There is a presidential election coming in 2028.
You may think that sounds premature. It isn’t.
The race doesn’t begin when candidates announce. It begins when alliances form, when donors make quiet commitments, and when organizations decide who will be lifted up — and who will quietly be squeezed out.
I watched Secretary of State Marco Rubio speak in Munich last week. It was a strong speech. Confident. Clear. Grounded in America’s historic alliance with Western Europe. He looked like a man comfortable on the world stage. A man wanting to prove he belongs on the world stage.
And I found myself asking a larger question.
When Donald Trump leaves the stage, who stands there next — and who stands behind them?
For the first time in a long time, the Republican Party has a deep bench. JD Vance. Marco Rubio. Glenn Youngkin. Vivek Ramaswamy. Each brings talent. Each brings ambition. Each brings potential.
But potential is not the same thing as independence.
Donald Trump disrupted something in 2016. Whatever one thinks of his style, he walked into politics with his own resources and his own agenda. The traditional donor class did not build him. They did not fund him into existence. In many ways, they were left on the outside looking in.
And that sent a message.
For decades, Americans have watched candidates promise reform and then govern with altogether different priorities. Priorities influenced by the financial ecosystem that carried them to power. Large donors write large checks. Large donors expect access. Access brings influence. Influence brings policy.
That pattern is not new. It is woven into modern politics.
Trump challenged that pattern. Not perfectly. Not without resistance. But he challenged it.
The question now is whether that disruption becomes the new normal — or whether it was simply an exception.
Will the Republican Party allow a fully contested primary in 2028? Or will organizations and power brokers quietly consolidate behind one heir apparent before voters have truly weighed their options?
We have seen what happens when parties bypass robust primaries. Voters notice. Voters resent it. And often, voters respond.
I like JD Vance. I respect Marco Rubio. I admire Glenn Youngkin’s record in Virginia. Vivek Ramaswamy has undeniable energy. But admiration is not the issue.
The issue is allegiance.
If America First was more than a slogan — if it was a governing philosophy — then who carries it forward? And can they carry it forward without becoming indebted to the very structures that resisted it?
Because here is what many Americans understand instinctively: money in politics is never neutral.
Campaigns are expensive. Media is expensive. National organization is expensive. Unless a candidate arrives with extraordinary personal wealth, they must raise funds. And when funds are raised, relationships are formed. When relationships are formed, expectations follow.
That is not cynicism. That is reality.
For years, many of us have spoken about what is often called the “deep state” — the permanent bureaucracy, the consultant class, the professional political operatives who remain while elected officials come and go. Those structures do not disappear. They adapt. They wait.
And they prefer predictability.
Disruptors are tolerated only temporarily. Systems prefer stability. Systems prefer familiarity. Systems prefer candidates who understand how things are “supposed” to work.
So I ask again:
When Donald Trump exits the stage, does the system quietly reset?
Will the next president be chosen by voters — or shaped long before by donors, consultants, and institutional power?
These are not accusations. They are questions. And they are questions worth asking early.
The 2028 election will not simply be about personality. It will not simply be about messaging. It will be about whether the political and financial architecture that defined Washington for decades reasserts itself fully.
If the Republican Party believes in competition, then let there be competition. Let the candidates debate. Let them challenge each other. Let them prove not only their talent, but their independence.
Because voters are not naïve.
They know that campaign money flows somewhere. They know that influence follows money. And they know that governing courage is rare.
Donald Trump was, in many ways, an anomaly. The exception. The disruption.
The next election will tell us whether that disruption changed the system — or whether the system was merely waiting its turn.
Who will lead?
More importantly — who will own the leader?
Answering that question begins now.
No Loss for Words 
AMERICA AT A CROSSROADS
by Steve DanaCHRISTIAN, NOT A QUAKER
American Culture Was Overwhelmingly Christian
The colonies were populated primarily by people shaped by various Christian traditions:
The founders largely assumed the population would remain culturally Christian. They did not envision: A religious vacuum or a fully secular society as we understand it today. They assumed a religiously informed moral culture, even if they disagreed on doctrine.
The Real Conflict Was Among Christian Denominations. The issue wasn’t: “Should we be Christian or something else?” It was: “Which version of Christianity gets to be in charge?”
Different colonies had already experienced:
So the founders had seen firsthand what happens when: government hooked up with a specific denomination created conflict.
It Wasn’t “Judeo vs Christian”. The founders were not choosing between Judaism and Christianity. Instead, they were operating in a world influenced by: Biblical tradition (Old + New Testament), Natural law philosophy, Enlightenment thought.
When we say “Judeo-Christian values” today, we’re using a modern label. They wouldn’t have framed it that way.
In spite of their largely Christian representation, they did not assume only Christianity would exist. Some founders—especially James Madison and Thomas Jefferson explicitly supported religious pluralism and protection for minority faiths.
Even at the time, America included Jews, Deists, Catholics(often distrusted) and Non-religious thinkers. So the idea wasn’t “Everyone will be Christian forever”. It was closer to “Government should not control religion and Religion should not control government.”
What “No State Religion” Really Meant.
The First Amendment does two things:
1. No establishment → The government cannot create or favor a national church
2. Free exercise → Individuals can practice their faith freely
This was a structural decision, not just a theological one.
The founders believed: Faith is stronger when it is chosen—not enforced.
Even though they rejected a state religion, the founders still believed religion (especially Christianity) would continue to shape character, behavior and public virtue. In other words, they separated church and state… but not morality and society.
That’s a powerful distinction.
The founders built a system that depends on a moral culture… while refusing to enforce that culture through government.
That creates a built-in tension:
The problem is, the culture doesn’t always remain strong; didn’t remain strong.
A Sharper Way to Say It
Instead of saying: “They assumed everyone would be Christian”
I might say: “They rejected a government-enforced religion not because faith didn’t matter—but because they believed faith was too important to be controlled by government. They assumed the moral framework shaped by Christianity would continue to live in the people, not in the state.”
That’s historically stronger—and rhetorically more effective.
Assuming the founders’ expectations about culture can simply be restored by argument alone. They lived in a time where religion was embedded in daily life, communities reinforced shared norms and Institutions aligned with moral teaching.
Today’s environment is very different, so the challenge isn’t just “Return to what they believed”, it’s “How do you sustain a moral culture without state enforcement in a pluralistic society?”
That’s the modern problem.
The founders were dealing primarily with conflicts among Christian denominations. They rejected a state religion to avoid coercion and conflict. They still assumed a shared moral culture shaped by religion. They did not intend government to enforce belief. The system depends on internal virtue, not external force.
PART 2.0
A LARGELY CHRISTIAN COUNTRY DEALS WITH CONFLICTING CULTURE – ISLAM
Now comes the introduction of large numbers of Muslim immigrants. Not one at a time. Not in a way that naturally blends into an existing culture. But in numbers large enough to stand apart. And that matters. Because this is not happening in the America the founders knew. It is happening in an America that is already struggling to remember who it is.
For generations, this country was shaped—quietly, imperfectly, but unmistakably—by a Christian moral framework. It lived in our homes, our schools, our communities. It wasn’t enforced by government, but it was reinforced by culture.
That framework is fading. And as it fades, something else is happening at the same time. We are importing people from cultures that do not share the same assumptions about freedom, law, and the role of religion in public life—while, at the same time, loosening any expectation that they should adopt ours. That is not diversity. That is drift. And drift, left unchecked, becomes division.
Now layer on a harder truth. This did not happen by accident.
Policy decisions—made by leaders entrusted with protecting the integrity of the nation—have allowed hundreds of thousands of people to enter this country with minimal vetting. Not just criminal vetting. Cultural vetting. Civic vetting. The kind of vetting that asks a simple question: Are you coming here to become part of this system… or to live apart from it?
That question has not been asked often enough. And when it isn’t asked, it gets answered anyway—just not on our terms. Let’s be clear about something. Many immigrants come here for the right reasons. They want freedom. Opportunity. Stability. They work hard. They contribute. They assimilate. They strengthen the country. But immigration at scale is not defined by its best examples. It is defined by its overall impact.
Islam, in many parts of the world, is not just a religion—it is a governing structure. In some interpretations, it does not separate faith from law. In some expressions, it does not recognize the authority of a secular state over religious obligation.
And in its most extreme form, it has declared open hostility toward the very freedoms that define this country. That doesn’t describe everyone. But it doesn’t have to. When large groups settle together, they don’t have to change. They can sustain themselves. Reinforce themselves. Teach the next generation not how to become American—but how to remain something else.
That is where the tension begins. Because the American system does not run on laws alone. It runs on agreement.
If that agreement weakens, the system strains. If it breaks, the system fails.
So what do we do? We can demand assimilation—not the abandonment of faith, but the acceptance of a civic framework where the Constitution is the final authority. We can continue pretending that all cultures will naturally align over time. Or we can talk about more drastic measures—like deportation.
But deportation is not a slogan. It is a reality with consequences. Who decides? Based on what standard? And how do we enforce it without tearing at the very liberties we claim to defend?
There are no easy answers. But there is a hard truth. A nation that no longer teaches its own values cannot expect newcomers to adopt them. And a country that loses confidence in its identity will not be saved by policy alone. Because in the end, the greatest threat may not be what is coming across the border. It may be what is quietly disappearing within it. And that… is a problem no law can fix.
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