

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All of this created a fatherless wound that made me question my value to the world. At times, it made me desperate for love and scared that people would leave.

Since my son was born, I made Father’s Day about my son rather than the child within me. It was a day where I was glad to end the cycle for my son’s sake, but I think deep down, I still crave having a father to call or text the way my son is able to.

You hear about people burying their parents, but I found out my father died months after he passed. Worse, I didn’t even cry, because I mourned his death years prior since I knew he was never going to talk to me again.

Since I was baptized, things have felt different for me about craving a father that is no longer alive to right his wrongs. Instead, I now have a Heavenly Father who loves me regardless.

This past Sunday I was at church, and on the monitors it said, “We love you, Dad,” but it wasn’t aimed at the men in the room; it was targeted toward God.

It was two hours of me trying to hold it together (because I hate crying in front of people) until a church elder talked to me afterward, and I cried like a child.

It wasn’t tears of sadness; it was joy. It was hard to explain at the moment, but I just felt grateful for being saved because I know what it feels like to be lost.

It was me realizing that even boys like me without a father have a Father in God.

Father’s Day, a day that used to be meaningless for most of my life, means everything to me now.

And what solidified that day was looking at my phone and reading a text from my son telling me how I’m the best father he could ever want and that I’m his role model.

Maybe Sunday was a day of healing or a day of appreciation — or both? But for the first time in my life, I feel absolutely whole.

In spirit, I was never without a Father. My fatherless wound is rapidly healing, and I’m thankful to the Lord for helping me through this.

Where my father lacked, my Heavenly Father hasn’t. Praise Jesus.

I had already acknowledged that Jesus was my Lord and Savior, but that moment was significant as a public declaration to the people closest to me regarding my faithfulness and promises to God moving forward.

Since then, my life and how I interpret the world around me have changed significantly. I feel that I have more clarity, patience, and responsibility than I did prior.

Making my decision to be baptized public came with the loss of a couple of people, who I believe were reacting more to previous pain they had associated with Christianity than to anything I had done to them.

Having people leave your life because you’ve decided to change your life always comes with casualties, and sometimes it’s necessary in order for you to shift without being constantly pulled back by the people closest to you.

However, talking about my struggles and eventual falling in love with Jesus Christ has sparked several private conversations with people who had struggled for years or decades to come to the Lord, despite desperately wanting to.

Most of these people were strangers until I offered them my time to share my testimony and help them in any way possible.

In my mid-20s, I felt like a fraud telling people I was a Christian when I never went to church, didn’t read the Bible, and didn’t feel any meaningful connection in my heart. My confusion led me to settle on the title of agnostic for over a decade.

So, when people come to me with their hesitations, I completely understand why, because I’ve been there.

I frequently think about whether what I’m doing sanctifies the Lord or not, and more than a few times it has stopped me from doing or saying something that I used to do in the past.

What I’ve realized most importantly is that you will bring more people to the Lord by being a living representation of how Jesus can transform a lost child like me than by yelling “Repent!” at someone followed by a passage of Scripture.

A relationship with the Lord is voluntary because you can’t force anyone to love Him. After I was baptized, my wife asked if she should get baptized, and I would always tell her that if she wanted to get baptized to please me, she was doing it for the wrong reasons.

Instead of pressuring her, I just lived by example and engaged in conversation with her. I let the Lord do the heavy lifting and prayed for Him to help her when she was ready.

Fast forward, we are now attending a local church weekly after we were invited by a stranger the same day I prayed for God to help guide my wife. Imagine my shock when my wife told me she wanted to go to church.

It’s been a couple of months, and we feel at home in this new church. It’s alive in spirit, and the people are wonderful. For the first time in both of our lives, we look forward to attending church.

Two years is a short amount of time in what I hope is a long life ahead of me, but I am still as grateful as I was on day one.

I’m an emotional mess when I think about how He’s changed my life and all the prayers He’s answered for me in such a short time. I’m appreciative of the relationship I have with Jesus and will never take it for granted because I remember what life was like without Him.

So, if you see me at church with red eyes and tears coming down my cheeks, it’s out of joy, not sadness.

God bless you all.

Yesterday, I had the privilege of conducting a sit down interview with Sean Duffy, Secretary of the Department of Transportation, for my documentary “The Illegal Highways.”

It was a moment of reflection for me because six years ago, I was an IT manager sitting in my office just beginning to write my first book, “Black Victim to Black Victor,” as a complete nobody who just wanted to do something.

I had no expectations of what might come from it, but I knew that I wanted to write a book. I didn’t care if 10 people bought it or 10 million did; I wasn’t going to wait for someone to give me permission to do it.

Since 2021, when my book was published and when I began building a public profile, I have been blessed with amazing encounters and connections.

I remember when I was writing the book, a friend said that I should submit an opinion piece to the New York Post, which I quickly dismissed as even being possible. Now here I am, writing for the New York Post, going on four years now as a trusted writer for them.

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I don’t have a writing background, and I don’t have a college degree. I barely graduated high school. I went to tech school to fix computers, not a four-year university for a Political Science degree.

So, how have I been able to move into this space and make a name for myself? Because I didn’t wait for someone to give me permission to.

This era of technology gives normal people like me an opportunity to change the world, but opportunities mean nothing if you don’t take advantage of them.

Being on Twitter for a year, I gained 100k followers because I didn’t wait for people to tell me the right strategy or how I should conduct myself on there; I just did it myself.

This is the era of the self-starter and self-starting underdogs like me. If you want something, you work hard at it, and if it doesn’t work, then you find another way.

Not everything I’ve done has been massively successful in the traditional sense, but I’ve been enriched when impacting the lives of countless people. One man told me that my book changed his life, which is surreal to hear as a guy who wasn’t supposed to be a writer.

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Much of my life, I’ve been a quiet loner and down on myself and my capabilities. When I removed the depression and victim mentality from my life, I realized that there has been so much that I prevented myself from doing because, in one form or another, I convinced myself that I wasn’t capable or supposed to even try.

My life is a testament to God’s blessings and listening to my God-given instinct, which for most of my life I refused to trust.

Lots of people tell themselves that they can’t do something and never try. Or if they try and it doesn’t work, they quit immediately to shy away from the embarrassment of failure.

I fundamentally don’t have that mentality. Throughout the past six years, I’ve been offered public speaking opportunities, television appearances, and writing opportunities in the biggest publications, and I had never done any of these things before; yet I said yes.

I’d rather try and fail so I can learn from it and get better. Failure doesn’t scare me; it’s just another opportunity to grow and get better.

Which brings us to today, making my documentary “The Illegal Highways,” which is another thing I’m not really supposed to be doing. I don’t have a film background, but I have a background of trying and learning from my mistakes.

Two years ago, I barely understood what ISO or focal length meant and would mess up interview footage. The first three of my four episodes of sit down interviews were unusable, yet I kept attempting to learn what I did wrong.

And here we are today; I am able to make beautiful imagery and tell a compelling story through film because I didn’t wait for someone to give me permission to do it.

There is a phrase online: “You can just go outside and do things.” That’s been my life in a nutshell. You can build something out of nothing if you don’t let yourself limit yourself. It doesn’t mean everything you do will work out, but there is always something you can learn from it.

Success is subjective. I’m not rich monetarily, but I have memories money can’t buy and have positively impacted people who I never would have been able to if I sat in my office convincing myself that I can’t do something.

It’s only you that’s stopping you. You don’t need anyone else’s permission.

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https://nypost.com/2026/05/17/opinion/justice-is-coming-for-victims-of-illegal-migrant-truckers/

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The 9-0 Supreme Court ruling is a gamechanger for the trucking industry, which now puts the freight brokers in the line of fire for lawsuits if they are found to be negligent. This could be the massive win for victims across the country who have been harmed due to their greed and disinterest in ruling out bad actors in the industry.

I’m appreciative that the New York Post allowed for me to share the existence of my documentary being made. I just came back from Utah filming with the Pearson family and today I’ll be driving to Ohio to interview with another family.

Let me know what you think.

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Wrong Speak Films is currently crowdfunding a new documentary, The Illegal Highways, about illegal immigrants in the trucking industry and the victims they leave behind. It’s victim centric concept that hits home how detrimental this situation is for the safety of Americans on the road.

If you can give, please go to our GiveSendGo: www.givesendgo.com/theillegalhighways

Visit www.xx-xyathletics.com/ADAM to shop through their top-quality athletic Women’s (XX) and Men’s (XY) clothing, ranging from t-shirts to leggings.

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Since I was baptized in 2024, I would have candid discussions with my wife about her beliefs and if she had any interest in getting baptized.

And recently, a string of events has brought my wife to genuinely want Jesus in her life.

It all started with a prayer following a conversation with other Christians who are in my life. They’re familiar with my wife and asked me where she stood on her journey.

I explained to them that I’m not worried, but there is this mental hurdle that she has where she believes she’s either not worthy or she needs to do something to have Jesus in her life.

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Wrong Speak Films is currently crowdfunding a new documentary, The Illegal Highways, about illegal immigrants in the trucking industry and the victims they leave behind. It’s victim centric concept that hits home how detrimental this situation is for the safety of Americans on the road.

If you can give, please go to our GiveSendGo: www.givesendgo.com/theillegalhighways

So it’s understood, I’ve never compelled my wife or pushed her into wanting Jesus Christ as her savior. All I do is talk to her and ask her questions. I figure with information and testimony, she can make up her own mind.

Part of the reason I wasn’t worried is because I can see the many ways that God was reaching out to her already.

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She’s not entirely familiar with the Bible and when she was in a difficult situation, she received scripture that she wasn’t familiar with and it directly related to what she was going through; I don’t believe in coincidences.

After that call with friends, I vividly remember walking my dog outside with the sun shining and I started talking to God. I prayed that He would help to bring my wife closer to Him. It was a silent prayer that came from the heart.

Later that day, my wife came home from work and asked if I wanted to go to the gym in our complex, to which I agreed. I was wearing a t-shirt that has a Christian phrase on it while walking on the treadmill.

When we entered the gym, there was a woman that we’ve never interacted with there who was also on the treadmill next to me. If my memory serves me, I might have seen her once before but my wife has never seen her before.

We had small talk and then continued with our workouts. I finished early and left my wife to continue her routine. When my wife came home, she began telling me how this mysterious woman engaged in a conversation with her based on the shirt I was wearing.

Then the words came out of her mouth: “She invited us to her church. Do you want to go?”

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Immediately, I knew it was the Lord working through people to reach out to my wife. Of course, I agreed. A couple of weeks later, we went to the church and immediately felt comfortable, like we were supposed to be there.

I had been struggling to find a church and completely overlooked this place. I’ve been to several churches when I was young. It just felt like a place that was empty, not entirely alive; kind of hard to explain.

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But this place felt different. It had a spirit about it and moments of love and beauty that would force me to hold back tears. Even better, Michele felt the same exact way. We walked out and she expressed how she felt renewed, as did I.

The following week, we went back and part of me was wondering if this was an emotional fluke on my part; it wasn’t. The second time attending was even stronger than before.

When the pastor began his sermon, it directly shot at my wife’s biggest struggle and I could hear her gasp. I don’t believe in coincidences anymore and I knew it was a sign.

After coming home, we talked about what we thought of the service and then after a pause in our conversation she said the words: “I am ready to get baptized.”

I always had faith that she would want this because I could see how He was reaching out to her, even when she couldn’t see it.

Oddly enough, we’ve yet to see this woman since she invited us to the church.

I prayed for my wife to completely open her heart to Jesus because I know how much doing this has transformed my life for the better and given me clarity about life that I didn’t possess prior; I wanted the same for her.

I wanted her to find salvation through Jesus Christ because I love her with all my heart.

So, next time someone says that prayer doesn’t work and it’s just wishful thinking, tell them about this story.

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However, there is a more overt replacement that is happening: preferring illegal labor over a more costly American labor force.

Ten years ago, most Democrats would have denied that they are advocating for the safe harbor of illegal immigrants in America. They wouldn’t have boasted about how illegal labor is helping their economy grow.

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I was a Democrat at the time and it would have been a major red-flag if a prominent Democrat was behaving as they are today.

Even if they believed it, they would have hid it from the spotlight and vehemently denied it as a right-wing talking point drudged up by Fox News.

But we are in a new era, a Trump era, where the entire political model is to play the opposite game of Trump no matter what. This is layered on top of the Democrats stepping aside from their traditional stance of being aesthetic advocates of the American working class in favor of big business.

This combination, mixed in with their willingness to pal around with open communists, has brought us where we are today, where a California gubernatorial candidate embraces people who aren’t supposed to be here as being the same as the law-abiding residents of America.

Katie Porter, who I call “Cluster B Katie” for all of the obvious pathological reasons, has a linguistic tell within her response to the topic of illegal immigration and working with immigration enforcement.

That tell is that she frames these individuals who broke our immigration laws to stay in this country as being “Californians.”

In other words, there is no difference between the guy born in Sacramento who is an upstanding citizen and the guy who paid cartel members to bring him across the border, to violate every employment and immigration law (if not other laws) to stay in the state.

This is how the replacement happens.

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If there is no difference between the two, then there is truly no difference between an American and any other national around the world. It’s the dissolving of nationhood for profit and political power.

The more people who live in a given area, the more congressional representation that area receives in the census count. By allowing their state to be packed with non-citizens, Democrats gain extra House seats and greater governmental power.

They are turning a blind eye to illegal immigration because they see it as securing their political future.

To be clear, it’s not about white people or colored people; it’s about who is more profitable and politically expansive.

The Democrats in California clearly see illegal immigrants as a driver in their state’s economy; whether that’s true or not is a different story. Illegal immigration, no matter the industry, is overwhelmingly beneficial to the employer, not the employee.

You can pay these people less than what you would normally pay an American, you can get away with having labor without paying employee taxes, and you don’t have to give them health benefits since the state wants to establish an environment where illegal immigrant healthcare is subsidized.

The truth is that Americans are expensive to employ. We have a lot of expectations of treatment, those pesky equal opportunity rules, and a wage expectation that is far superior to the third-world foreigner in desperation.

Labor is always the first area on the chopping block for any business, and they begin by going after the base workforce. The lower the skill, the more replaceable they are with illegal immigrants or machinery.

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However, what’s dangerous about California is that the Democratic Party views this state as the laboratory of Democrat policy experiments. The worst ideas start there first and eventually spread elsewhere.

Unfortunately, Katie Porter isn’t alone in her views because if it were only just her, I wouldn’t be writing any of this.

The problem is that this has become the mainstream stance of the Democratic Party, where immigration status no longer matters, only the base illusion that said person is a “good guy” who wants an opportunity in the land of opportunity.

What I would stress to people is that illegal immigration isn’t just a legal matter; it’s an ethical and safety matter. I’m in the process of filming a documentary talking to family members who had loved ones killed by illegal immigrants driving semi-trucks.

Wrong Speak Films is currently crowdfunding a new documentary, The Illegal Highways, about illegal immigrants in the trucking industry and the victims they leave behind. It’s victim centric concept that hits home how detrimental this situation is for the safety of Americans on the road.

If you can give, please go to our GiveSendGo: www.givesendgo.com/theillegalhighways

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The commonality between these families is that there is no real justice for them. The drivers either get deported or receive light sentences. Sanctuary laws create legal hurdles, and political district attorneys don’t want to prosecute to the fullest extent to bring justice.

You can’t sell to me that illegal immigration is a victimless crime when I’m sitting across from a widow who lost her husband to an illegal immigrant truck driver who was deported over 16 times.

Illegal immigration creates a two-tier system, one that is incredibly unfair for the people who are following the rules and soft repercussions (if any) for the rule breakers.

It’s important for us all to notice the language being used by the Democratic Party today: “Undocumented” instead of “Illegal.” The need to frame anyone who lays their head in the state of California as being Californians.

They’re married to the belief that illegal labor is necessary and that fostering a hostile environment will be a detriment to their state and their donors. But even more so, they want the expansion of census representation to maintain power throughout Democratic-leaning districts.

We’re not being replaced out of altruism; it’s about greed and power.

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Not only are they wishing death upon their political opposition, but they say it proudly in public without hesitation.

Worse, it’s seen as somewhat normal to engage in this form of verbal expression and death wish chants for another human being they’ll never meet and who has never harmed them directly.

I have a strong belief that you don’t celebrate people’s death because every loss of life is tragic. Even the heinous, I think it’s tragic that their life went in that direction to create the circumstance of their death.

I believe that life is precious, all life. Even that person that you hate, that you wish were dead, they have someone who loves them and will mourn their loss.

Plainly, I think it’s evil and what I’m witnessing is the normalization of an evil death wish culture. It’s a culture that has a reflex to dehumanize anyone who is positioned as an opponent and finds it fun to daydream about their enemy’s funerals.

Recently, Jimmy Kimmel made a pretty crass joke about Melania looking like an “expectant widow,” which many are interpreting as gleefulness for the idea of Trump’s death.

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But I wish I could say that it was just Kimmel who plays with death; it’s happening all over. I won’t say that it’s completely normal but I no longer believe it’s fringe behavior.

Last year, I was around some older people at an event and they switched the topic onto Donald Trump. These were older women, old enough to be my grandmother, who transformed the conversation into bloodlust for the death of our president.

Wrong Speak Films is currently crowdfunding a new documentary, The Illegal Highways, about illegal immigrants in the trucking industry and the victims they leave behind. It’s victim centric concept that hits home how detrimental this situation is for the safety of Americans on the road.

If you can give, please go to our GiveSendGo: www.givesendgo.com/theillegalhighways

The obsession with a single man has pushed them into making him into a demonic figure who is not deserving of empathy or air to breathe. The way they were talking was like he was a “thing” that needed to be eradicated instead of a person they simply disagree with.

What they don’t realize is that this is the line of thinking that leads to the rationalization of murder and atrocities.

You just need to remove their personhood and reduce their humanity into them being a walking bag of bones that could easily be disposed of with enough ammunition and will.

Listening to these kind older women sounded like the precursor to a massacre and stunned me into silence. They weren’t whispering their death fantasies to avoid public shame; they were speaking loudly and laughing at the idea of our president being “taken out.”

It was the cavalier nature of wanting someone to put him down for good. It was a bloodlust conversation that came from the mouths of inconspicuous senior citizens.

But they aren’t alone and they’re not the first. There has been an increasing comfort with the idea of killing political opponents and it has created a culture that finds no shame in this thinking.

Jimmy Kimmel and other media elites have spent many years dehumanizing Donald Trump because it’s profitable.

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The jokes are admissions of a deeper desire and there would not have been a tear shed if Trump’s head hadn’t turned when standing on stage in Butler, PA.

Making people scared keeps their attention. If you scare them long enough, you’ll make them suffer with paranoia. And why not make money off the man you hate the most?

They’ll use words like “existential threat” to indicate that one more day with him in charge only brings us one day closer to our entire civilization coming to an end. In their minds, ending the threat saves our society, or in their words, saves our democracy.

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So to be clear: I would have an issue if the most prominent Republicans and right-wing media were doing the same thing. However, this type of thing is incredibly rare on the right and applies to people who are generally unstable (I’ve met these people in person too).

After the Butler assassination attempt, I wrote for Newsweek how Democrats aren’t wishing for Trump’s death. Meaning, the majority of Democrat voters don’t wish for his death. I believed at the time that much of what we are seeing is fringe because I refused to believe that half of our voting population is filled with bloodlust.

However, I no longer believe it’s fringe. It’s now an acceptable aspect of left-wing culture.

What scares me is that I’m watching people who are otherwise sane, rational, and intelligent dive down this deep dark pit with pride. It frightens me when I see smiling faces flip into demonic scowls because one man’s name dared to be mentioned.

The hatred is palpable and infectious. Nothing good comes from this level of cavalier attitude towards death.

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https://nypost.com/2026/04/22/opinion/splc-paid-to-fuel-ku-klux-klans-hate-then-raised-money-to-put-it-out/

It’s been a fascinating 24 hours of memes and realizations of irony surrounding these grand jury indictments. If you have a chance, check out my article.

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Wrong Speak Films is currently crowdfunding a new documentary, The Illegal Highways, about illegal immigrants in the trucking industry and the victims they leave behind. It’s victim centric concept that hits home how detrimental this situation is for the safety of Americans on the road.

If you can give, please go to our GiveSendGo: www.givesendgo.com/theillegalhighways

Visit www.xx-xyathletics.com/ADAM to shop through their top-quality athletic Women’s (XX) and Men’s (XY) clothing, ranging from t-shirts to leggings.

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This is my first article written for Sky News Australia. I normally don’t write about foreign affairs but I thought I’d give it a shot with an analysis of the Iran War.

https://www.skynews.com.au/insights-and-analysis/the-iran-trap-donald-trump-must-avoid-at-all-costs-as-his-pincer-operation-against-the-worlds-axis-of-evil-reaches-a-critical-moment/news-story/3da1bb1ad358bf51dfbff129d057c1b3

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Order “The Children We Left Behind” Now on Wrong Speak Publishing or Amazon!

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It wasn’t a negative text—just a casual “How have you been?” Because of our last interaction, I haven’t replied.

When we met several years ago, we were part of a group of left-leaning friends I genuinely liked at the time. It wasn’t always about politics. Many times, we just discussed life.

However, COVID and the George Floyd riots made them even more radical and unbearable—especially since I wasn’t having the same social panic attack they were.

One of the people in the group was someone I used to spend holidays with and talk to on the phone all the time. Suddenly, because I asked where the “15 feet” recommendation from Fauci came from, I became deserving of ridicule and disrespect.

Despite the fact that our relationship had been built on questioning things, they all became extremely dogmatic. I refused to follow suit.

One of the friends in this group posted on Facebook that Trump told Americans to drink bleach to get rid of COVID. I thought that was so insane that I wanted to see it for myself. Of course, Trump never said that.

Wrong Speak Films is currently crowdfunding a new documentary, The Illegal Highways, about illegal immigrants in the trucking industry and the victims they leave behind. It’s victim centric concept that hits home how detrimental this situation is for the safety of Americans on the road.

If you can give, please go to our GiveSendGo: www.givesendgo.com/theillegalhighways

When I called him out on it, he acknowledged that Trump didn’t say it—and then proceeded to block me.

I bring all of this up because this small group of lefty friends eventually dwindled to just one person who was still willing to talk to me, despite my willingness to question things and change my opinions.

In 2021, I published my first book, Black Victim to Black Victor, and I told him about it. It could be seen as controversial, but he seemed superficially receptive. I figured that was better than him shunning me before even attempting to read it.

It was either late 2021 or early 2022 when we decided to meet for lunch. I don’t remember the meal, but I do remember the need to talk about politics the entire time.

It’s hard to explain, but he’s one of those people who argues with you through a smile and a laugh, yet it doesn’t feel playful. It wasn’t a terrible encounter, but I didn’t entirely enjoy it. I felt like I was constantly being put on the defensive or dragged into topics I didn’t care about.

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I thought maybe it was because we hadn’t hung out in a while. Not long after that meeting, we had a phone call, and the same feeling returned.

I’m not argumentative, and frankly, I don’t like arguing about politics. I’m not a debater, and I have no interest in fighting with people over things I have zero control over.

Even worse, I absolutely despise when people put words in my mouth or make assumptions about me. I don’t remember everything from that call, but one thing he said really bugged me:

“Your boy, Tucker.”

That bothered me because I didn’t watch Tucker Carlson’s show. I had never brought him up, and I wasn’t even particularly fond of him. So why did he make that association?

It was because he had placed me in a box. Because I asked questions and pushed back against certain narratives for my own personal reasons, I must be a strident Republican and the right-wing caricature he could mock.

Then I remembered how he used to talk about the Republicans he knew in his life. He would tell me how they were all racist and “what they really think.”

He placed me in a box instead of seeing me as an individual with logical reasons for what I believe.

Visit www.xx-xyathletics.com/ADAM to shop through their top-quality athletic Women’s (XX) and Men’s (XY) clothing, ranging from t-shirts to leggings.

He wasn’t inquisitive about me—he was assumptive. That statement made me want to end the call early, especially combined with his tendency to go on and on about politics in search of a debate.

I haven’t replied to him, not because he’s a socialist, but because my instincts tell me he sees me as a fool and a punching bag. I can already picture him jumping straight into talking about Trump and putting me in a position where I’m expected to defend him—despite not caring about it at all.

We should be able to have friends with varying viewpoints, but sometimes those people aren’t really your friends. You’re just a diversity avatar for the politics they hate.

I’m not one for ghosting people, but I haven’t talked to this person in a long time for a reason. I don’t feel the need to force disrespectful people into my life.

I don’t want to be anyone’s avatar to blame for all their political woes. Despite being in the political world, I don’t like talking about politics with people I care about.

So, I’m not replying. I’d rather protect my peace of mind and move toward people who like me for who I actually am, instead of who they unfairly associate me with.

This interview will be featured in my upcoming documentary, “The Illegal Highways,” where we discuss not only how illegal immigrants are able to get behind the wheel of a semi-truck, but also the Americans who have suffered because of it.

Marcus describes in great detail the evening he received a call that his five-year-old daughter had been in an accident. At first, he was unsure of the seriousness of the situation.

It wasn’t until he received another call from EMS stating that his daughter was being airlifted to the hospital that he realized her condition was far worse than anyone could have imagined.

He openly explains the confusion that persisted until he finally laid eyes on his daughter. Hospital workers couldn’t find her at first because she had been admitted under an alternate name, and he grew increasingly frustrated with the lack of help locating his child.

I could never imagine what he experienced as a father — walking into a hospital and seeing his frail daughter connected to machines, watching her condition initially get worse.

In the video attached, I clipped out six minutes of him describing his experience of watching his daughter barely survive this ordeal, including multiple health scares that many thought she would not overcome.

Thankfully, she is alive, but she is not the same little girl as before. Today, she is seven years old, non-verbal, and can only walk with assistance.

I met Marcus in D.C. because he has been working with the federal government to help draft legislation that would curb illegal immigrants from obtaining CDLs and strengthen enforcement — all with the objective of preventing another tragedy like Dalilah’s.

The full interview was over an hour long. Of course, with a documentary, you only see a small percentage of it. However, I wanted to write this to express to the world what I took away from this experience.

It is not often that you find people who are willing to sacrifice for a greater cause. Marcus isn’t trying to chase fame or run for office; he’s just trying to do the right thing.

When I asked him what it was like being at the State of the Union and having the President acknowledge their situation, he explained that he sees these moments as part of the process and not as moments of excitement.

This response I can completely understand. He would rather have a happy and healthy daughter than anything else in the world. His family was forced into this position by systemic failures, which the documentary will explain.

As Marcus put it in the interview, he’s doing the job that politicians should be doing. The man is sacrificing his time flying back and forth between California and Washington D.C. to follow through fighting for a greater purpose.

I found him to be a very honorable and genuine man who is striving to create a safer world for Americans. Most importantly, he is a man of strong Christian faith who openly acknowledges that it is his faith that has kept him together throughout this entire ordeal.

One of the most powerful stories he told me was about meeting the man who almost killed his daughter. He had so much anger and hatred toward him — until he looked into his eyes. He saw a young man, a soul, and decided at that moment to forgive and let go of that rage.

He chose to forgive him, but not to forget. Not forgetting has allowed him to fight for a greater cause.

This documentary isn’t about dehumanizing anyone, including the illegal immigrants behind the wheel. I understand — more than the average person — how many of these men are brought to America under false pretenses and are essentially indentured servants who have to drive a truck twice as long as the average American trucker.

The purpose of making this film is to tell the stories of the people caught up in this systemic failure. We often lose sight of the families who wake up every day knowing they will never talk to their spouse, sibling, or child ever again. I want their stories heard around the world so that we, the American public, also don’t forget that there are real innocent lives at stake.

I am still crowdfunding for this project. If you’d like to support it, you can donate on GiveSendGo: https://www.givesendgo.com/theillegalhighways

Ignorance is the barrier that keeps humans from understanding each other. The less we know about each other, the more willing we are to fill in the gaps with stereotypes and misunderstandings.

The ability to engage in conversation with people who are different from ourselves is how we often discover that we have more in common than we initially thought.

Since 2020, Americans have been hammered with messages that emphasize noticing people’s differences in order to create division between us. The idea is that our differences are meant to keep us separated and to overshadow our common humanity.

I’ve established relationships with people from various backgrounds who often look different from me, and yet I genuinely enjoyed their company and drew closer to them despite the differences.

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Wrong Speak Films is currently crowdfunding a new documentary, The Illegal Highways, about illegal immigrants in the trucking industry and the victims they leave behind. It’s victim centric concept that hits home how detrimental this situation is for the safety of Americans on the road.

If you can give, please go to our GiveSendGo: www.givesendgo.com/theillegalhighways

The changes made on X that brought the top two most active countries together—Japan and the United States—have begun the removal of massive cultural and political ignorance that has quickly moved us from a status of strangers to brothers.

At first, it was confusing as to why we were starting to see Japanese people with auto-translation, but that confusion quickly turned into a bromance open to sharing ideas and clearing up misconceptions.

A common response from Japanese users was that they thought Americans looked down on them, and they are extremely excited to see that it was actually the opposite.

Despite what communists in our media attempt to say about our nation, we are the most open and tolerant society in the world.

Many of us live in areas where we have people from different countries who love living in America and are willing to share their homeland customs with us.

Where I live is like the United Nations. I have Black, White, Indian, Korean, and Chinese neighbors; this isn’t uncommon for many Americans.

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What these Japanese users are doing is going beyond the barriers of corporate media and accessing the people directly to ask them even the most mundane questions they would likely never learn otherwise.

The same goes for Americans like myself; I’ve started asking them questions that I legitimately didn’t have a good perspective on regarding Japanese culture.

For example, I asked—very genuinely—for their reasoning for always wearing masks. I know that culturally it is common for them to wear masks when they are sick, but some of the answers went beyond this and were incredibly honest.

I had no idea that hay fever and seasonal allergies were a massive issue there. Many were honest about how the mask allowed them to not shave or put on makeup.

The most interesting answer was about the cultural differences between the Japanese and the West when it comes to reading facial expressions. The Japanese place more importance on seeing the eyes than looking at someone’s mouth. Hence, putting a mask over the mouth is less of a big deal for them than it is for us.

What’s been the most fascinating is that they are politically dealing with some of the same things we are in the West—mostly a rise in communist agitators and a push for mass migration by the Japanese elite.

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With Japan having a low birthrate, the people in charge have started pushing for immigration as the method for filling the work gaps. However, whenever systematic immigration occurs, you run into the problem of assimilation and clashing with the natives.

There is no perfect society, but the Japanese have a strong sense of pride in their history and customs—even if it appears rigid to foreigners.

They can pinpoint exactly how long they’ve been embracing a particular custom, and bringing in massive numbers of people who potentially don’t care about those customs is a major cause for concern.

It especially bothers them when foreigners come to their country and want to alter their long-standing customs so they can feel more comfortable.

As they are a nation of customs, we are a nation of laws, and when they are disrespected, it becomes a point of anger for both of us.

The removal of the language barrier via auto-translation and algorithmic promotion has opened an avenue of unity and understanding about preserving what is most important to us as a people.

Today we are sharing BBQ tips and comparing narratives from reality, but don’t be surprised if in the future we are arm-in-arm fighting for the same cause in a much more substantive way that goes beyond the keyboard.

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https://nypost.com/2026/03/25/opinion/hungarys-conservative-kids-love-trump-and-have-a-lot-to-teach-us/

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I meant to post this last week but by time it published, I was preparing to get on another flight to Kentucky.

This was my third time in Hungary but the first time interacting with locals and it was a great experience.

Without spoiling the article or video, I’ll say it was great interacting with such sharp young minds who genuinely care about their country.

Let me know what you think! God bless.

Visit www.xx-xyathletics.com/ADAM to shop through their top-quality athletic Women’s (XX) and Men’s (XY) clothing, ranging from t-shirts to leggings.

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