I’ve spent most of my adult life wearing a uniform. For years, I stood in the U.S. Capitol to protect lawmakers, staffers, and the very institution of American democracy. On January 6th, 2021, that oath was tested in a way I could never have imagined. And ever since that day, I’ve carried the weight of what I saw—what I lived—on my back.
I’m not afraid of Donald Trump. Not today. Not ever. Subscribe to support my work:
So when I took the stage at the “Remove the Regime” rally in Washington, D.C., I wasn’t speaking as a pundit, a politician, or some cable-news personality. I was speaking as a man who was beaten, spit on, and threatened because a mob was lied to. I was speaking as someone who watched my fellow officers fight for their lives. I was speaking as someone who knows what it looks like when democracy actually comes under attack.
And I was tired—tired, but not defeated.
People ask me why I keep protesting. Why I keep speaking. Why I keep putting myself back in the middle of the fight.
The truth is: I’m sick of it.
I’m sick of having to be out here every weekend.
I’m sick of watching leaders—people who swore the same oath I did—pretend nothing happened.
And I’m sick of watching Donald Trump and his enablers try to worm their way back into power while too many in positions of authority shrug and say, “Well, let the voters decide.”
We did decide.
And now we need accountability.
When I took the microphone, I didn’t plan some polished speech. What came out of me came from anger, exhaustion, and a deep, unshakable love for this country. If the words sounded harsh, it’s because the truth is harsh.
I said what I said.
And let me be clear: my anger is not about partisanship. It’s about protection—of our Constitution, our democracy, our future. The highest court in the land has a responsibility to defend the country from lawlessness and authoritarianism. When the Court becomes a shield for corruption instead of a guardrail for democracy, it betrays the very people it exists to serve.
I’m not interested in polite euphemisms. I’m interested in the survival of this republic.
I watched members of Congress on January 6th run for their lives—some of the same people who now minimize or deny the violence that nearly killed officers like me. And I watched others, who knew exactly what happened, still find excuses not to act.
We shouldn’t have to beg Congress to defend democracy.
We shouldn’t have to plead with our elected officials to impeach, convict, and permanently remove a man who has already shown contempt for the rule of law.
We shouldn’t have to beg them to “do the right thing.”
And yet here we are.
Some people asked why I repeated that call from the stage: impeachment, conviction, removal.
It’s simple:
Donald Trump remains a threat to democracy because powerful people refuse to hold him accountable.
We cannot outrun accountability.
We cannot “move on.”
We cannot pretend this is normal.
If anything, what we saw in D.C. this weekend proves that Americans will stand up—even when their leaders won’t.
Despite everything—the fatigue, the frustration, the anger—I looked out at the crowd in Washington and felt something I haven’t felt in a long time: hope.
People showed up.
People raised their voices.
People demanded action.
Democracy doesn’t survive on autopilot. It survives because ordinary citizens refuse to let it die.
And that’s what I wanted to tell everyone on that stage:
Keep showing up. Keep fighting. Keep pushing. Because the people in power won’t act unless we make them.
I’m not the hero of this story. The real heroes are the people who refuse to give up on this country—even when the institutions designed to protect it seem ready to abandon their responsibility.
I will keep speaking, marching, and standing with them—not because I enjoy it, but because I know what happens when we don’t.
I’ll keep showing up because, on January 6th, our enemies showed us exactly what they’re willing to do.
And until every single person responsible for that attack is held accountable—yes, including Donald Trump—I won’t stop.
Not now. Not ever.
