If you are reading this and you stood up to mandated untested gene therapies thrust on us by a shamelessly corrupt political and bureaucratic class in the world’s most oppressive and successful psychological operation, congrats are in order. You made the cut, you are part of the dream team.
One doesn’t just wake up and decide to stand up to Goliath. It takes time, good leadership, and a strong moral compass. How did you make the journey here? Tell me in the comments or send me an email. You can reach me at jameserdman@libertylad.com.
Here is my story…
Over the last few years, my wife told me on more than one occasion, that I had changed. Initially I denied her accusation, but I was wrong. I am sure my denials were frustrating. In general, living with a refusnik is a frustrating thing. Living with me is a frustrating and annoying thing. I am moody and possessive of my alone time. Denials or not, she knows what she knows and isn’t afraid to say what she thinks. God sent her to me and I am grateful; she is a compliment to my strengths … and weaknesses.
My core values remain the same, but I am a different man.
Growing up in the Cleveland and Detroit, one can’t help but absorb some liberal tendencies. Most of the friends I had in high school grew up to be progressive liberals. As a young adult, I was willing to over look the failures of liberal ideologies, sometimes even agree with a few of their causes, but I have never been a progressive liberal. Truthfully, it wasn’t until later in life that I even considered the implication of ideologies. The people around me were just friends, acquaintances, and fellow human beings.
They weren’t my liberal friends, acquaintances, and fellow human beings.
Our differences weren’t the focus of our relationship; we were friends because we had shared values. We cared about the underdog, the underserved, the underprivileged, and those who can’t defend themselves. A few are still my friends, but most of them are no longer in my life in any meaningful way. Like all young people, I was looking for something more… I just didn’t recognize it at the time.
My time in the military was formative.
I was surrounded by men who came from every socioeconomic background. We had a number of enlisted college grads, one Harvard drop-out, and a few who spent considerable time in the private sector before raising their right hand to serve. I had already attended college and dropped out to join. Some of my closest friends never attended college, and I came to discover that they were far better read than I. They were more worldly, wise, and capable, even though my education should have offered a counter narrative.
Contrary to popular belief, the military is not a dumping ground for men who couldn’t make it in the real world, because they were predisposed towards violent, anti-social, testosterone-driven uber male competitiveness.
Most were looking to improve themselves, regardless of their background. Some, like myself, romanticized service for a greater good. Others, were looking for structure, direction, and discipline. There is no bad reason to join, as long as you commit to completing your obligation and work hard to meet expectations.
These people are my closest friends three decades and a number of educational, professional, and personal experiences later.
Why?
They too believed we must protect the underdog, the underserved, and the underprivileged. They didn’t just talk about it, imagine what was possible, or preach from an unearned sense of magnanimity. They considered it a duty and were ready to act to defend American values with American blood. As a young man, it’s hard to understate the seductive attraction of being seen as a defender of others, a warrior in service of a higher purpose, and a hero. The uniform was like a cape and mask, and as soon I put it on… I was the hero, the image of a man I most wanted people to see.
Still… I felt like a fraud.
I met standard, and occasionally exceeded standards, but I knew I was never going to be like some of the Rangers with whom I served. If their uniform was a mask and cape, they wore theirs like a second skin, like it was part of their body. I was comfortable in camouflage and body armor, but I hadn’t yet found the best fitting uniform.
I jumped into academia and transferred to the National Guard, but 9/11 changed those plans. I found my way back into government service and that outfit was more comfortable than BDUs and a patrol cap. Then I met my wife and it seemed like I had finally found the right balance. We had shared values and goals. I was serving my nation, and I had found myself surrounded by people who were willing to act in defense of American values and among whom, service was a calling.
My wife and I are a team. The team that most matters. We love travel and little adventures to far flung places. After we met, life was good, really good. Then we had a little boy, a sensitive, funny, intuitive little person… Life got even better.
I had my dream team, and that is when I changed.
In 2016, when he was born and I was a month shy of my 44th birthday, the world seemed less safe, less fair, and more dangerous. I had never previously been a worrier, but I found myself concerned about things that were objectively out of my control. I suppose all parents feel the same need to be protective, but instead of running head long into the world, as I had been doing for the decade prior with my wife, I found myself more suspicious of those outside my little circle of trust.
I didn’t know it at the time, but my relationship with God was changing. I always believed, but when I was young I wasn’t much of a church-goer. I never prayed. There was even a time as a young adult where I described myself as agnostic. My wife was very clear about faith from the very beginning; she expected me to attend church with her, and our child would be raised Catholic. There was no argument on my end.
When my wife was pregnant, we made a number of pilgrimages to Israel to seek blessings for our unborn son and returned after he was born… for good measure. My son was baptized in the Jordan river.
At about five months old, we took Biagio James to Beirut, but admittedly… despite grand plans to see a number of religiously significant locales, the city was not infant or stroller friendly.
We arranged a blessing ceremony for him at St. John’s Co-cathedral in Valletta, Malta presided over by the Archbishop Charles Jude Scicluna.
Before Biagio was born, my wife made sure I was enriched spiritually without me really knowing what she was doing. Maybe it wasn’t really a conscious effort on her part, or maybe it was something intrinsically feminine, instinctual and intuitive, a delicate manipulation beyond the reach of the typical male mind. Maybe it was voodoo magic, I don’t know. Maybe God guided her. She was graceful beyond words and my dull male senses only recognized it long after she had accomplished her task.
We attended Catholic services at the Embassy of the Holy See … In Islamabad, Pakistan. We backpacked from Damascus to Aleppo just before the war broke out in 2010, visiting numerous sites of religious importance to Christians and Muslims.
She planned our trip to Nagasaki and Goto island in Japan, where hidden churches told the story of 26 Catholic Martyrs crucified by the order of Toyotomi Hideyoshi in 1597.
We even visited the voodoo market in Togo, where Christian beliefs were interwoven with traditional west African beliefs. My wife made sure faith was something I could experience. She could have picked up a trinket here without me knowing… voodoo magic…
The thing is… I found it easier to believe in fire, sulfur, and brimstone than a belief in salvation. I understood sin. Every time I told my son to be a good boy, I found myself asking if I had been… a good boy. I still have trouble with the whole transubstantiation thing and heaven is really hard to imagine, but Hell seemed like something I could understand.
Since 2020, there are a lot of people interested in making space for the abode of the damned right here on sweet mother earth.
Bret Weinstein’s short clip talked about how RFK Jr. said that there are things worse than death. It was as profound as Bret described. I was there when RFK Jr. spoke to that crowd in Graceland. There are things worse than death. There’s regret and inaction in the face of adversity. There’s standing by and watching while evil men do evil things. Silence in the face of evil will hollow one’s soul.
When COVID hit and our lives were turned upside down. I recognized it for what it was. It was evil and we were under attack. Nothing felt like a choice. I wasn’t putting on a uniform, a mask and cape. I felt compelled. I am still not sure, but I think that must be what happens when faith gets integrated into a mature sense of self. God never spoke to me in any literal sense, but maybe the Word of God isn’t speech.
By the word of the Lord the heavens were made, and by his mouth all their host.
Maybe the only real conversation with God is when you are moved to action. I don’t know, but St. Michael is my spirit animal and I like to think he would agree.
What kind of man doesn’t protect his family? His community? Objectively, if we had remained silent, the wholesome places, the home we knew growing up would have been inextricably changed for our sons and daughters. I am different because my faith is no longer superficial outerwear.
I am grateful for the people who stood up besides me and others. I am grateful for my childhood, my experiences, friends, and mentors that taught me to be brave. I am most grateful to my wife for sharing her faith and helping me to choose to be a better man in the eyes of God.
Note: I recently added the picture from the Voodoo market in Lome, Togo. At the time of publishing, I couldn’t locate where I had saved the photo. Enjoy!
"There are things worse than death. There’s regret and inaction in the face of adversity."
This absolutely. I have a hard time living in the present. I'm always strategizing and planning for the future and I just couldn't imagine a future where my kids, grandkids, and beyond don't have a choice about they inject into their bodies. Fuhgeddaboudit. Not happening. I'll fight on whatever front I must to prevent that kind of future from becoming reality for them.
I was working in healthcare (not with patients) and just..... didn't buy in to it. The company I worked for had recently mandated flu shots for the first time since I had worked there (season before covid vax), and I couldn't understand why they'd force it on remote workers like my employee, or admin staff like myself. We were never going to see patients, so how can you force us to get a flu shot? Especially when we're healthy and capable of dealing with the flu? I asked what I could do to not get it, and was told it was better to just go along because they "look" at who has asked for an exemption. So, begrudgingly, I complied. If my employees went ahead and did it, I would too.
But this simply offended me. How could my employer force a medical treatment on employees?! Why didn't anyone stand up and say no? Why does it taint me to not want a flu shot, something I never got before? None of it made sense until after, when an HR person told me they just wanted to see who would refuse. They were culling us before the covid vaccines were available, in my opinion.
So now? Never again. I see through the bullshit and will not comply again. I refused the covid mandate from a national lab and lost a management job because of it. I moved on to better pastures, for sure, but will never forget.