Echoes in the Break - The Blame Game Presented by Harold Michael Harvey Ongoing Legal Contributor

 

Echoes in the Break

Shutdown as Syncopation

Harold Michael Harvey

Photo by Joseph Chan on Unsplash For some, a government shutdown is a lapse in funding. For others, it’s a lapse in faith. But for those of us who listen for rhythm in the civic body, it’s something else entirely: a syncopated break in the democratic score. The shutdown is not silent—it’s syncopation. A deliberate disruption in the expected rhythm, where absence becomes its own kind of signal. In this pause, we hear what’s been buried: the groan of underfunded schools, the hush of shuttered clinics. The static of stalled progress. “The legal authority for continued operations either exists or it does not,” Benjamin Civiletti opined in 1980, trying to fashion a rule for how the federal government should operate when the government runs out of money and Congress has not authorized new spending before the deadline. Civiletti’s memo, penned at the end of the Carter administration, transformed shutdowns from informal delays into legal ruptures. Before him, agencies operated on faith—trusting Congress would eventually restore the beat. After him, the law demanded silence when funding ceased. The Anti-Deficiency Act of 1870 became the metronome of dysfunction. In the last 50 years, there have been twelve government stoppages. Here is a list of the major ones and their aftermath. 1975: Ford’s shutdown was quiet, almost apologetic. Agencies continued to operate, trusting that Congress would restore the funding. It was a moment before Civiletti’s pen turned pauses into prohibitions. 2013: Obama’s shutdown was a siege. The Affordable Care Act was the battleground, and the budget was the weapon of choice. The rhythm was broken not by accident, but by design. 2025: Trump’s shutdown is a purge. The Office of Management and Budget isn’t just pausing services—it’s reshaping the bureaucracy itself. The shutdown is no longer a missed beat—it’s a rewritten score. Trump wants to rewrite the score by firing thousands of federal employees. Democrats want to prevent medical insurance costs from skyrocketing. But every day, Americans have a say in this shutdown too, and they should raise their voices loud and clear for the America they want, apart from the partisan lines spouted by both sides in this dispute. Each moment marks a shift—from pause to protest to purge. The rhythm isn’t just missed—it’s being manipulated. Like jazz, democracy thrives on tension. The offbeat is where truth lives. Shutdowns reveal who sets the tempo, who gets silenced, and who insists on singing anyway. This moment demands more than observation—it demands authorship. We must remember that syncopation is not collapse, it is resistance. It is the griot’s pause before the truth lands. It is the community’s insistence on gathering even when the lights go out. “Faithful execution of the laws cannot rest on mere speculation.” —Civiletti, 1980 Let us gather stories of those furloughed, those forgotten, those who kept the rhythm alive despite silence. Let us build a counter-archive, a syncopated testimony that refuses to be erased. Let educators teach the shutdown not as a budgetary footnote, but as a civic rupture. Let organizers use this moment to recompose the score. Let artists and authors write the beat back into American life. After all, whose government is it anyway? !!! The shutdown has become a stage, not for governance, but for performance. Each side points fingers with rehearsed precision, casting blame like a call-and-response chorus. But the audience—us—is left without resolution, only noise. President Trump’s administration has choreographed a messaging blitz: Federal agencies post banners blaming “Radical Left Democrats.” The White House website features a live clock tracking how long “Democrats have shut down the government.” Out-of-office email templates for furloughed Workers are scripted to assign blame. Meanwhile, Democrats counter with their own refrain. They claim exclusion from negotiations, demand ACA subsidy extensions before agreeing to any funding bill, and the Democratic National Committee fires back: “Republicans own this shutdown.” This is not governance. It’s branding. The shutdown is no longer a lapse in funding. It’s a rupture in rhythm, choreographed for maximum spectacle. The syncopation is not accidental. It’s strategic. A missed beat designed to distract, distort, and divide. As I wrote above, titled Shutdown as Syncopation, “The beat is not broken. It is being manipulated.” And yet, in this cacophony, we must listen for the deeper rhythm. The rhythm of those who are furloughed. The rhythm of students whose aid is delayed. The rhythm of communities whose services are suspended. Let us not be spectators to this spectacle. Let us be composers. Let us write the next measure, but not in blame, but in memory, not in spectacle, but in stewardship. We can build a counter-archive. We can gather testimonies. We can syncopate the silence with truth. “Even in the dark, the drum speaks,” cited from Field notes from the Georgia Sea Islands, 1939. The shutdown is not silent; it’s syncopation. A deliberate disruption in the expected rhythm, where absence becomes its own kind of signal. In this pause, we hear what’s been buried: the groan of underfunded schools, the hush of shuttered clinics, the static of stalled progress. “The legal authority for continued operations either exists or it does not,” Benjamin Civiletti said in 1980. We have gone from Gerald Ford’s 1975 quiet delay to Obama’s 2013 ideological siege, and now, Trump’s 2025 bureaucratic purge. Forty-seven is using the shutdown to fire thousands of federal workers, all the while blaming the Democrats for his ill intent to inflict maximum pain on the American public, who are dazed thus far by the razzle-dazzle blitzkrieg of nine months of Project 2025. Each shutdown marks a shift from pause to protest to purge. The rhythm isn’t just missed, it’s being manipulated. Shutdowns erase more than services. They erase memory. Each furlough is a forgetting. Each closed office is a silenced archive. But memory resists. It lives in the griot’s voice, the jazz riff, and the community archive. “A nation that forgets its past has no future,” Winston Churchill said. Each shutdown comes without a whimper, reminding leaders of the pain felt by the people in the previous shutdown. The shutdown has become a stage. Federal agencies post banners. Out-of-office emails assign blame. The spectacle distracts from the rupture. But we must listen for the deeper rhythm. “The beat is not broken. It is being manipulated,” I’ve written elsewhere. Our ancestors knew how to survive in times of pause. They made rhythm from rupture. Spirituals bent melody around absence. Field hollers turned isolation into call-and-response. Shutdowns echo that legacy, not in reverence, but in distortion. We must reclaim it. “The silence is not empty. It is encoded,” I wrote when the Supreme Court turned a blind eye to the U. S. Constitution. Shutdowns dim the lights. But they do not extinguish the score. We write in the margins. We sing in the silence. We syncopate the shutdown. We survive and are reborn. “Even in the dark, the drum speaks.” —Field notes from the Georgia Sea Islands, 1939 Think of a moment when the rhythm broke. Who kept the beat alive? Write your verse, bend the silence, host a listening circle, build a counter-archive, teach the shutdown as rupture, visualize the silence, and reclaim the narrative. If this rhythm resonates with you, join the drumline, share this post to amplify the beat, and contribute your own verse to the civic score, because in the end, a new nation will rise out of the syncopated ashes of Project 2025. Thank you, Michael, for your Guidance! God Bless  Gabby

Tess Gerritsen! Ice Cold: A Rizzoli & Isles Novel! Love This Series!

 

“Why kill them?” she whispered. “Grace was only thirteen—just a girl. Why?” “They do whatever he wants.” “Whatever who wants?” “Jeremiah. The Prophet.” On the boy’s lips, the name sounded more like a curse than a name. “The man in the painting,” she said. “And he shall gather the righteous. And lead them all to hell.” He shoved the fur-trimmed hood off his head, and she could see his profile in the gloom, his jaw squared in anger. “Whose houses were those?” she asked. “Who lived in Kingdom Come?” “My mother. My sister.” His voice broke and he lowered his head in mourning for a village that was now engulfed in flames. “The chosen ones.”

CLOAKED BY A VEIL OF FALLING SNOW, THE ARMY STOOD ASSEMBLED. Jane stamped her feet, trying to stay warm, but already her toes had gone numb and even the scalding cup of coffee she’d just gulped down could not ward off the bitter chill of that Idaho dawn. If she were a member of the strike team, the cold would not matter to her, because adrenaline made you immune to discomforts as minor as subzero temperatures. But on this morning, relegated to the status of mere observer and forced to stand idly by, she felt the chill gnaw deep into her bones. Cathy, standing beside her, seemed not to care at all about the weather. The woman was utterly still, her face heedlessly exposed to the wind. Jane heard the rising pitch in the voices around her, could feel the tension in the air, and she knew that action was imminent. Pasternak came striding back from the huddle of command officers. He was carrying a two-way radio. “We’re ready to move, as soon as they pull the gate down.” He handed Jane the radio. “You stay with Cathy. We’ll need her advice once we get in there, and you’re her escort. So keep her safe.” As Jane clipped it to her belt, an alert came over the speaker. 

“We have activity inside the compound. Looks like two men approaching.” Through the falling snow, Jane saw the figures walking closer, identically dressed in long black coats. They moved without hesitation, striding directly toward the lawmen. To Jane’s surprise, one of the men produced a set of keys and unlocked the gate. The law enforcement team leader stepped forward. “I’m Lieutenant MacAfee, Idaho State Police. We have a warrant to search the compound.” “There’s no need for a warrant,” the man with the keys answered. “You are welcome to enter. All of you.” He swung the gate wide open. MacAfee glanced at the other officers, clearly taken aback by the welcome. The greeter beckoned the visitors forward. 

“We’ve gathered in the assembly hall, where there’s room for everyone. We ask only that you keep your weapons holstered, for the safety of our women and children.” He opened his arms wide, as though inviting in the whole world. “Please join us. You’ll see that we have nothing to hide.” “They knew,” Cathy muttered. “Goddamn it, they knew we were coming. They’re prepared for this.” “How did they get word of it?” Jane asked. “He can buy anything. Eyes, ears. A cop here, a politician there.” She looked at Jane. “You see what the problem is? You see why he’ll never have to face justice?” “No man’s untouchable, Cathy.” “He is. He always has been.” Cathy’s gaze returned to the open gate. The law enforcement team had already walked into the compound, their figures fading beyond the falling snow. Over the radio, Jane listened in on the chatter. Heard calm voices, matter-of-fact responses. “First building checked and clear …” “All clear in number three.” Cathy shook her head. “He’ll outsmart them this time as well,” she said. “They don’t know what to look for. They can’t see what’s right in front of their goddamn eyes.” “No weapons. All clear …” Cathy stared at the distant figures, now receding to little more than ghostly shapes. Without a word, she, too, walked through the open gate. Jane followed her. They moved between rows of buildings that stood silent and dark, following in the boot prints of the police team. Ahead, Jane saw candlelight glowing warmly in the assembly hall windows, and she heard music, the sound of many voices raised in song. It was a sweet and ethereal hymn that soared heavenward on notes sung by children. The scent of wood smoke, the promise of warmth and fellowship, beckoned them toward the building. They stepped through the door, into the assembly hall. Inside, a multitude of candles lit the soaring space. A congregation of hundreds filled gleaming wood pews. On one side of the aisle sat the women and girls in a sea of pastel dresses. On the other side were the men and boys, clad in white shirts and dark trousers. A dozen law enforcement officers had gathered at the rear of the hall, where they stood looking about uneasily, uncertain how to proceed in what was clearly a house of worship. The hymn came to an end, and the final, thrilling notes faded. In the silence, a dark-haired man emerged onto the stage and calmly surveyed his congregation. He wore no priestly robes, no embroidered shawl, no ornaments that set him apart as different or special. Instead he stood before them garbed in the same clothes as his followers, but the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to the elbows, as though in preparation for a day’s labors. He needed no costume, no eye-catching glitter to hold the crowd’s attention. His gaze alone, so intense it seemed radioactive, riveted every pair of eyes in the hall. So this is Jeremiah Goode, thought Jane. Though his hair was shot through with silver, it still looked like a young man’s mane, thick and leonine, falling almost to his shoulders. On this gloomy winter’s day, his presence seemed to give off as warm a glow as the flames leaping in the hall’s enormous stone hearth. In silence, he surveyed the audience, and his gaze finally settled on the police officers standing at the rear of the hall. “Dear friends, let us all rise to welcome our visitors,” he said. As if they were a single organism, the congregation rose in unison and turned to look at the strangers. “Welcome” came the chorus of greeting. Every face looked scrubbed and pink-cheeked, every gaze wide-eyed with innocence. Wholesome and healthy was the picture here, the portrait of a contented community united in purpose. Again, in unison, they all sat down. It was an eerily choreographed movement that set off a simultaneous creak of benches. 

Lieutenant MacAfee called out: “Jeremiah Goode?” The man onstage gave a solemn nod. “I am Jeremiah.” “I’m Lieutenant David MacAfee, Idaho State Police. Would you come with us, sir?” “May I ask why this show of force is necessary? Especially now, in our hour of distress?” “Distress, Mr. Goode?” “That is why you’re here, isn’t it? Because of the atrocities committed against our poor brethren in Kingdom Come?” Somberly, Jeremiah looked around at his congregation. “Yes, friends, we know, don’t we? Word came to us yesterday, the terrible news of what was done to our followers. All because of who they were, and what they believed.” In the audience, there were nods and murmurs of sad agreement. “Mr. Goode,” said MacAfee, “I’m asking you again to come with us.” “Why?” “To answer a few questions.” “Then ask them here and now, so that all may listen.” Jeremiah held out his arms in an extravagant gesture toward his followers. This was grand theater, and he was center stage, with the hall’s arches soaring above him, and the light from the windows beaming down on his face. “I keep no secrets from this congregation.” “This isn’t a matter for a public forum,” said MacAfee. “This is a criminal investigation.” “You think I don’t understand that?” Jeremiah stared at him with a gaze that seemed to sear the air. “Our followers were murdered in that valley. Executed like sheep, and their bodies left to be torn and devoured by wild animals!” “Is that what you heard?” “Is it not the truth? That forty-one good people, including women and children, were martyred because of what they believed? And now you come here, invited through our gates. You men with your guns and your disdain for those who don’t believe what you do.” MacAfee shifted uneasily. In the warmth of the hall, beads of sweat gleamed on his forehead. “I’ll ask this one more time, Mr. Goode. Either you come with us willingly, or we’ll be forced to arrest you.” “I am willing! Didn’t I just say I would answer your questions? But ask them now, where these good people can hear you. Or are you afraid of the whole world learning the truth?” He looked around at his followers. 

“My friends, you are my protection. I call on you to bear witness.” A man in the congregation rose to his feet and called out: “What are the police afraid of? Ask your questions so we can hear, too!” The crowd joined in. “Yes, ask now!” “Ask him here!” Benches creaked as the crowd grew agitated, as other men stood. The police officers glanced nervously around the room. “Then you refuse to cooperate?” MacAfee said. “I am cooperating. But if you’re here to ask about Kingdom Come, I can’t help you.” “You call this cooperation?” “I have no answers for you. Because I wasn’t witness to what happened.” “When were you last in Kingdom Come?” “It was October. When I left them, they were thriving. Well provisioned for winter. Already digging the foundations for six more houses. That was the last time I laid eyes on the valley.” He looked to his congregation for support. “Am I telling the truth? Is there anyone here who would contradict me?” Dozens of voices took up his defense. “The Prophet doesn’t lie!” Jeremiah looked at MacAfee. “I think you have your answer, Lieutenant.” “Not by a long shot,” MacAfee snapped. “Do you see, my friends?” Jeremiah said, gazing around at his followers. “How they profane God’s house with their army and their weapons?” He shook his head in pity. “This spectacle of force is a tactic of small men.” He smiled at MacAfee. 

“Has it worked for you, Lieutenant? Do you feel larger now?” This taunt was more than MacAfee could endure, and his spine stiffened at the challenge. “Jeremiah Goode, you are under arrest. And all these children are now in protective custody. They are to be escorted off this property, where buses are waiting for them.” A startled cry rose from the women, followed by a chorus of wails and sobs. The entire congregation surged to its feet in protest. In a matter of mere seconds, MacAfee had lost control of the room, and Jane saw officers’ hands drop to their weapons. Instinctively, she reached for her own as the fury swelled, as violence seemed just one spark away. “My friends! My friends!” Jeremiah called out. “Please, let us have peace.” He raised his arms and the room instantly hushed. “The world will know the truth soon enough,” he proclaimed. “They’ll see that we conducted ourselves with dignity and compassion. That when confronted by the brutal face of authority, we responded with grace and humility.” He released a deep and mournful sigh. “My friends, we have no choice but to obey. And I have no choice but to submit to their will. I ask only that you remember what you witnessed here today. The injustice, the cruelty of families wrenched apart.” He gazed upward, as though speaking directly to the heavens. Only then did Jane notice the congregant in the upper balcony, filming the entire speech. This is all on camera. The videotaped martyrdom of Jeremiah Goode. Once that footage was disseminated to the media, the whole world would know of this outrage against a peaceful community. “Remember, friends!” commanded Jeremiah. “Remember!” the congregation responded in unison. He descended the steps from the stage and walked calmly toward the waiting police officers. As he moved up the aisle, past his stunned followers, the sound of weeping filled the hall. Yet Jeremiah’s expression was not mournful; what Jane saw on his face was triumph. He had planned and orchestrated this confrontation, a scene that would be played and replayed on TVs across the country. The humble prophet walking with quiet dignity toward his tormentors. He’s won this round, she thought. Maybe he’s even won the war itself. How would a jury convict him when he was the one who looked like a victim? He came to a stop in front of MacAfee and raised his hands, meekly offering up his wrists to be cuffed. The symbolism could not be more blatant. MacAfee obliged, and the clack of the metal was shockingly loud. “Will you exterminate us all?” Jeremiah asked. “Give it a rest,” MacAfee retorted. “You know very well I had nothing to do with what happened in Kingdom Come.” 

“That’s what we’ll find out.” “Will you? I don’t think you want the truth. Because you’ve already chosen your villain.” Head held high, Jeremiah walked the gantlet of police officers. But as he neared the exit, he suddenly halted, his gaze riveted on Cathy Weiss. Slowly his lips curved into a smile of recognition. “Katie Sheldon,” he said softly. “You’ve come back to us.” Jane frowned at Cathy, whose face had gone frighteningly pale. “But you told me Katie Sheldon was your friend,” Jane said. Cathy didn’t seem to hear Jane, but kept her gaze on Jeremiah. “This time it ends,” Cathy said softly. “Ends?” He shook his head. “No, Katie, this only makes us stronger. In the eyes of the public, I’m a martyr.” He regarded her windblown hair, her haggard face, and the look he gave her was almost pitying. “I see the world has not been kind to you. What a shame you ever left us.” He smiled as he turned to leave. “But we must all move on.” “Jeremiah!” Cathy suddenly stepped behind him, her arms thrust out in front of her. Only then did Jane see what she was clutching in both hands. “Cathy, no!” yelled Jane. In an instant she had her own weapon out. “Drop it. Drop the gun, Cathy!” Jeremiah turned and calmly regarded the weapon that was now pointed at his chest. If he felt any fear at all, he did not show it. Through the pounding of her own heart, Jane heard gasps in the pews and frantic footsteps as the congregation scrambled for cover. She had no doubt that a dozen police weapons were now drawn and pointed as well. But Jane’s gaze stayed glued on Cathy. On the raw, wind-chapped hands now clutching the gun. Though any cop in that room could have fired on her, no one did. They all stood paralyzed by the prospect of taking down this young woman. We never imagined she’d be armed. Why would we? “Cathy, please,” Jane said quietly. She was standing closest to the woman. Almost close enough to reach out and take the gun, if only Cathy would hand it to her. “This doesn’t solve anything.” “But it does. This ends it.” “That’s what the courts are for.” “The courts?” Cathy’s laugh was bitter. “They won’t touch him. They never have.” Her grip tightened, and the barrel tilted higher, yet Jeremiah did not flinch. His gaze remained serene, almost amused. “You see, my friends?” he called out. “This is what we face. Irrational anger and hatred.” He gave a sad shake of the head and looked at Cathy. “I think it’s clear to everyone here that you need help, Katie. I feel only love for you. That’s all I’ve ever felt.” Once again, he turned to leave. “Love?” Cathy whispered. “Love?” Jane saw the tendons in Cathy’s wrist snap taut. Saw the woman’s fingers tighten, yet her own reflexes refused to kick in. Her hands froze around her weapon. The blast of Cathy’s gun sent a bullet flying...

~~~

There are so many ways writers and movie producers bring the ongoing battle between good and evil, but those that I have always been drawn to are those that balance joy, love and happiness on one side while the villain gets his justice... Tess Gerritsen and those involved with bringing her books to the screen with the series, Rizzoli & Isles, became one of those that I have chosen to enjoy often, mostly on television. So I was happy to have found this latest book which will have a follow up book with one of the same characters next...

I promise I did not know what this book was about! Yet, once again, an author writes about men of power who use their charisma, power...and...religion... to entice and retain a following... It's happened before. Still, I can't quite figure out exactly how, when sexuality becomes part of that situation, that, still, the followers stay...

Given the full-blown exposure and cries for information about Epstein and his ten-year friend, there are many seeking answers--True Answers... You know, folks, sometimes I find that fiction has become more...than...fiction... Are we seeking the answers of logic, compassion, love and friendship through books. Things that we can no longer depend upon in reality? I'm still pondering that within me. What I do know and have accepted, I do want good to win over evil. And if I can only find it in fiction, at least for now, then I'll continue to love and read writers like Tess Gerritsen! J.D.Robb! And all the others who I hashtag, mystery, thriller, romantic suspense, etc...

In this book Isles is the main character--Really! Jane is there toward the end, but so much happens before then, that we learn an entirely new side of Maura. Jane is now married! Yes! Never thought that would happen... and Maura is in a serious relationship about which both she and her lover are constantly happy and unhappy. So, after a difficult struggle of deciding on the future, Maura thankfully prepares and leaves for a medical conference...

So routine, that nothing is written about it. LOL Except that she reconnects with another doctor who she had earlier met at a conference and ultimately she joins a foursome to travel for a bit of relaxation...

Except they never got to wherever they were headed. They got lost and in trying to return, their vehicle slid  off the road--a private road which was posted no trespassing... which led to "Kingdom Come..."

When you're in danger, all rules are useless, and so they all packed up what they could and headed down that road into a small community of homes, which all looked the same, and which were all...empty... They had moved into the closest house and looked around. They found tables set with food on plates, as if they had just fled... evidence that somebody had been dragged... There was no explanation, no notes... But all of the garages had vehicles stored in them, ready to go...

They chose a jeep, first, to try to get up the sleek road, but not able to get traction, they began to push... And, one of the men, Arlo, got caught by his leg... They managed to get him back to the cabin. But everybody knew they needed to get Arlo to a doctor. Doug chose to attempt to walk out... He never returned...

In the meantime, Maura was designated to care for Arlo and she knew there was only one option to ensure he wouldn't die--amputate the leg... They had gone through all of the homes, gathered up as many medications as they could find and started Arlo on the strongest available... The wait was interminable, because, of course, they didn't know that Doug would not be coming back...

But then, strange things started to happen. A Face seen at a window... Animal noises? Arlo started to hallucinate, or was he, seeing people coming in to stare at him...

In desperation, Maura decided that she was the only one that could try a second time to get out. Arlo still needed care, so his friend would have to stay. The only other survivor was Doug's daughter who was too young to not remain sheltered... Maura started out and soon began to see tracks of Doug so she started following them.... Until somebody knocked her out, only to have her awaken and being dragged away...

As the book goes on and more people learned that there was a lost group of vacationers out on the hills, bits and pieces began to be shared... The community was headed by a man who was a religious leader who invited in all those who wished to join them... But then another explained that soon younger boys were kicked out and arrived in the nearby town seeking help and food... But one of those young boys was the one who pulled Maura to safety... It was then she learned that he had been forced out, because the "prophet" and older men wanted no competition from the males who had arrived... His mother agreed to have him turned away... And it was his sister who had last been chosen by the Prophet...

While many of us will automatically think of the Epstein case where teen females were molested by older men... But, it is the addition of a strongman, a man of authority, that places the emphasis exactly where it is right now. Was it not the evangelical group that supported the first election of the president. Yet knowing that the man was himself a criminal and more... And that's where the merge of reality and fiction comes directly into the light... How can we, at this time in the United States, differentiate truth from fiction... good from evil... Daily being bombarded by violence coming from all sides--real violence against people living in this state or that, invaded by men with guns and masks who grab people--men, women, and children...off the streets,  who often disappearing thereafter...

It's wonderful to become immersed in a story where we know that Jane and others will be coming to save Maura and others from evil... I need to have this type of ending, knowing that the rule of law is acting as it should, that the police, FBI and others will work to ensure that, especially the children, will be removed from the presence of such evil...

But now we are seeing that evil members are martyred by their followers...and you learn to ignore that even though the book ends with the good guys winning, there is a deep frustration, knowing that reality has become worse than anything we could ever read...

Only hope that the power of Love will survive moves us forward...

I work to choose how and when to share information... This particular book is scary... While it doesn't have a halloween theme, I wanted to kick off the month of scary stuff with this fantastic writer... More will follow... Yes, I know the background of this particular holiday. I also know that Santa has nothing to do with the Reason for the Season... Sometimes we live in a fantasy world, just for the fun of it. I believe that the world has come very far over the last 2000+ years... And, contrary to what is being attempted by the present administration, you just cannot lie and wash away the knowledge and information that has been brought forward... It's fun to dress up for kids. Personally I see no harm in doing so as long as we spend time talking about reality versus fiction to all. I grew up with Count Dracula, zombies and more, just like we have today... It never entered my mind to believe that anything I was doing was evil... Because I was not taught that there was evil in dressing up...

Keep it simple and when it arises, have a serious talk when it is appropriate to do so... Let me know if you disagree... Because I have a lot of books provided through Book Funnel coming... I strive to expose readers to all of the options that we have in life. Only YOU can choose what seems right for you...at...that... time! As long as you keep your mind active and open, you will begin to learn, to differentiate, and, also, discern what God has chosen for your personal path. 

GABixlerReviews

Michael A. Smith, Ongoing Contributor - Author, Historian, Public Theologian - Talks about Leading With Integrity--The Need of the Hour!

 

Leading with Integrity--

The Need of the Hour

Michael A. Smith

Historian | Author | Public Theologian

That adage—“Respect is earned, not demanded”—rings especially true in today’s political climate, where public trust is often fragile and hard-won. In an era saturated with self-promotion, sound bites, and performative rhetoric, the distinction between authority and respect has become more pronounced than ever.

Demanding vs. Demonstrating 

When political figures insist on respect—whether through titles, partisan loyalty, or appeals to personal legacy—they risk alienating constituents who value authenticity and accountability. Respect grows from consistent action, not self-congratulation. Voters respond more to leaders who listen, adapt, and serve than to those who assert their importance.


Erosion of Trust

The rise of hyper-partisan media and social platforms has amplified self-focused narratives. Politicians often speak at the public rather than with them, framing themselves as saviors or victims. This can erode trust, especially when promises go unmet or when empathy is replaced by ego.

Respect Through Service. 

Conversely, leaders who earn respect tend to do so quietly—through policies that uplift marginalized voices, through transparency in crisis, and through humility in success. Think of those who show up in disaster zones, who admit mistakes, or who elevate others rather than themselves. These actions resonate far more deeply than declarations of greatness.

A Civic Reminder: 

In a democracy, respect is a reciprocal relationship. Citizens also earn the respect of their leaders through engagement, critique, and care for the common good. The healthiest political cultures are built not on demands, but on mutual recognition and shared responsibility.

~~~

In one way or another, Michael Smith always shares powerfully on things that have become even more important to me--and others--under the present administration in government... Not only because I believe there is NONE of the words related to Integrity within those walls of the buildings now housing the republican party representatives in Washington...

But Michael's words took me back further... In writing my Open Memoir, I always begin at the point where I began to work when I was just 18. I was hired to represent the Office of Personnel as new hires began their jobs on campus. That is, I worked with them to discuss the policies and procedures as a new employee, to get them on the payroll, and to help them understand the benefits assigned to their new positions...

In this job, I became friendly with many people in departments across the campus and later, was the first clerical representative to be voted in to a new Staff Council. I had also been a member of a group that no longer exists these days--The National Secretaries Association, to work to improve the skills and integrity of secretarial positions. I allude to this background only to acknowledge that my background was always to support the role of integrity and excellent performance in any position I held... I believe that was instilled through my mother and my early church life...

You see, when Smith wrote his very first lines:

That adage—“Respect is earned, not demanded”—rings especially true in today’s political climate

I was immediately thrown back to the last years of working for the University where I had been employed for 37 years. 

These words I spoke, not exactly, but in emotional content, I said to my boss at that time, immediately after I have returned from a medical leave, which had been presented to me by my medical doctor--Either leave your job or die, or words to that effect. That day, I left his office and walked off the job, went to the Office of Personnel and sought a medical leave. It was immediately granted. I could proceed to write more, some of which I already have posted, but this is shared to confirm and support all that Michael Smith has talked about today.

When I was released by both medical and psychological doctors to return to work, I was not placed in my former position. You could possibly think it was because of retribution by a new boss who had been caught in a crisis situation, I imagine, and had to handle things in my absence. I was Acting Director of my office at that time... In just one situation that we must watch happening by the U.S. president during the last few months, I was chosen to ensure I would not be able to continue employment. It apparently was happening during my leave as well as when I returned when I was given a special project rather than returning to my position.

It might be relevant for readers at this point, to know that when I started in my first job, I was hired at one of the lowest level clerical positions in that office. Based upon my performance, I was referred for a position with the Provost--the second leader who reported to the University President. Later, when he chose to return to just his Director of Librarians position, I was gratified that he offered me a job in the Library, but that I also received a request to begin working with the Provost for Instruction...which I accrpted. Thereafter, when a new office was created for Facilities and Utilization, I was asked if I was interested... and continued to move upward as that new office expanded, until I was Acting Director of that office which was now called Facilities Planning and Management... Many organization and personnel changes occurred during those years, without any problems until a new level of Assistant VP position was added... That position had been vacated and the director of housing was promoted into the Assistant VP position. That new supervisor, never spent one minute with me at any time I continued as Acting Director. However, when I returned from the Medical Leave, apparently Personnel got involved and asked why I wasn't returned to my position when I had been cleared to return to work...

For the first time since I'd been back, my supervisor came to my office and explained that I needed to sign a form for Personnel. I read it and refused to sign it. That form stated that I had agreed to a demotion, or something to that effect. He looked at me in shock and said, "you won't sign it?" 

I said "No, it was you that decided that I would be put on this project." He fumbled and fumed and said, "Well I had a right to in my position..." I looked at him and said, "You may think you had a right to, and that might be true, but you don't have a right to my respect. Respect must be earned..." He walked out...

I think it is very important with a tyrant like the present president using the power of his position to disregard all established policies and procedures, and has been approved for some by the partisan Supreme Court, that we all remember that this man is no different than the man who chose to remove me from my position without authorization, without any type of discussion, and without approval by known policies and procedures...

Every single person everywhere has a right to be respected as the individual that they are as of the time you may meet them... It is what Jesus required of us... Though he used the word Love... which, as you know, is the overall guidance word for all that Smith showed us in his collage of words above... ALL of those words are guaranteed to us under the Constitution. Please do not ever think that, even the President, has a right to treat you as we, the citizens of America, have been treated since Day 1 of this administration. It is illegal, but, more, it means that no man can treat us as being better than any other person on God's Earth!

Thank you Michael A. Smith for presenting the many words of importance that each one of us must be sure that we use, expect, and, sometimes, demand, as I did when I was treated illegally under the policies and procedures of the University... By the way, I did file a legal suit, or rather, I had a lawyer attend a first meeting when I filed against the University to the Board of Regents... When she had sat through that meeting and we talked later, she was honest... "You have been taken advantage of too often and your workload has increased substantially, but the documentation you have would require so many hours for me to represent you, that you would not be able to afford it..." I chose to immediately file for retirement since I had sufficient years in employment in and walked out as soon as I knew that the University would not support the normal actions that were clearly written in policy... Never think you are alone, though... Help can be found, as long as you know what it is that you want to fight for... I chose not to fight because the administration then in office were similar, although not as bad, as it is in now in Washington. I immediately started working for a small publisher and then on to professional book reviews... As I look back, I'm glad I both stood up for myself and then chose to leave it all behind rather than to fight for something that I felt would not be worth it... We all have the right to make those decisions if we have acted in accordance with documented policies and procedures! You have the right to stand firm in integrity, leading others to know it is possible for them as well!

GABixlerReviews 

Pies & Promises: An MM Single Dad Romance by Duckie Mack

 

I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s not an easy job either.” I tried to keep the bite out of my voice. I always hated when people made assumptions about being home with the kids and how it was a lazy and easy option. It’s the hardest and best thing I’ve ever done.

"Happy is a good look on you. You should wear it more often."

~

He played it off like it was no big deal. “Gender identities and sexualities are not bad words. There’s no reason to hide who people are or who they love.” “Well, shit.” I was flabbergasted. My parents accepted me when I came out, they were supportive and invested in me and my partners or crushes, but I couldn’t fathom it being talked about so openly at such a young age. It was refreshing and unbelievably endearing.

~~

I waited a minute to see if it was merely a dream or if a kid was awake. Neither of us breathed. A moment later tiny footsteps thudded. My head fell back against the couch... Playtime for Daddy was over. I couldn’t be mad though, not when I heard Emily sniffling. I stood quickly and saw her standing at the doorway to the living room with her kitty hanging by one foot from her hand. Making my way around the couch, I crouched down in front of her. “What’s wrong, Lulu? Are you okay?” 

“There’s a monster in my closet.” She sniffled again. The scared, sad tone of her sleepy little voice about broke my heart. “It’s okay. Daddy’s here. I’ll make sure there’s no more monsters.” I was about to scoop her into my arms when she peeked around me. “Can Nico come too? He’s bigger.” I glanced back at him, asking him silently if he would mind. He rose and luckily it seemed the problem he was concealing with the pillow was gone. That was a shame. Well, not for the moment we found ourselves in now, but that the one just minutes ago was over. He crossed the room and I carried Emily. While we walked she held her hand out and Nico took it, forcing him to walk awkwardly through the hallway that was too narrow for us to be side by side. Still, the three of us were all connected, making my heart do weird flippity-flops. Once we were back in her room, I laid her in bed, tucking her in snugly. Nico made a big show of checking behind everything and moving clothes around. He even got into the closet as much as he could and announced that this room was off limits and under his protection, all while I sat on the edge of Emily’s bed admiring the scene. When he was done investigating he came to the other side of the bed and knelt beside it. “I think they’re all gone now and they won’t be coming back,” Nico said softly. Emily threw her little arms around his neck and hugged him. Nico froze for a moment before hugging her back. When he looked up at me, his eyes were misty... Why did he look so perfect holding my little girl? “Alright. Goodnight, Emily. Sleep well.” He pulled away and Emily laid her head on her pillow. I said goodnight and gave her one more kiss before we both quietly exited her room. As much as I hated to admit it, our night was over. We wouldn’t be returning to our heated passion. Maybe it wasn’t the happy ending I hoped it would be, but it was pretty dang perfect anyway. 

We stood in the kitchen, nearly chest to chest. Nico towered over me. Emily wasn’t wrong when she said he was bigger. He was. Much. I might have been bothered by how easily replaceable I was when it came to monster fighting, but if it helped her feel safe and comfortable, I would be glad to offer up that power to Nico. We both opened our mouths to speak at the same time. I indicated for him to go first. “I just wanted to thank you for trusting me with your family and inviting me in like this. Tonight meant a lot to me.” Nico’s tone was heartfelt and he blinked away the moisture gathering in the corner of his eyes. I grabbed his hands in mine and tilted my head to meet his gaze. Already, I pictured him in my home and in my family, but was it really fair of me to ask so much of him? “It meant a lot to me too. But now you see what my life is like. Those two are my world. I have little privacy or time to myself. Being with me isn’t easy and carefree. I can’t do something casual unless I keep it away from my kids, but that’s not something I want. I’d completely understand if this is too much. We only just met, you have no responsibility to take all of this on.” Nico placed a hand on the back of my neck, keeping me from retreating away from him. “I don’t want casual either, Jason. Been there, done that. I might have done it again, but it wouldn’t have been what I wanted. I’ve spent my fair share of time swiping through apps, but an easy one-nighter isn’t what I’m looking for. I want something real. And this”—he waved his hand at my house—“this feels like a dream in a way, but it feels like the kind of real I’ve been hoping for. So, if you want me in your world, I’m in.” “I want you.” The words squeezed past the lump in my throat, laced with so many needs. “And if you’re not looking for something easy, you came to the right place. It’s complicated as hell.” 

Nico smiled so bright it drew me towards it like a moth to a light. “Look at you and your dirty mouth. You better think up some nice things to say.” Nico bent down and kissed me, claiming my mouth with his. A nip on my lip, a sweep of his tongue. With one last soft brush of his lips, he pulled back, stopping things before we ended up in the same situation we were in before we got interrupted. “Thanks again. I’m going to go before it gets harder to leave.” Nico swiped my lip with his rough thumb. “Yeah. You should go. But if you find yourself feeling lonely later, I’ll have my phone nearby.” “I might take you up on that. Talk to you later, Pie Man.”

~~~

This is a fun book to read... Even when I began to question how the storyline moved forward.... After I finished it, I discovered that the book was written by a female... So I began to wonder... was it that a woman wrote a softer version of two men? Or are there really men out there who are as sensitive as are the two men who are main characters in this book? Frankly I haven't found many men who actually are like these two, lovable characters... Readers, let me know if you have thoughts either way... LOL I also had trouble finding music mentioned in the book, so I selected as best as I could find though they don't match descriptive words in the book... And a little note, in case you don't see them, like I didn't at first--the book splits first person between the two main characters. The only way you can tell is by looking for the name of the character at the beginning of each chapter, tucked into the pie pic at the top... Personally I get frustrated when I don't know who is talking...

Anyway, Jason is a divorced father of two delightful children. He and his wife met in college when both of them were dating the same guy... And one thing led to another. His wife had told him early on that she wanted to commit herself to a legal career and an agreement was made that he would be a stay-at-home Dad. When the marriage became more of a hassle than happy, they divorced and Jason retained custody.

Jason agreed to getting money for the kids, but his pride didn't allow for his not making it on his own for routine household expenses... Fortunately he had acquired a wonderful skill early in life--making pies! And he excelled at it, except not having an ongoing income, since he could sell on at local farmers' markets or similar venues...

Nico was also in the food business. His father owned Pops' restaurant and he'd been working there since his early years... So when his father had an unexpected medical situation, he called upon Nico to manage the restaurant... Readers will watch how finding the pie man and immediately "connecting" while at the same time, Nico began to think about helping to update and decided to start with testing out "pies" as a special on Sundays... And, as they say, the whole connecting story moved all the way into that final connection... Expect fun with trying to connect sexually... Or, in other words, the book gets explicit...

This book provided a great way to escape into a life where everything seems to be perfectly put together and happiness is having all involved people loving and supportive toward all... The characters created reflect a cozy family environment into which acceptance is given... with a happy-ever-after... At this time, it was wonderful to sink into pie man's life... where Nico seemed just waiting for the right person... I had to wonder, though, is this just a fantasy? If so, don't we all need to dream once in a while?

GABixlerReviews 

Morley Swingle Presents Choice of Evils: A Wyatt Blake Legal Thriller

 I didn’t deserve to lose, in my humble opinion. My misfortune was that “Bad Chad” Coburn, generally recognized as the most ferocious linebacker ever to play for the Denver Broncos, graduated from law school and moved to my rural district.  He started his campaign against me before he’d even passed the bar exam.  His name recognition proved impossible to overcome.  Two former Broncos quarterbacks even flew to Panorama Springs to speak at a fundraiser for him. a fundraiser for him.  Coburn’s yard signs bore the blue and orange of the Broncos.  To this day I can’t look at a Broncos jersey without feeling irritation.

An Ideal Client: The tabloids are calling him The Clifftop Killer. He spent less than two hours behind bars before bonding out.  He’s uber rich.  Those guys don’t stay in jail prior to trial unless a judge refuses to set any bond at all.  He hasn’t even been arraigned, but his case is already the top headline in three online tabloids.  I skimmed one and read the first paragraph of the others.  The story reeks of sex, adultery, and cold-blooded murder. They claim he killed his rock-climbing partner three weeks ago by cutting the rope, sending a man named Seth Bley hurtling to an awful death.  The Clifftop Killer is charged with first-degree murder, which means it was premeditated. 

He’s sitting in my waiting room right now. Ryker Brando showed up without an appointment.  He probably wants to hire me.  I need him as much as he needs me.  If all goes well, he’ll be the first person I ever defend against a murder charge.  Not that murder is new to me. I’ve tried plenty of murder cases, but always from the prosecution’s side.  I’ve never defended one. First time for everything, right? The Clifftop Killer? Seems like the tabloids could have done better. I haven’t read the stories close enough to know the details.  I’ll find out soon enough. If you live in Colorado, you might have heard of me.  My name is Wyatt Blake.  I’m thirty-five years old.  I practice law in Panorama Springs, a ski-resort town located on the Western Slope of the Rocky Mountains at an elevation of 9,995 feet.  There are 20,000 lawyers in Colorado, but 18,000 are crammed like litigious sardines in Denver and its suburbs.  That means the rest of us are scattered over the Rockies and plains.  I’m one of about 100 in Panorama Springs. I’m well-known in a big-frog-in-a-small-pond sort of way because I served a couple terms as the district attorney for these parts.  But my time as a public servant came to an abrupt end when a retired Denver Broncos linebacker beat me in my bid for re-election a few months back, even though he’d just graduated from law school and had never tried a case in his life.  Politics is all about name-recognition.  Sometimes that works in your favor; sometimes it doesn’t.  

I’m a defense lawyer now. I’ve been a criminal defense lawyer since January 1— four whole months.  Truth be told, I’m barely scraping by. I close the file on my computer.  I’ve been reading my late wife’s obituary.  I read it at least once a day.  I wrote it fifteen months ago.  Every word. I take the framed photo of my wife and daughter from its resting place next to my computer, glance at it, and slip it into a desk drawer. No need for an accused murderer to see I have a daughter.  Emily is six.  She’s the only true family I have left in this world, except for my estranged father, whom I haven’t seen in years.  I glance at her face one last time before closing the desk drawer.  I never kept a photo of either Tess or Emily on my desk when I worked at the prosecutor’s office.  Too many bad people sat in the chairs across from me, and some of their clients, too.  Just kidding, esteemed members of the defense bar.  Sort of. I keep the framed photo of Emily and her late mother next to my computer these days, but hide it in the drawer whenever I meet with a criminal defendant. A lawbreaker. A potential client. I don’t have enough of them. I head for my waiting room, where my secretary, Nikki Swank, is undoubtedly plying our soon-to-be client with coffee or Diet Coke and entertaining him with scintillating conversation.  Nikki can make anyone feel comfortable.  She’s a great conversationalist, and probably smarter than I am. Sure enough, when I enter the room, Ryker Brando holds a Diet Coke in his hand and is nodding at Nikki’s story about the one time she went rock climbing.  She fell twelve feet and landed on her cute derrière, but suffered no injuries other than hurt pride.  I’ve heard her tell the tale many times. But... For God’s sake, Nikki, don’t you know what he’s charged with?   Ryker Brando doesn’t seem to mind.  He’s not smiling, but he’s not frowning, either.  He’s listening intently to a pretty woman tell a story. It’s a small room.  The front end of our shotgun-style building contains only Nikki’s workstation, a set of file cabinets, a bookcase full of law books, a couch, and three chairs.  Paintings by Colorado artist Buffalo Kaplinski cover the walls.  He was my first client when I entered private practice.  I represented him free because I liked his name.  My tendency to take pro bono cases is one reason my bank account is perilously close to zero.  One of these days I’ll learn to say the word no. 

"Wyatt Blake,” I say, extending my hand. “Pleased to meet you.” My potential client stands.  He’s a fit man in his forties with a square face, a strong jaw, and unkempt blond bangs that touch his eyebrows.  He’s wearing a red, frayed North Face jacket, bluejeans, and hiking boots. “Ryker Brando.” He takes my hand and squeezes too hard. I don’t get the impression he’s doing it on purpose. “Come on back.” He glances at Nikki.  “I’ll take you rock climbing one of these days, if you’re interested,” he tells her. Does he realize the connotations of what he just said?  A man accused of murdering his rock-climbing partner during the climb has just invited my secretary to go up on a cliff with him?  Alone? She smiles. “Once was enough for me, but thanks.” Her smile is genuine.  I wonder if she’s seen the online stories.  Probably not.  We haven’t talked about them, and she wouldn’t have had time to read about his case after he showed up unannounced. I recognized his name, though, the moment I heard it. Ryker Brando. You don’t meet too many people with a name like that. I wonder if he’s related to the actor. Maybe a grandson?  Great-grandson? Might be. Lots of Hollywood types have bought places in Panorama Springs during the past decade.  Jake Turner was the first.  Scores have followed.  Next to Telluride, we’re the most popular ski resort town on the Western Slope.  We’re cheaper, too.  Fewer billionaires. I stand at the door to my inner sanctum and usher him inside.  Behind him, Nikki is waving at me, beyond his line of vision.  She’s holding up a document.  It’s our health insurance bill.  The payment is overdue.  She’s reminding me how desperately we need a fat retainer. I get the message. I’m on it. I close the door. “Have a seat.” I settle in the tall chair behind my desk. He sits on one of the two wooden chairs in front of it. 

He leans forward. “I didn’t murder Seth,” he says. He stares at me, awaiting a response.  I lean back in my chair.  He’s definitely getting right to the point. “Not on purpose, anyway,” he adds. His face is ruggedly boyish and completely inscrutable.  He is perching on the front edge of the antique chair as if afraid he’ll break it.  It will hold him.  I bought it from a lawyer’s estate sale.  It’s held bigger butts than his, no doubt. He’s remarkably calm for a man charged with murder. Unsettlingly so. “I heard about your case,” I say. “Who hasn’t?  Makes a great headline—DENVER MILLIONAIRE KILLS BUSINESS PARTNER WHILE ROCK CLIMBING.” “Where’d they get the nickname?” “The Clifftop Killer?” “Yeah.” “Seth fell from the top of a cliff.” Ryker Brando omitted a key fact. “You cut the rope, right?” “I cut it.” I see no trace of remorse. This guy killed his best friend. You’d think he’d be racked with grief and guilt. 

“It was an accident.  I told the sheriff the whole story, but he didn’t believe me.” “Cops are untrusting souls,” I say, tapping my pen on a yellow legal pad while looking into his intense gray eyes.

~~~

At this time in our lives, many are finding it hard to accept any type of prejudice against one another. Even in a character. Interestingly in Choice of Evils, it is both a character as well as the author of the book who reveals a lack of sensitivity to many who know people with an identified problem... Yet he used it not to inform, but to ridicule... I couldn't help but remember the face of another man who chose this path. And, frankly, I was offended so much that it affected my opinion of the author, sadly...

As a lover of books, especially legal thrillers, I was very much impressed with the overall book, characters, other than the one I identify. The case itself, Choice of Evils, was an excellent choice for the beginning of a new series. It would be relatively unknown to the average reader, but sufficiently unique to pull attention to just how much the legal structure and its historical wealth of "possibilities" had been documented and able to be used as a basis for a new, similar situation.

Wyatt Blake was "elected" from his office as a prosecutor, when politics got into the middle of the legal system. A Senator had chosen a former athlete to mentor, knowing that his name value would be sure to garner votes--we have seen this type of activity played out during the last decade where, even the presidential, and other elected position, candidates came from name notoriety... And we've seen that their notoriety is often insufficient to declare them actually qualified to do the job... But Blake was now out of a job, so chose to go to the "dark" side rather than not continue in law...

He became a Defense Lawyer and was slowly redoing his skill expertise to take on those individuals who, by law, were to be defended to the best of his ability.

Blake immediately worried about the extremely rich man who had walked into his office, unannounced, but with a referral to hire Black to defend his case. He was accused of killing his partner...

It is not possible to share much about the case so that I do not give away any part of the events to follow. Other than to say that, for me, I picked up only "one" clue that put me on the alert... Because, Blake was immediately frustrated with this possible new client, but who he needed to accept as a client, purely because of his financial condition which his staff often reminded him about...

You see, the possible defendant presented one of the many possible effects of Asperger's: social difficulties resulting in an even level (monotone) of voice use--little, if any, empathy... The character was made to present as such, along with other effects, which were difficult for Blake to deal with. In other words, he reacted negatively to the individual and they both knew that he didn't like the client. Yet the amount of money offered could not be passed up and, Blake knew that, even if he didn't like him, he was the type of lawyer that still would work to win his case, if at all possible.

But that was not enough for the writer. He wanted to give a big ending--which he did. Perhaps he thought this would be rectified in future books, which I will not be reading... Yes, I am an individual who once loved a young man with Asperger's, who committed suicide... because he couldn't handle his life...

And just like many felt when the president made fun of an individual with a disability, I was disheartened that somebody chose to use a disabled individual as was done in this book. Many writers create characters to inform and introduce people with disabilities into their stories. I have appreciated those authors. I found the author's use of the legal history as was done, a firm example of just how we are losing the rule of law in America right now! We are making a mockery of the law... through lies that nobody will acknowledge as lies... 

However, my ranking is only one point lower in giving my personal opinion. If you decide to read, let me know what you think, but, just like I wouldn't ban a book that bothered me, I wouldn't not recognize the effectiveness of the story for the majority of the book.

GABixlerReviews

“My favorite part was his low opinion of prosecutors,” she says.  She opens the book, finds the page, and reads aloud: “A prosecutor hopes and expects to be a judge, and after that he will aspire to be governor, then senator, and President, in their regular turn. To accomplish this noble ambition, he must in each position give the people what they want, and more; and there are no rungs in the ladder of fame upon which lawyers can plant their feet like the dead bodies of their victims.”

Thanks to Harold Michael Harvey, Ongoing Legal Contributor, for Giving Us Important Update in Georgia Election Case

 

How Money and Sex Derailed the Trump Prosecution in Georgia

Harold Michael Harvey

Photo by Marcelo Chagas on Pexels.com

In the annals of prosecutorial missteps, few have unraveled with the operatic flair of Fulton County District Attorney Fani Willis’s fall from the Trump case. What began as a historic indictment—charging Donald Trump and 18 others with racketeering for their alleged efforts to overturn Georgia’s 2020 election results—has now been eclipsed by a scandal of intimacy, impropriety, and institutional consequence.

This is the story of how romance, salary, and scandal collided to derail one of the most consequential prosecutions in Georgia’s history.

Willis appointed attorney Nathan Wade as special prosecutor in the Trump case, a move that drew scrutiny not for his legal acumen, but for the compensation he received. Wade was paid hundreds of thousands of dollars in public funds—money that, according to court filings, helped finance lavish trips he took with Willis to Napa Valley, Aruba, and beyond.

The optics were damning. Wade’s invoices, Willis’s reimbursements (often in cash), and the lack of clear financial boundaries between the two raised questions not only of ethics but also of legality. Defense attorneys argued that the relationship created a conflict of interest, undermining the integrity of the prosecution.

The relationship between Willis and Wade became public after Trump co-defendant Michael Roman filed a motion alleging misconduct. What followed was a courtroom drama that rivaled the case itself. Willis testified that the romance began after Wade’s appointment and that she paid her share of expenses. But the damage was done.

Judge Scott McAfee ruled that Willis had shown a “tremendous lapse in judgment” and that the appearance of impropriety was too great to ignore. The Georgia Court of Appeals agreed, and in a rare move, disqualified Willis and her entire office from the case. The Georgia Supreme Court upheld that decision, effectively ending her role in the prosecution.

With Willis removed, the case now rests in the hands of the Prosecuting Attorneys Council of Georgia, which must appoint a new prosecutor to determine its fate. Trump’s legal team celebrated the ruling, calling it a victory against “lawfare persecutions.” Willis, for her part, expressed disappointment but vowed to cooperate with the transition.

In the Georgia case, Trump was practically caught red-handed with his hands in the cookie jar. The defeated President is heard on audio tape asking the Georgia Secretary of State to find him one more vote needed to change the 2020 winner in Georgia from Joe Biden to him. This case could have proceeded to trial before the 2024 Presidential election, and a conviction on the racketeering charges brought by Willis would have made Trump ineligible to hold the office of President and potentially prevented the constitutional crisis facing the country during Trump’s second term as President.

The scandal has not only derailed the prosecution, but it has also reshaped the political landscape. Willis, once seen as a rising star, now faces reputational damage that may be difficult to repair. The case itself, once a symbol of accountability, now risks becoming a cautionary tale of ambition undone by personal entanglement.

This isn’t just about money or sex. It’s about the fragility of public trust. When the pursuit of justice becomes entangled with personal gain, even the most righteous cases can falter. Willis’s downfall is a reminder that integrity is not just a legal requirement—it’s a moral imperative. That Black girl magic notwithstanding.

Ultimately, the Trump prosecution in Georgia may still proceed. But it will do so without the woman who once stood at its helm, undone not by political pressure or legal complexity, but by the choices she made behind closed doors.

~~~

I was thankful to Michael for writing this story. The issue in Georgia had floated in an out of my mind ever since it happened... But I wasn't surprised with what then actually occurred... 

Of course, with all of the conspiracy activities headed by Rudy Giuliani, I even wondered if this was another of the schemes that was arranged and blown up into reality by Giuliani. We all remember how he lied about two election workers! At least a court judgment has given them both a settlement from that individual  even though it will never be the same for these two women of our Black community...

Fani chose personal arrangements, while refusing to acknowledge that her relationship with a peer in her office, was bound to lead to disaster. What a waste of talent. Anybody who watched the news during this time could clearly see that she was not only qualified, but also had the guts to go up against DJT... We will probably never know her personal story unless she writes a book about it. But "Pride goeth before a fall" comes to mind... I'm saddened that, once again, a sexual scandal has affected a legal matter, while, daily, we see the Republican Administration doing everything they can to blame their opposing party, when in reality, more laws have been broken by the president himself than have EVER been not only performed, but APPROVED, by our highest court by their own action! 

I can understand the Georgia fiasco, MUCH BETTER THAN I CAN THE SUPEREME COURT SITUATION!

We MUST listen to those who are working to stop the madness now being spewed across our national... President Barack Obama adds his words to Michael... We MUST work to ensure that ALL God's people are remembered as OUR neighbors!