Affordable Liberty

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Regain a Just American Spirit

Burying My Heart with My Broken Knees: Reflections on Scars, Wisdom, and Reparations   Recently, during a visit to my dermatologist, I remarked lightheartedly about the countless scars dotting my skin—souvenirs of my years as a tennis instructor, spent baking under the relentless sun by my own sundance. These thirty-plus marks, pale in significance next to the deeper, emotional scars I carry as a witness to the long-standing injustices faced by Indigenous peoples in this country.   I've always found solace in nature. As a boy enduring Washington, D.C.’s sweltering summers on passive solar panels known as tennis courts. The shade and cool air provided by trees became my refuge from the horrific heat.  The wisdom of the forest is where I developed a profound respect for wisdom of Indigenous communities.   This connection is woven into my own history. My grandfather, both a genealogist and a government statistician, worked extensively with Native data. My line...
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Fervor or Reverence? Choosing Virtue Over Division

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   In the last decade, I’ve witnessed a growing fervor in religious expression—bold, righteous, and unyielding. Yet reverence, true and humble, appears more scarce.   I live in the heart of the Shenandoah Valley, where faith is woven into daily life. The people here are warm, the landscape breathtaking, and the traditions deeply rooted. My grandfather was a minister, though I never had the chance to meet him. His legacy, however, speaks to me—not through grand sermons or rigid doctrines, but through the quiet humility that embodies true reverence.   Some wield their faith like a weapon, driven more by desperation than inspiration. Their fervor alienates rather than uplifts, replacing grace with aggression. Divisiveness has transformed discourse into hostility, turning victories into violent rhetoric. Fear Mongering fuels cycles of anxiety and conflict, eroding the very virtues faith should cultivate.   Yet in the quiet acts of kindness...
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Country Club or Club for Our Country

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Country Club or Club for Our Country *"I would never join a club that would have me as a member."* – Groucho Marx   Growing up, my playgrounds were public parks. The city streets and green spaces of Washington, D.C., were open to all—except those with country club memberships. These clubs, with their manicured lawns and exclusive gates, were foreign to us.   My parents valued education. My father graduated law school, yet most of my siblings never finished college. I left George Washington University despite having a full scholarship, finishing high school a year early. Like Thoreau, I believed formal education truly begins when it ends. That belief deepened when I moved from struggling public schools in D.C. to the best institutions in the suburbs. It was my first real lesson in inequality.   Later, as a tennis professional, I lived in two worlds: one of hard pavement, sweat, and labor, and another of affluence and ease. I became, in essence, a...
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