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the_grimm_reader's Reviews (242)
I picked this book up a couple of months ago at a used bookstore in my area. The stark simplicity of the cover caught my eye, and the enigmatic choice to list the author as simply "Anonymous" piqued my curiosity. The premise was familiar—another tell-all account of the chaotic Trump administration—but this one promised a unique angle, as it was written by someone actively serving within the administration, offering a no-holds-barred perspective under the cloak of anonymity.
The book delivers exactly what it promised, even if I came to it a bit late (it was originally published in 2019, before the 2020 election). Now, of course, we know that the author is Miles Taylor, a former official in the Department of Homeland Security who served under both George W. Bush and Donald J. Trump (the first time).
In my view, this book is both honest and patriotic, providing a raw look inside the day-to-day chaos, incompetence, and troubling behavior of the 45th (and now 47th) President of the United States. Taylor presents Trump as a man fundamentally unprepared for the presidency—willingly uninformed, intentionally mean-spirited, and woefully ignorant about the basic workings of the U.S. government. More concerning is Trump’s apparent willingness to lie to and deceive the American public, aided and abetted by a cadre of sycophants—power-hungry enablers willing to repeat his lies and push his agenda, regardless of the consequences.
Some of the revelations in this book are stunning, but what struck me most is how clearly the first Trump presidency served as a dress rehearsal for the second. Nearly beat-for-beat, we’re seeing this second term unfold with the same general outline, but now with a more emboldened, spiteful edge—and at an accelerated pace.
The book’s title, A Warning, is fitting. It accurately predicted what a second Trump term might have looked like had he won the 2020 election. As it turns out, that warning was just a few years early. Trump’s second term began in 2025, and just 100+ days in, we’re seeing proof that Taylor’s soothsaying—based on firsthand experience—was correct. This administration is more unhinged, more aggressive, and more dangerous than the first. It is actively steering the United States toward a cliff, pushing through the guardrails of our constitutional liberties, checks, and balances in the process.
I wish this book felt like old news—a grim note in the history of a bygone era—but reading it today, in 2025, was genuinely chilling. The man is a maniac, and his administration is now stacked with enablers and true believers from top to bottom.
Taylor’s warnings have proven accurate, but they’ve also made him a target. Now that the veil of anonymity has been lifted, Taylor finds himself in the crosshairs. As I write this, he is making headlines as Trump, in his second term, uses the powers of the federal government to target Taylor through the Department of Justice. Taylor has publicly stated that he and his wife have been advised to update their living wills, as the threat to their lives is real and escalating. Trump has labeled Taylor a traitor, effectively painting a target on his back for the more extreme elements of the MAGA movement—followers known to respond violently when called to action.
Taylor maintains that he broke no laws when publishing A Warning, but we live in an age where truth itself is under siege, and Trump’s words carry immense weight with his followers. I’ll be watching this situation closely, and I plan to read Taylor’s second book, published in 2023, to get a fuller picture of the man behind this critical warning.
The book delivers exactly what it promised, even if I came to it a bit late (it was originally published in 2019, before the 2020 election). Now, of course, we know that the author is Miles Taylor, a former official in the Department of Homeland Security who served under both George W. Bush and Donald J. Trump (the first time).
In my view, this book is both honest and patriotic, providing a raw look inside the day-to-day chaos, incompetence, and troubling behavior of the 45th (and now 47th) President of the United States. Taylor presents Trump as a man fundamentally unprepared for the presidency—willingly uninformed, intentionally mean-spirited, and woefully ignorant about the basic workings of the U.S. government. More concerning is Trump’s apparent willingness to lie to and deceive the American public, aided and abetted by a cadre of sycophants—power-hungry enablers willing to repeat his lies and push his agenda, regardless of the consequences.
Some of the revelations in this book are stunning, but what struck me most is how clearly the first Trump presidency served as a dress rehearsal for the second. Nearly beat-for-beat, we’re seeing this second term unfold with the same general outline, but now with a more emboldened, spiteful edge—and at an accelerated pace.
The book’s title, A Warning, is fitting. It accurately predicted what a second Trump term might have looked like had he won the 2020 election. As it turns out, that warning was just a few years early. Trump’s second term began in 2025, and just 100+ days in, we’re seeing proof that Taylor’s soothsaying—based on firsthand experience—was correct. This administration is more unhinged, more aggressive, and more dangerous than the first. It is actively steering the United States toward a cliff, pushing through the guardrails of our constitutional liberties, checks, and balances in the process.
I wish this book felt like old news—a grim note in the history of a bygone era—but reading it today, in 2025, was genuinely chilling. The man is a maniac, and his administration is now stacked with enablers and true believers from top to bottom.
Taylor’s warnings have proven accurate, but they’ve also made him a target. Now that the veil of anonymity has been lifted, Taylor finds himself in the crosshairs. As I write this, he is making headlines as Trump, in his second term, uses the powers of the federal government to target Taylor through the Department of Justice. Taylor has publicly stated that he and his wife have been advised to update their living wills, as the threat to their lives is real and escalating. Trump has labeled Taylor a traitor, effectively painting a target on his back for the more extreme elements of the MAGA movement—followers known to respond violently when called to action.
Taylor maintains that he broke no laws when publishing A Warning, but we live in an age where truth itself is under siege, and Trump’s words carry immense weight with his followers. I’ll be watching this situation closely, and I plan to read Taylor’s second book, published in 2023, to get a fuller picture of the man behind this critical warning.
I’ve never really understood the appeal of Donald Trump. As a kid, I paid little attention to him. He seemed like a strange businessman with even stranger hair. I remember his cameo in Home Alone 2 and wondered, Why is he here? I got the impression that he was some kind of New York icon, which made the appearance make some kind of superficial sense.
Later, I recall seeing a magazine spread featuring Trump and his wife in their gaudy, gold-slathered living quarters. He looked unkempt in contrast to the setting—sloppy, even. His name appeared on board games, steaks, and anything else that could carry a logo. I still didn’t understand what made him significant.
Then came The Apprentice—reality TV that beamed Trump into American homes weekly, complete with a catchphrase: “You’re fired!” I found him pompous and off-putting. I tuned out.
It wasn’t until Barack Obama entered the political spotlight that I started noticing Trump again—this time, shouting from television screens about Obama’s birth certificate. Why does the guy from The Apprentice care? I remember wondering. The whole thing felt bizarre. Trump’s demeanor reeked of desperation and ego. Again, I turned away.
When he reemerged as a presidential contender in 2015, I saw the same made-for-TV bravado, now amplified by populist appeal. I remember listening to a rally for about 10 minutes while waiting in a fast food drive-thru. I could see how a slice of the population might respond to that rhetoric—but I dismissed the idea that he could actually become president. Surely, I thought, we wouldn’t tolerate someone so erratic in the highest office of the land.
But I underestimated how many people had continued watching The Apprentice and bought what Trump was selling: the illusion of strength, success, and leadership. He reminded me of every egotistical, loudmouth bully I’d ever met. And having known enough nepo-babies by then, I understood that wealth and status weren’t always earned. Sometimes, all it takes is rich parents and a string of propped-up failures.
I wasn’t wrong—but it turned out to be even worse than I had imagined.
During his campaign, allegations began surfacing about potential ties to Russia—particularly, that his team had accepted assistance in the form of damaging information on Secretary Hillary Clinton. I remember the moment Trump publicly called for Russia to "find" Clinton’s emails. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
Growing up during the Cold War, I knew who the Russians were. Sure, the Soviet Union fell—but only a fool would believe that the old animosities were gone. If the Russians were meddling in an American election, they weren’t doing it out of goodwill.
How could I have known that pulling on that thread would unravel a much darker tapestry—one revealing a long-term operation aimed at destabilizing the United States and, ultimately, placing a Russian asset in the White House?
Of course, it’s easy to speculate. Anyone can build a conspiracy theory out of red yarn and suspicion. But where are the receipts?
That’s what House of Trump, House of Putin delivers.
Craig Unger does the deep dive, mapping the connections between Trump, the Russian mafia, Kremlin-linked banks, and decades of manipulation. He builds the case that Trump was groomed—not just as a businessman willing to launder money through real estate, but as someone who would eventually become a tool of the Russian state.
This is not a lightweight read. Unger lays it all out. The research is detailed, methodical, and—at times—overwhelming. But when you close the book, it’s hard not to conclude that the President of the United States was, and possibly still is, compromised.
The chaos of Trump’s first term—and the surreal disorder of his second—makes little sense if viewed in isolation. But when you overlay Unger’s findings, it becomes disturbingly coherent. From a Russian strategic perspective, the Trump operation has been stunningly effective—more successful than Putin could have ever hoped.
Should you read this book?
If you’re a die-hard Trump supporter, you may dismiss it as just another piece of the “Russia witch hunt.” But if you’re genuinely interested in understanding why Trump reacts the way he does to anything involving Russia or Putin—why he so consistently "doth protest too much"—this book lifts the curtain.
I’m no fan of Trump—I consider him a dangerous tool—but many Americans continue to drink from his cup. I wonder whether a book like this, even with all the facts it presents, could reach them.
We live in an age of disinformation, much of it fueled by Russian bots and amplified by domestic actors. Clear, trustworthy information is harder than ever to come by. That’s why books like this matter.
House of Trump, House of Putin will, I believe, prove essential as history slowly reveals the secrets of the Trump-Russia relationship.
Later, I recall seeing a magazine spread featuring Trump and his wife in their gaudy, gold-slathered living quarters. He looked unkempt in contrast to the setting—sloppy, even. His name appeared on board games, steaks, and anything else that could carry a logo. I still didn’t understand what made him significant.
Then came The Apprentice—reality TV that beamed Trump into American homes weekly, complete with a catchphrase: “You’re fired!” I found him pompous and off-putting. I tuned out.
It wasn’t until Barack Obama entered the political spotlight that I started noticing Trump again—this time, shouting from television screens about Obama’s birth certificate. Why does the guy from The Apprentice care? I remember wondering. The whole thing felt bizarre. Trump’s demeanor reeked of desperation and ego. Again, I turned away.
When he reemerged as a presidential contender in 2015, I saw the same made-for-TV bravado, now amplified by populist appeal. I remember listening to a rally for about 10 minutes while waiting in a fast food drive-thru. I could see how a slice of the population might respond to that rhetoric—but I dismissed the idea that he could actually become president. Surely, I thought, we wouldn’t tolerate someone so erratic in the highest office of the land.
But I underestimated how many people had continued watching The Apprentice and bought what Trump was selling: the illusion of strength, success, and leadership. He reminded me of every egotistical, loudmouth bully I’d ever met. And having known enough nepo-babies by then, I understood that wealth and status weren’t always earned. Sometimes, all it takes is rich parents and a string of propped-up failures.
I wasn’t wrong—but it turned out to be even worse than I had imagined.
During his campaign, allegations began surfacing about potential ties to Russia—particularly, that his team had accepted assistance in the form of damaging information on Secretary Hillary Clinton. I remember the moment Trump publicly called for Russia to "find" Clinton’s emails. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
Growing up during the Cold War, I knew who the Russians were. Sure, the Soviet Union fell—but only a fool would believe that the old animosities were gone. If the Russians were meddling in an American election, they weren’t doing it out of goodwill.
How could I have known that pulling on that thread would unravel a much darker tapestry—one revealing a long-term operation aimed at destabilizing the United States and, ultimately, placing a Russian asset in the White House?
Of course, it’s easy to speculate. Anyone can build a conspiracy theory out of red yarn and suspicion. But where are the receipts?
That’s what House of Trump, House of Putin delivers.
Craig Unger does the deep dive, mapping the connections between Trump, the Russian mafia, Kremlin-linked banks, and decades of manipulation. He builds the case that Trump was groomed—not just as a businessman willing to launder money through real estate, but as someone who would eventually become a tool of the Russian state.
This is not a lightweight read. Unger lays it all out. The research is detailed, methodical, and—at times—overwhelming. But when you close the book, it’s hard not to conclude that the President of the United States was, and possibly still is, compromised.
The chaos of Trump’s first term—and the surreal disorder of his second—makes little sense if viewed in isolation. But when you overlay Unger’s findings, it becomes disturbingly coherent. From a Russian strategic perspective, the Trump operation has been stunningly effective—more successful than Putin could have ever hoped.
Should you read this book?
If you’re a die-hard Trump supporter, you may dismiss it as just another piece of the “Russia witch hunt.” But if you’re genuinely interested in understanding why Trump reacts the way he does to anything involving Russia or Putin—why he so consistently "doth protest too much"—this book lifts the curtain.
I’m no fan of Trump—I consider him a dangerous tool—but many Americans continue to drink from his cup. I wonder whether a book like this, even with all the facts it presents, could reach them.
We live in an age of disinformation, much of it fueled by Russian bots and amplified by domestic actors. Clear, trustworthy information is harder than ever to come by. That’s why books like this matter.
House of Trump, House of Putin will, I believe, prove essential as history slowly reveals the secrets of the Trump-Russia relationship.
I selected this book for my 2025 reading queue back in early 2024. Over the past several years, I’ve found a renewed fervor for American history—especially the hidden history that offers a skewed view from the traditional academic narratives. More specifically, constitutional history, and the ongoing efforts to expand (and sadly erode) civil liberties, has evolved from a guilty pleasure into a deep source of patriotic pride for me.
My father raised me on simple but profound ideas about free speech and personal liberty. He often invoked a version of the saying commonly attributed to Patrick Henry or Voltaire: "I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." He repeated it so often that even now, when I see the American flag waving in the sun, those words spring immediately to mind.
A Vietnam War veteran who served as a combat engineer in the United States Marine Corps, my father saw his share of suffering—and faced an ungrateful nation upon his return. Yet his reverence for free speech never wavered. I suppose that’s why I, too, have raucous, deeply rooted ideas about the sacredness of the First Amendment.
When I cracked open Liberty’s First Crisis, I had no idea just how hyper-relevant it would feel to the 2025 landscape of the United States. Not 100 days ago, our current president invoked the Alien Enemies Act of 1798, a deeply troubling development that echoes the authoritarian tendencies Charles Slack details so vividly in this book. Today’s American president has launched a full-throated assault on the free press, free speech, due process, and the judicial branch. As I write this, the foundational ideals enshrined in the Constitution are under siege.
While Liberty’s First Crisis is not a commentary on today’s creeping tyrannicide—enabled by the Republican Party, theocrats, and techno-corporate oligarchs—it might as well be.
The book primarily spans the presidency of John Adams, a period when the young nation was still learning to live up to the flowery language and high ideals of liberty set forth in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. Adams and the Federalist Party controlled the House, Senate, and a Federalist-heavy Judiciary.
For context: the Federalist Party (now extinct) bears an eerie resemblance to today’s Republican Party, while the Republican Party of Adams' time is closer to today’s Democratic Party. Understanding that only sharpens the unsettling parallels between Adams’ era and our own.
Slack’s historical account brings to life the journalists, publishers, and free speech advocates who dared to challenge Adams’ monarchical inclinations—and the Federalist appetite for unchecked superiority. The passage of the Alien and Sedition Acts of 1798 granted sweeping executive powers, tailor-made to crush dissent. Their weapons of dissent? Simply words—written, printed, and painted opinions critical of the government.
Many of these courageous voices were immigrants, drawn to America by the promises of personal liberty and opportunity. Instead, they found themselves targeted, fined into destitution, and jailed under abysmal conditions. Still, they pushed back against a government that increasingly adopted a "justice for me, but not for thee" philosophy.
While much of this history is deeply disheartening, there is a hopeful lesson buried within: the citizenry eventually had enough. Adams left office after a single term, and the Federalists lost their grip on Congress, the judiciary, and the presidency. Within a few short years, the Federalist Party ceased to exist.
And in that, I find hope.
Today, another fragile little tyrant occupies the presidency. Unlike Adams or Jefferson, our modern would-be monarch lacks even a pretense of statesmanship. His dictatorial designs are lubricated by a Republican Party that bears an uncanny resemblance to the defunct Federalists. They've even dusted off their old weapon of political suppression—the Alien Enemies Act of 1798—and are once again using it to jail, deport, and intimidate dissenters. The mantra of "justice for me, but not for thee" lives on.
Yet, as it was then, it is now: some falter in the fight for liberty, but many do not. The free press, free speech, and the enduring spirit of the First Amendment continue to serve as the bulwark of American liberty.
Liberty’s First Crisis has been one of my favorite reads of 2025. Though the road ahead looks treacherous, the book reinvigorated my patriotic pride and reminded me that the dream of human liberty is not dead. It lives—and perhaps, in times like these, we need stark reminders of its true value.
I encourage anyone interested in these ideas to read this excellent and timely account of a shrouded era in American history. It provides not only historical insight but essential context for understanding our modern fight to preserve freedom.
My father raised me on simple but profound ideas about free speech and personal liberty. He often invoked a version of the saying commonly attributed to Patrick Henry or Voltaire: "I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it." He repeated it so often that even now, when I see the American flag waving in the sun, those words spring immediately to mind.
A Vietnam War veteran who served as a combat engineer in the United States Marine Corps, my father saw his share of suffering—and faced an ungrateful nation upon his return. Yet his reverence for free speech never wavered. I suppose that’s why I, too, have raucous, deeply rooted ideas about the sacredness of the First Amendment.
When I cracked open Liberty’s First Crisis, I had no idea just how hyper-relevant it would feel to the 2025 landscape of the United States. Not 100 days ago, our current president invoked the Alien Enemies Act of 1798, a deeply troubling development that echoes the authoritarian tendencies Charles Slack details so vividly in this book. Today’s American president has launched a full-throated assault on the free press, free speech, due process, and the judicial branch. As I write this, the foundational ideals enshrined in the Constitution are under siege.
While Liberty’s First Crisis is not a commentary on today’s creeping tyrannicide—enabled by the Republican Party, theocrats, and techno-corporate oligarchs—it might as well be.
The book primarily spans the presidency of John Adams, a period when the young nation was still learning to live up to the flowery language and high ideals of liberty set forth in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. Adams and the Federalist Party controlled the House, Senate, and a Federalist-heavy Judiciary.
For context: the Federalist Party (now extinct) bears an eerie resemblance to today’s Republican Party, while the Republican Party of Adams' time is closer to today’s Democratic Party. Understanding that only sharpens the unsettling parallels between Adams’ era and our own.
Slack’s historical account brings to life the journalists, publishers, and free speech advocates who dared to challenge Adams’ monarchical inclinations—and the Federalist appetite for unchecked superiority. The passage of the Alien and Sedition Acts of 1798 granted sweeping executive powers, tailor-made to crush dissent. Their weapons of dissent? Simply words—written, printed, and painted opinions critical of the government.
Many of these courageous voices were immigrants, drawn to America by the promises of personal liberty and opportunity. Instead, they found themselves targeted, fined into destitution, and jailed under abysmal conditions. Still, they pushed back against a government that increasingly adopted a "justice for me, but not for thee" philosophy.
While much of this history is deeply disheartening, there is a hopeful lesson buried within: the citizenry eventually had enough. Adams left office after a single term, and the Federalists lost their grip on Congress, the judiciary, and the presidency. Within a few short years, the Federalist Party ceased to exist.
And in that, I find hope.
Today, another fragile little tyrant occupies the presidency. Unlike Adams or Jefferson, our modern would-be monarch lacks even a pretense of statesmanship. His dictatorial designs are lubricated by a Republican Party that bears an uncanny resemblance to the defunct Federalists. They've even dusted off their old weapon of political suppression—the Alien Enemies Act of 1798—and are once again using it to jail, deport, and intimidate dissenters. The mantra of "justice for me, but not for thee" lives on.
Yet, as it was then, it is now: some falter in the fight for liberty, but many do not. The free press, free speech, and the enduring spirit of the First Amendment continue to serve as the bulwark of American liberty.
Liberty’s First Crisis has been one of my favorite reads of 2025. Though the road ahead looks treacherous, the book reinvigorated my patriotic pride and reminded me that the dream of human liberty is not dead. It lives—and perhaps, in times like these, we need stark reminders of its true value.
I encourage anyone interested in these ideas to read this excellent and timely account of a shrouded era in American history. It provides not only historical insight but essential context for understanding our modern fight to preserve freedom.
I picked this up at my local library while searching for Rachelle Madow’s Prequel (which, unfortunately, my library didn’t have). The title caught my eye, but it was the subject matter that really pulled me in. Attack from Within covers, in extensive detail, the dangers of disinformation (not to be confused with misinformation) that we face today.
Published in February 2024, Barbara McQuade’s book feels current and well-researched, offering historical context by exploring the iron-fisted methods used by dictatorial regimes of the past, as well as the more sophisticated, tech-savvy tactics employed by today’s authoritarian actors. The presentation is clear, organized, and accessible.
That said, having lived through the rise of this new era of disinformation in real time, much of it felt a bit like a recap. Still, I primarily read this book to broaden my understanding of disinformation "honey traps"—both the ones I was already aware of and the ones I might have missed—and to further inoculate my mind against the relentless barrage of manipulated media feeds that define the modern age.
I often found myself nodding along in agreement with McQuade’s perspective, though there were points—political and personal—where I strongly disagreed. Honestly, I appreciated those moments the most. It's interesting (and healthy) to see where your own lines are, whether they hold firm or reveal some blur when you’re confronted with different viewpoints on civic issues, governmental policies, or political positions.
It seems the United States is destined, at least for now, to struggle with the tribalism of political parties, trapped beneath the rigid umbrellas of "liberal" and "conservative" labels. In my view, neither umbrella is truly broad enough to encompass the wide diversity of thought that exists beneath them. Both poles pull hard at the delicate threads of our society, often tearing us apart rather than bringing us together—and from both ends, the engines of disinformation churn relentlessly.
Even McQuade, despite the excellent firepower she brings to the subject of disinformation sabotage, occasionally leans into ideas rooted firmly in one ideological camp. Staying true to the book’s larger message, I paused when those moments came, made notes, and committed to digging deeper into those subjects to see where I truly stand. It's healthy to test your own assumptions, and even better to seek out credible, well-sourced essays and data to guide your thinking.
We face a tall order in this era, tasked with making critical decisions while sifting through a swarm of misinformation and disinformation gnats. It's no wonder many people throw their hands up, plug into their feeds, and passively absorb whatever floats across their screens.
Personally, I see disinformation as a disease—a pandemic—and we’re all infected to varying degrees. I believe finding a way through this dank and dreary cloud is a civic duty. Helping others free themselves from the snares of disinformation is a good and necessary work.
This book is a valuable tool for that effort, and I would recommend it to anyone who’s ready to start.
Published in February 2024, Barbara McQuade’s book feels current and well-researched, offering historical context by exploring the iron-fisted methods used by dictatorial regimes of the past, as well as the more sophisticated, tech-savvy tactics employed by today’s authoritarian actors. The presentation is clear, organized, and accessible.
That said, having lived through the rise of this new era of disinformation in real time, much of it felt a bit like a recap. Still, I primarily read this book to broaden my understanding of disinformation "honey traps"—both the ones I was already aware of and the ones I might have missed—and to further inoculate my mind against the relentless barrage of manipulated media feeds that define the modern age.
I often found myself nodding along in agreement with McQuade’s perspective, though there were points—political and personal—where I strongly disagreed. Honestly, I appreciated those moments the most. It's interesting (and healthy) to see where your own lines are, whether they hold firm or reveal some blur when you’re confronted with different viewpoints on civic issues, governmental policies, or political positions.
It seems the United States is destined, at least for now, to struggle with the tribalism of political parties, trapped beneath the rigid umbrellas of "liberal" and "conservative" labels. In my view, neither umbrella is truly broad enough to encompass the wide diversity of thought that exists beneath them. Both poles pull hard at the delicate threads of our society, often tearing us apart rather than bringing us together—and from both ends, the engines of disinformation churn relentlessly.
Even McQuade, despite the excellent firepower she brings to the subject of disinformation sabotage, occasionally leans into ideas rooted firmly in one ideological camp. Staying true to the book’s larger message, I paused when those moments came, made notes, and committed to digging deeper into those subjects to see where I truly stand. It's healthy to test your own assumptions, and even better to seek out credible, well-sourced essays and data to guide your thinking.
We face a tall order in this era, tasked with making critical decisions while sifting through a swarm of misinformation and disinformation gnats. It's no wonder many people throw their hands up, plug into their feeds, and passively absorb whatever floats across their screens.
Personally, I see disinformation as a disease—a pandemic—and we’re all infected to varying degrees. I believe finding a way through this dank and dreary cloud is a civic duty. Helping others free themselves from the snares of disinformation is a good and necessary work.
This book is a valuable tool for that effort, and I would recommend it to anyone who’s ready to start.
I came across Tim Miller somewhat accidentally—half-listening to a panel of political pundits while working on a project. But something about one of the voices kept grabbing my attention: sharp, witty, informed, and laced with a kind of righteous fury that mirrored my own inner political instincts. That voice belonged to Tim Miller.
At the time, I had no idea who he was. So I did what anyone does these days—I looked him up on YouTube. That search led me straight to his podcast with The Bulwark. And let me tell you: for my money, Tim was hitting hard, cutting deep, and bringing the kind of direct, ready-for-the-fight messaging I’d been craving in today’s media landscape. His commentary was smart, studied, and laced with the blunt force needed to actually break through the MAGA noise. He had great guests, but honestly, it was his take-no-prisoners approach that kept me coming back.
Since 2016, I’ve believed the former president to be a growing threat to the democracy and civic norms I was raised to cherish. And I’ve long felt that his movement can’t be countered with kid gloves forever. Tim Miller gets this. He’s one of the few political voices who can bring the fight while still delivering substance. Yes, policy matters—but the MAGA machine has transformed political discourse into a made-for-media melee of snark and venom. Miller knows how to fight fire with fire, without becoming the arsonist.
Eventually, I followed his trail all the way to The Bulwark—a team of principled never-Trumpers and disaffected conservatives (not necessarily Democrats, mind you) offering some of the sharpest political content out there. As a member, I enjoy the full lineup. But while I knew Tim’s voice, I didn’t know his story. That changed when I finally picked up his book, Why We Did It: A Travelogue from the Republican Road to Hell.
Yes, I came to it late. But not so late that it didn’t add valuable (and often disturbing) texture to Tim’s current mission.
This book pulls the curtain back on the slimy machinery of Washington’s political world, tracing Miller’s own journey into and eventually out of the Republican Party. We follow him through various communications and consulting roles for high-profile GOP figures, watching as the party slouches willingly into the open jaws of the MAGA beast we’re still wrestling with today.
Along the way, we meet the players, the power brokers, and the moral contortionists. Some passages made me physically recoil—my face twisted into a disgusted snarl. Other moments were laugh-out-loud baffling, as seemingly intelligent people twisted themselves into ideological pretzels to justify their continued support for a movement built on buffoonery.
One recurring theme: the shame wall. According to Miller, everyone behind the scenes eventually hit it. Some turned back and held onto their scruples. Others barreled through, emerging reborn as sycophantic MAGA cultists, hoping for a taste of power, proximity, or fame.
If Miller’s account is honest—and he seems more than willing to fall on his own sword throughout—I believe he got out before it was too late. Now, he’s turned that political acumen toward The Bulwark, helping chart a better course.
Is this book for you? Maybe. If you’re curious about the backroom dealings of D.C. power players, or want a peek at the cocktail parties where dirty secrets swirl, alliances are forged, and democracy quietly erodes—then Why We Did It might be worth your time.
Sure, I was late to the party.
But I’m glad Tim lifted the lid and gave us a look at the moldy underside of the toilet.
At the time, I had no idea who he was. So I did what anyone does these days—I looked him up on YouTube. That search led me straight to his podcast with The Bulwark. And let me tell you: for my money, Tim was hitting hard, cutting deep, and bringing the kind of direct, ready-for-the-fight messaging I’d been craving in today’s media landscape. His commentary was smart, studied, and laced with the blunt force needed to actually break through the MAGA noise. He had great guests, but honestly, it was his take-no-prisoners approach that kept me coming back.
Since 2016, I’ve believed the former president to be a growing threat to the democracy and civic norms I was raised to cherish. And I’ve long felt that his movement can’t be countered with kid gloves forever. Tim Miller gets this. He’s one of the few political voices who can bring the fight while still delivering substance. Yes, policy matters—but the MAGA machine has transformed political discourse into a made-for-media melee of snark and venom. Miller knows how to fight fire with fire, without becoming the arsonist.
Eventually, I followed his trail all the way to The Bulwark—a team of principled never-Trumpers and disaffected conservatives (not necessarily Democrats, mind you) offering some of the sharpest political content out there. As a member, I enjoy the full lineup. But while I knew Tim’s voice, I didn’t know his story. That changed when I finally picked up his book, Why We Did It: A Travelogue from the Republican Road to Hell.
Yes, I came to it late. But not so late that it didn’t add valuable (and often disturbing) texture to Tim’s current mission.
This book pulls the curtain back on the slimy machinery of Washington’s political world, tracing Miller’s own journey into and eventually out of the Republican Party. We follow him through various communications and consulting roles for high-profile GOP figures, watching as the party slouches willingly into the open jaws of the MAGA beast we’re still wrestling with today.
Along the way, we meet the players, the power brokers, and the moral contortionists. Some passages made me physically recoil—my face twisted into a disgusted snarl. Other moments were laugh-out-loud baffling, as seemingly intelligent people twisted themselves into ideological pretzels to justify their continued support for a movement built on buffoonery.
One recurring theme: the shame wall. According to Miller, everyone behind the scenes eventually hit it. Some turned back and held onto their scruples. Others barreled through, emerging reborn as sycophantic MAGA cultists, hoping for a taste of power, proximity, or fame.
If Miller’s account is honest—and he seems more than willing to fall on his own sword throughout—I believe he got out before it was too late. Now, he’s turned that political acumen toward The Bulwark, helping chart a better course.
Is this book for you? Maybe. If you’re curious about the backroom dealings of D.C. power players, or want a peek at the cocktail parties where dirty secrets swirl, alliances are forged, and democracy quietly erodes—then Why We Did It might be worth your time.
Sure, I was late to the party.
But I’m glad Tim lifted the lid and gave us a look at the moldy underside of the toilet.
At this point, most of us are familiar with George Santayana’s famous warning: “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”
Reading this book in 2025—with eyes wide open to the hijacking of American democracy by Christian Nationalists, technocratic oligarchs, white supremacist organizations, and far-right nationalist devotees—I felt an overwhelming sense of dread. Grief, even. A deep, aching grief for our collective ignorance, our failure to learn from history, and our willingness to march toward disaster with eyes shut tight.
I waited some time before writing this review. I needed space to process it all. Because, let’s be honest—if you paid even the slightest attention in high school history classes, you already know how this story ends. The Nazi Party seized total control of the fragile German democracy that emerged after World War I, transforming it into an absolute dictatorship under Adolf Hitler’s cruel and murderous rule. This led to one of the most catastrophic global conflicts in human history—the Holocaust, the genocide of Jews, the elimination of political opponents, the slaughter of religious minorities, homosexuals, disabled people, and anyone deemed undesirable. Not to mention the horrific experiments conducted in concentration camps. There’s no need for a recap. We know the story.
What I didn’t know were the intricate connections, the flukes, the political maneuvering, and the subtle (and not-so-subtle) betrayals that paved the way for Hitler’s rise. This book isn’t another recounting of the horrors of World War II. It doesn’t focus on battlefield heroics or the resistance movements. Instead, it lays out, in painstaking detail, the slow, insidious unraveling of democracy—the key players, the subtle power shifts, and the deliberate erosion of institutional safeguards that enabled Hitler to rise to power.
Because he didn’t do it alone.
He had his cadre of thugs—true believers with their own nationalist, xenophobic, and supremacist views. And step by step, they battered the fragile guardrails of German democracy. They positioned their people in the right places. They waited for the moment—an engineered catastrophe, what we would call a “false flag” operation—exploiting fear, chaos, and confusion to fuel long-brewing hatreds. When the time was right, the switch was flipped. The collapse was swift.
It’s impossible to read this book in 2025 and not see the parallels.
The same tactics, the same playbook, the same assault on democratic institutions are unfolding in the United States right now. The guardrails are under siege. Extremists have positioned themselves within the framework of government, waiting for their moment, ready to flip their switches to enact a sinister, eerily familiar agenda—fueling division, emboldening bigotry, sowing distrust of foreigners and immigrants.
So, what do we do?
I’m not alone in seeing the signs. The author of this book clearly felt this was a necessary warning. The lesson is simple: we must not look away. We must be ready to act. We must recognize that movements like the Nazis cannot be fought with kid gloves or political niceties. That approach failed then, and it will fail now.
Hitler and his henchmen should have been met with the same ruthless energy they unleashed on the world. But they weren’t. And we paid the price.
I’d like to believe that we are wiser now, that we are more civilized. But history suggests otherwise. Over and over again, figures like Hitler rise. They stoke hatred, vilify the innocent, push the boundaries of what is acceptable—and slowly, methodically, they shift the moral compass of an entire society. Before long, good, innocent people are imprisoned. Their followers commit unspeakable acts of violence in the name of “righteousness.”
Reading this book drove home, once again, that these horrors are not inhuman. They are very much human. Some of us are just capable of breathtaking cruelty, devoid of compassion, empathy, or conscience. Some of us are power-mad psychopaths. And the terrifying reality? They are human, too.
We have to decide what kind of humans we want to be.
We have to decide what kind of world we are willing to fight for.
Because a peaceful, just, and humane society cannot exist if we refuse to stand against the evil within our own ranks. And personally? I refuse to let them have another day of the future.
So, read this book if you want to understand how these nightmares take root.
Read this book if you want to strengthen your resolve.
Read this book if you want to ensure that history never repeats itself—because, make no mistake, the warning signs are flashing red. And this time, we can’t afford to ignore them.
Reading this book in 2025—with eyes wide open to the hijacking of American democracy by Christian Nationalists, technocratic oligarchs, white supremacist organizations, and far-right nationalist devotees—I felt an overwhelming sense of dread. Grief, even. A deep, aching grief for our collective ignorance, our failure to learn from history, and our willingness to march toward disaster with eyes shut tight.
I waited some time before writing this review. I needed space to process it all. Because, let’s be honest—if you paid even the slightest attention in high school history classes, you already know how this story ends. The Nazi Party seized total control of the fragile German democracy that emerged after World War I, transforming it into an absolute dictatorship under Adolf Hitler’s cruel and murderous rule. This led to one of the most catastrophic global conflicts in human history—the Holocaust, the genocide of Jews, the elimination of political opponents, the slaughter of religious minorities, homosexuals, disabled people, and anyone deemed undesirable. Not to mention the horrific experiments conducted in concentration camps. There’s no need for a recap. We know the story.
What I didn’t know were the intricate connections, the flukes, the political maneuvering, and the subtle (and not-so-subtle) betrayals that paved the way for Hitler’s rise. This book isn’t another recounting of the horrors of World War II. It doesn’t focus on battlefield heroics or the resistance movements. Instead, it lays out, in painstaking detail, the slow, insidious unraveling of democracy—the key players, the subtle power shifts, and the deliberate erosion of institutional safeguards that enabled Hitler to rise to power.
Because he didn’t do it alone.
He had his cadre of thugs—true believers with their own nationalist, xenophobic, and supremacist views. And step by step, they battered the fragile guardrails of German democracy. They positioned their people in the right places. They waited for the moment—an engineered catastrophe, what we would call a “false flag” operation—exploiting fear, chaos, and confusion to fuel long-brewing hatreds. When the time was right, the switch was flipped. The collapse was swift.
It’s impossible to read this book in 2025 and not see the parallels.
The same tactics, the same playbook, the same assault on democratic institutions are unfolding in the United States right now. The guardrails are under siege. Extremists have positioned themselves within the framework of government, waiting for their moment, ready to flip their switches to enact a sinister, eerily familiar agenda—fueling division, emboldening bigotry, sowing distrust of foreigners and immigrants.
So, what do we do?
I’m not alone in seeing the signs. The author of this book clearly felt this was a necessary warning. The lesson is simple: we must not look away. We must be ready to act. We must recognize that movements like the Nazis cannot be fought with kid gloves or political niceties. That approach failed then, and it will fail now.
Hitler and his henchmen should have been met with the same ruthless energy they unleashed on the world. But they weren’t. And we paid the price.
I’d like to believe that we are wiser now, that we are more civilized. But history suggests otherwise. Over and over again, figures like Hitler rise. They stoke hatred, vilify the innocent, push the boundaries of what is acceptable—and slowly, methodically, they shift the moral compass of an entire society. Before long, good, innocent people are imprisoned. Their followers commit unspeakable acts of violence in the name of “righteousness.”
Reading this book drove home, once again, that these horrors are not inhuman. They are very much human. Some of us are just capable of breathtaking cruelty, devoid of compassion, empathy, or conscience. Some of us are power-mad psychopaths. And the terrifying reality? They are human, too.
We have to decide what kind of humans we want to be.
We have to decide what kind of world we are willing to fight for.
Because a peaceful, just, and humane society cannot exist if we refuse to stand against the evil within our own ranks. And personally? I refuse to let them have another day of the future.
So, read this book if you want to understand how these nightmares take root.
Read this book if you want to strengthen your resolve.
Read this book if you want to ensure that history never repeats itself—because, make no mistake, the warning signs are flashing red. And this time, we can’t afford to ignore them.
Andrew Seidel was one of several experts featured in a documentary I recently watched about the rise of Christian Nationalism. Each time the film cut back to him, I found myself particularly engaged by what he had to say. His approach was clear, fact-based, and well-documented—offering historical evidence that directly contradicts the long-held claim that the United States was founded on Judeo-Christian principles. This claim is one I’ve heard my whole life, but Seidel systematically dismantles it, demonstrating how Christian Nationalism is actually antithetical to the foundational ideals of autonomy, liberty, diversity, and unity that shaped this nation.
This is not a light read, nor does Seidel present his argument through mere opinion or emotional appeal. Instead, he builds his case meticulously, relying on historical records, legal documents, letters, speeches, and firsthand accounts. His central argument? That the architects of American democracy understood that for religious freedom to truly exist, there must also be freedom from religion. They sought to establish a firm separation between church and state, and allowing that separation to erode poses a direct threat to the stability of our democratic republic.
One of the most frustrating—and deeply unsettling—aspects of this book is that Seidel’s arguments are backed by undeniable evidence, yet Christian Nationalism continues to spread, seeping into every branch of government. It does so while loudly proclaiming, often incorrectly, that the United States was founded on Christian principles and morals. In fact, as Seidel illustrates, many of the so-called Judeo-Christian values touted by nationalists stand in stark contrast to the Enlightenment-era ideals that shaped American democracy. The nation’s founders sought to move away from monarchy and theocratic rule—systems that, ironically, birthed many of the religious traditions now being used to justify an authoritarian vision of governance.
Should you read this book? Given the rise of Christian Nationalism and the dangerous momentum of the MAGA movement—an ideology that increasingly exhibits cult-like behavior—this book offers valuable insight. If you want a historically accurate and well-researched account of how American democracy was designed to function, then yes, this is an essential read.
That said, it’s important to acknowledge that not everyone will interpret this information the same way. Some may argue that America’s founding was shaped by religious influences in ways that Seidel downplays, or that morality and governance are inevitably intertwined. However, even those perspectives do not negate the critical point this book makes: a government that enforces religious dogma threatens both religious freedom and democracy itself.
Christian Nationalists are working diligently to rewrite history, replacing fact with a revisionist narrative that suits their agenda. This book serves as both a warning and a tool for understanding what’s at stake—because history, when erased or rewritten, has a way of repeating itself.
This is not a light read, nor does Seidel present his argument through mere opinion or emotional appeal. Instead, he builds his case meticulously, relying on historical records, legal documents, letters, speeches, and firsthand accounts. His central argument? That the architects of American democracy understood that for religious freedom to truly exist, there must also be freedom from religion. They sought to establish a firm separation between church and state, and allowing that separation to erode poses a direct threat to the stability of our democratic republic.
One of the most frustrating—and deeply unsettling—aspects of this book is that Seidel’s arguments are backed by undeniable evidence, yet Christian Nationalism continues to spread, seeping into every branch of government. It does so while loudly proclaiming, often incorrectly, that the United States was founded on Christian principles and morals. In fact, as Seidel illustrates, many of the so-called Judeo-Christian values touted by nationalists stand in stark contrast to the Enlightenment-era ideals that shaped American democracy. The nation’s founders sought to move away from monarchy and theocratic rule—systems that, ironically, birthed many of the religious traditions now being used to justify an authoritarian vision of governance.
Should you read this book? Given the rise of Christian Nationalism and the dangerous momentum of the MAGA movement—an ideology that increasingly exhibits cult-like behavior—this book offers valuable insight. If you want a historically accurate and well-researched account of how American democracy was designed to function, then yes, this is an essential read.
That said, it’s important to acknowledge that not everyone will interpret this information the same way. Some may argue that America’s founding was shaped by religious influences in ways that Seidel downplays, or that morality and governance are inevitably intertwined. However, even those perspectives do not negate the critical point this book makes: a government that enforces religious dogma threatens both religious freedom and democracy itself.
Christian Nationalists are working diligently to rewrite history, replacing fact with a revisionist narrative that suits their agenda. This book serves as both a warning and a tool for understanding what’s at stake—because history, when erased or rewritten, has a way of repeating itself.
This was a profoundly eye-opening read, giving me a new lens through which to view the current state of division and discord in the United States.
Let me start by saying that Joe Moore provided an invaluable service in the fight against white supremacist hate groups and their ideology—often at great personal risk and with little financial gain. His account of infiltrating the Ku Klux Klan as a civilian FBI informant is harrowing, deeply unsettling, and, at times, utterly depressing. I say "depressing" because it becomes painfully clear that this so-called "Invisible Empire" has been waging a relentless war against the Founders' ideals of democracy and liberty since the end of the American Civil War.
Joe’s story begins during Barack Obama’s initial run for president and carries through to the 2024 election. Reading yet another book in a post-2024 landscape only reinforces my belief that this Invisible Empire has embedded itself at every level of American government—small towns, city councils, state legislatures, federal agencies, and even the highest seat of power. Joe’s final assessment is crystal clear: we should be deeply concerned because this ideology is not only alive but spreading.
As for the writing itself, the book flows well and never felt sluggish. It does an excellent job of providing deeply personal context for Joe’s motivations and the immense sacrifices he made in undertaking such a dangerous mission. It also succeeds in offering crucial historical background on the Ku Klux Klan, which is essential to understanding why these types of undercover infiltrations are so critical. The level of detail in recounting Joe’s dual infiltrations—along with the resulting murder plots, family conflicts, personal sacrifices, arrests, trials, and verdicts—is both thorough and deeply unsettling.
Joe’s final thoughts are foreboding, grim, and, perhaps most distressingly, largely ignored. His warnings about the ever-present and growing threat of white supremacist extremism have gone unheard by a public that appears increasingly comfortable flirting with fascism—a movement that stands firmly on white supremacist ideals, reinforced by violence and, at times, even presidential pardons.
Should you read this book? If you want to take a hard look at what’s festering beneath the surface of our increasingly fragile democracy—then yes, absolutely.
Let me start by saying that Joe Moore provided an invaluable service in the fight against white supremacist hate groups and their ideology—often at great personal risk and with little financial gain. His account of infiltrating the Ku Klux Klan as a civilian FBI informant is harrowing, deeply unsettling, and, at times, utterly depressing. I say "depressing" because it becomes painfully clear that this so-called "Invisible Empire" has been waging a relentless war against the Founders' ideals of democracy and liberty since the end of the American Civil War.
Joe’s story begins during Barack Obama’s initial run for president and carries through to the 2024 election. Reading yet another book in a post-2024 landscape only reinforces my belief that this Invisible Empire has embedded itself at every level of American government—small towns, city councils, state legislatures, federal agencies, and even the highest seat of power. Joe’s final assessment is crystal clear: we should be deeply concerned because this ideology is not only alive but spreading.
As for the writing itself, the book flows well and never felt sluggish. It does an excellent job of providing deeply personal context for Joe’s motivations and the immense sacrifices he made in undertaking such a dangerous mission. It also succeeds in offering crucial historical background on the Ku Klux Klan, which is essential to understanding why these types of undercover infiltrations are so critical. The level of detail in recounting Joe’s dual infiltrations—along with the resulting murder plots, family conflicts, personal sacrifices, arrests, trials, and verdicts—is both thorough and deeply unsettling.
Joe’s final thoughts are foreboding, grim, and, perhaps most distressingly, largely ignored. His warnings about the ever-present and growing threat of white supremacist extremism have gone unheard by a public that appears increasingly comfortable flirting with fascism—a movement that stands firmly on white supremacist ideals, reinforced by violence and, at times, even presidential pardons.
Should you read this book? If you want to take a hard look at what’s festering beneath the surface of our increasingly fragile democracy—then yes, absolutely.
What a thought provoking social analysis. I’ve sat on this book for years, and had I read it around 2015 I would have likely felt that the ascension of a fanatical leader rising in symbiosis with a mass movement was something that happened “over there.” Depressingly, this book (written in the 1950s) is a clear play-by-play mapping of the cascading ingredients of the fanatical mass movement that has gripped firmly the United States.
My intentional self-deprogramming and inoculation to group think, religion, and belief in general has been revealing, and I’ve run the risk of seeing cult-like markers in ordinary places (sports teams, religions, non-profits, brands, and corporations). I have worked to temper those perspectives as no more than self-induced biases fomented by my choices in literature and philosophy. Still, there are some spaces—particularly in the realm of populist nationalism—that I cannot unsee.
We are in the throws of a highly toxic nationalistic mass movement, propagated by the whims of a poison-tongued populist with desires for personal glory and power. This movement and its leader have hijacked the fertile mind-ground of those ready to receive the new identity and acceptance of the group (any group) that justifies their bad behavior, worst inclinations, and general dissatisfaction with their ordinary selves in a very plain world of cause and effect.
Our fanatical leader has arrived and appeals to prejudices and inflames animus toward those outside the precepts of the movement (which is clearly now “the Party”).
What to do? Hoeffer provided no prescription, only the analysis. It’s up to us, the readers and thinkers on his work, on history, to find a way forward and away from the hypnotic seduction of the dictatorial leader and their sycophantic acolytes.
My intentional self-deprogramming and inoculation to group think, religion, and belief in general has been revealing, and I’ve run the risk of seeing cult-like markers in ordinary places (sports teams, religions, non-profits, brands, and corporations). I have worked to temper those perspectives as no more than self-induced biases fomented by my choices in literature and philosophy. Still, there are some spaces—particularly in the realm of populist nationalism—that I cannot unsee.
We are in the throws of a highly toxic nationalistic mass movement, propagated by the whims of a poison-tongued populist with desires for personal glory and power. This movement and its leader have hijacked the fertile mind-ground of those ready to receive the new identity and acceptance of the group (any group) that justifies their bad behavior, worst inclinations, and general dissatisfaction with their ordinary selves in a very plain world of cause and effect.
Our fanatical leader has arrived and appeals to prejudices and inflames animus toward those outside the precepts of the movement (which is clearly now “the Party”).
What to do? Hoeffer provided no prescription, only the analysis. It’s up to us, the readers and thinkers on his work, on history, to find a way forward and away from the hypnotic seduction of the dictatorial leader and their sycophantic acolytes.
Short review. Pointed. Powerful. Inspiring. Terrifying. Depressing. Encouraging in spite of the dismal horizon. Glad I read it. Now, to put the 20 lessons into practice lest this democratic experiment fail.