“We’re told to say ‘energy resilience,’” one staffer said wryly, “but only if we mean oil.”
The sabotage wasn’t subtle. It didn’t have to be.
Take the case of Mona Alvarez in Ohio, a mother of two who spent April trying to reinstate her son’s Medicaid coverage. Davion has epilepsy. His therapy appointments were cut off without warning after a funding freeze paused grants to programs still under review. When the White House reversed the freeze weeks later, many families remained in limbo—trapped between procedural changes and new eligibility standards wrapped in words like “efficiency” and “accountability.”
“They said it was just paperwork,” Mona said. “But they weren’t the ones watching their kid lose treatment.”
“They’re not changing the law. They’re changing the climate.”
In courtrooms, lawsuits multiplied. Civil rights groups challenged Trump’s executive order requiring proof of citizenship for voter registration—an order already blocked by two federal judges but still reverberating. In practice, the chilling effect has begun. Offices once tasked with helping low-income residents access the vote now demand documents before issuing basic services.
The Justice Department, under Attorney General Pam Bondi, reprioritized its mandate—pulling back from voter protection cases and ramping up prosecutions under “election integrity” statutes. A memo circulated to U.S. Attorneys instructed them to treat “suspicious registration activity” as a federal focus. What counts as suspicious remains vague.
“You don’t need tanks to scare people,” one protester said. “You just need them to think they’re already being watched.”
That phrase—just follow orders—now echoes far beyond the armed forces.
In Idaho, the Justice Department dropped a lawsuit challenging the state’s abortion ban—even after emergency physicians reported being forced to delay care for bleeding patients. In Florida, federal funds remain frozen for providers flagged as “non-compliant” under new Medicaid referral rules.
In schools, guidance protecting transgender students was rescinded. In the military, a ban on openly trans service members was reimposed. At one base in Colorado, a unit commander told his squad: “Don’t talk to the press. Don’t make it political. Just follow orders.”
That spring, drones flew silently over peaceful protests in Portland. The rally’s theme was “No Kings.” Footage captured low hover passes over the crowd. The Department of Homeland Security responded online: “We’re watching.”
“The sabotage wasn’t subtle. It didn’t have to be.”
It wasn’t a slip. It was the strategy.
On June 14, while tanks rumbled through Washington for a Flag Day military parade, two coordinated attacks unfolded in Minnesota. Former state House Speaker Melissa Hortman and her husband were murdered in their home. Across the river, state Senator John Hoffman and his family were ambushed. His wife, Yvette, survived after shielding their daughter with her own body.
The suspect left behind a manifesto. Seventy names. Judges. Lawmakers. Activists. All marked. “This was a terror attack against democracy itself,” said Governor Tim Walz.