For three decades, we have lived with a foreign policy that asks everything of the many and delivers everything to the few.

It is a policy forged in distant think tanks, executed through endless deployments, and paid for in the lost lives of our children and the hollowed-out promise of our towns.

It is a record of catastrophic failure: over 20 years of unsuccessful military interventions, $3 trillion spent, thousands of our own dead, and hundreds of thousands of others. The burden has never been borne by those who champion these wars in Washington salons, but by the working-class kids from places most of us will never see on a map.

There is a prejudice in American politics that has hampered the candidacies of good and smart people like Bernie Sanders and Zorhan Mamdani.

The peddlers of panic and the merchants of misinformation, who so brazenly equate Democratic Socialism with the jackboot of tyranny, display intellectual dishonesty that is not just a political strategy, but a profound betrayal of the American capacity for reasoned debate.

They wield the term “socialism” not as a descriptor, but as a cudgel, hoping the ghost of Stalin will do their work for them, all while willfully ignoring the vibrant, prosperous, and fiercely democratic nations that have already built the world America's Democratic Socialists seek to emulate.

The climate crisis is not a distant threat; it is a present and escalating danger with consequences that are both vast and microscopically precise.

One of the most underreported and perilous of these consequences is the release of ancient microbes and pathogens from the thawing Arctic permafrost.

When I discussed the risk of deadly new diseases in 2018, I had no idea that a novel coronavirus would cripple the world economy and kill more than 7 million people, but it was only a matter of when something like this would occur.  

There is a perverse form of arithmetic practiced in the hallowed halls of justice and environmental agencies, a calculus where accountability is divided by profit and the result is always a fraction of what is owed. 

It is the math of the plea bargain for planetary crime, and its most damning proof point is the languishing, toxic wound known as the Passaic River.

The Passaic River’s name means “peaceful valley.” But in a bitter twist, its waters soon flowed with the residue of a chemical weapon manufactured on its banks for the Vietnam War.

The sight of American soldiers patrolling American streets is not a sign of strength; it is the death rattle of a democracy in crisis. It is a page torn directly from the authoritarian playbook, a betrayal of the very principle this nation was founded upon: that the military exists to defend the people from foreign threats, not to police them at the whim of a tyrant.

We are watching, in real time, as Donald Trump systematically dismantles the constitutional barrier between a civilian republic and a military state. The deployment of troops and masked, unaccountable federal agents to suppress dissent is a profound and deliberate violation of our rights. It places our service members in an impossible ethical and legal bind, erodes the sacred, nonpartisan trust in our military, and drains resources from genuine national emergencies.

This moment demands courage. It demands a Congress that will stand as a bulwark against this encroaching tyranny. Instead, from Senator Cory Booker, we are met with a deafening silence—a "do-nothing" approach that is nothing less than political nihilism. This is worse than the inaction, corruption and failure that inspired me to run against disgraced former Senator Bob Menendez in 2018.

Of all the illusions that cling to the figure of Donald Trump, none is more pernicious or more divorced from reality than the myth of the master dealmaker, the unshackled pragmatist who, freed from ideology, could broker a grand global peace.

This fiction, peddled by a cabal of weary pundits and wishful thinkers, posits a man driven by a transactional desire for a Nobel Prize or a headline-grabbing handshake. It is a comforting lie, a life raft for those desperate to find a sliver of silver lining in a gathering storm. The truth, laid bare by the relentless onslaught of his actions, is far darker and more coherent.

Trump is not a man of peace; he is a man of war. His genius lies not in conciliation, but in conflict, and his primary adversary is not a foreign power but the very nation he was elected to lead, or perhaps even civilization itself.

My heart is shattered for the two West Virginia National Guard members shot in our nation's capital today, and for the families who will now face an empty chair at their Thanksgiving table.

To have a loved one serving their country one day, and fighting for their life the next, is an unimaginable tragedy that no family should ever endure.

While we hope for their full recovery, we must also speak a hard truth: this tragedy was preventable.

The great, grim irony of American democracy is that its most revered founders and defenders spent their lives issuing warnings we are now determined to ignore. We venerate their words while systematically enabling the very forces they begged us to resist.

We are not facing a novel threat; we are failing an ancient test.

The canon of Western thought is, in many ways, a long, meticulous warning label on the intoxicant of power. Plato, gazing upon the ruins of Athenian democracy, charted the inevitable descent from fractured democracy into tyranny, fueled by a demagogue’s empty promises. The prophets of the Old Testament wept for a people so gullible that they loved the lies that enslaved them. Machiavelli, that ruthless cartographer of the human soul, didn’t invent political deception; he simply documented its mechanics for anyone with the courage to read the manual.

The American project was conceived as a grand antidote to this ancient poison.

The traditional centerpiece of the Thanksgiving table, the great bronzed symbol of our national harvest, is being abandoned.

This year, the story is not merely one of soaring prices driven by plague-ravaged supply; it is a darker, more profound tale of a nation quietly surrendering one of its foundational rituals.

While the wholesale price of a turkey has been driven to a staggering forty percent increase by avian flu and a shrinking flock, a more insidious force is at work: a collapse in demand. For the second year in a row, the American people are looking at the big bird and turning away.

In the polished halls of power, where lofty rhetoric about diversity and inclusion is often mistaken for action, Governor Phil Murphy has delivered a masterclass in cynical, backroom politics.

With his recent slate of nominations to the powerful Port Authority of New York and New Jersey, the governor hasn’t just missed an opportunity to foster representation; he has actively, and with stunning audacity, slammed the door in the faces of New Jersey’s women, Black, and Latino communities.

The facts are as stark as they are insulting. Governor Murphy has chosen to renominate Republican Kevin J. O’Toole, a Christie-era holdover, to continue his reign as Chairman. To fill the seat vacated by the only woman on the New Jersey side of the commission, Michelle Richardson, he has installed his misogynistic former deputy chief of staff, Joseph Kelley. And to fill Kelley’s previous seat, he has tapped Hudson County Executive Craig Guy, whose wife is registered to vote in Monmouth County as a member of the far-right, ultra-conservative U.S. Constitution Party.