There’s a reason journalists like Jake Tapper still matter — because even now, under a president who weaponizes access and uses the press as his stage prop, truth is being treated like contraband. The Trump administration’s press rules criminalize curiosity. Pentagon briefings are sealed, and questions are mocked instead of answered — “your mom,” as the White House once replied to a Huffington Post reporter asking about a Putin meeting. Tapper called it “immature, unprofessional, and beneath the office,” but the real damage isn’t the insult — it’s the silence. A democracy that ridicules inquiry is one that’s already rehearsing tyranny.
What makes this moment dangerous isn’t just Trump’s personal cruelty; it’s the normalization of it. Every insult hurled at a reporter is another step toward a country where facts are filtered through loyalty tests. Tapper warned that the Justice Department’s purge of nonpartisan prosecutors is leaving America less safe — trading counterterrorism experts for political operatives. It’s not abstract. It means cases collapse, threats go unchecked, and the machinery that once defended the Constitution now protects one man’s ego. “When I go to a doctor, I don’t care who they voted for,” Tapper said. “I just want the best doctor.” Shouldn’t the same be true for those who defend the country?
We’ve also seen what happens when that principle is abandoned. The wars we were promised would keep us safe became wars we barely remember. Tapper’s new book, Race Against Terror, exposes how that amnesia corrodes us — the forgotten soldiers, the quiet disappearances of accountability, the stories we no longer tell. Afghanistan has fallen, Gitmo still festers, and veterans carry the invisible weight of a war that outlasted the nation’s attention span.
We can still choose differently. We can demand transparency, reject propaganda, and honor the people who fought and reported so we could know the truth. We can treat information as a civic right, not a privilege of power. The cost of not doing so is already visible — in the mockery, in the firings, in the silence that spreads when courage becomes inconvenient.
Share
