What a blessing to have so many followers who support and believe in my work. Thank you so much, Catleen. This documentary is going to be absolutely wonderful. If you can, please support this film project via my GiveSendGo: givesendgo.com/TheIllegalHig…

🚛SHOCKING: Fake trucking companies hiding in apartments & PO boxes are putting ILLEGAL immigrant drivers behind the wheel of big rigs—hauling YOUR mail, Amazon packages, even military cargo! I went on-the-ground in Philly with @supertrucker to expose these 'chameleon carriers.'

🚛 Hundreds of American families are being shattered every year by catastrophic truck crashes caused by illegal & unqualified drivers. "The Illegal Highways" is a raw documentary that finally gives those grieving families the microphone. If you want the truth exposed, help me make it happen: → givesendgo.com/theillegalhig…

🚨 JUST RELEASED: My new documentary "Not Standing Alone" – Whistleblowers, doctors, & parents expose the harms of transgender ideology on kids. Surgeries, cover-ups, & the fight for truth. Watch the entire documentary NOW here on X or on YouTube in 4K: youtu.be/ybEIIcuxmqU

🔥 Trailer Alert: "Not Standing Alone" – Dive into powerful stories from the @Genspect Bigger Picture Conference. Kids ignored, adults rising up against damaging narratives. Real talk on resilience and truth. Featuring @stellaomalley3, @EithanHaim, @LoganLancing, @JenniferSey

I believe Americans are amazing because I’ve met many firsthand who have thankfully impacted me positively. In this writing series, I want to begin by talking about a group of people I barely knew that sacrificed so I didn’t have to sleep in my car after moving to Tennessee. Prior to moving to Tennessee, I was living at home in New Jersey and wanted a change in my life for better economic opportunity. At the time, I had a good friendship with a guy who lived in Nashville, and we talked daily about cars and life. I was 21 years old, and we had discussed the possibility of me moving out to Nashville to learn autobody work. In my early 20s, I was passionate about cars and thought I’d want to switch into the automotive profession. In several conversations, he said he knew someone who could possibly get me work as an apprentice. Where would I stay? Well, he said he had a house, and I could crash with him until I got myself settled. Before making any hasty decisions, I decided to drive to Nashville and meet this friend and his auto shop friend to see if this was relatively legitimate. When I met him, he had me meet at his parents’ house because he was supposedly there helping them. Later that day, he had me briefly meet his friend to solidify the image of this entire endeavor coming true. In hindsight, his friend looked kind of confused as to who I was, but for many years, I struggled with trusting my instincts and would lean on blind optimism. Deep down inside, I wanted this to work because I was desperate. I was working a dead-end job, I had just had a child, and I knew that I needed to take a major risk to find some sort of success in life to ultimately take care of my son. When I came back home to New Jersey, I knew I was leaving for Nashville—a place I’d only visited for a couple of days. I had no family there, no life connections there other than this guy I met online, and starting over was going to be a massive overhaul in my life. I thought if it worked out, I could have my son and his mother come with me, and maybe we could finally make our relationship work to become a family. But in the short term, I was going to be away from him, which hurt more than I thought it would because I was incredibly attached to him. The one smart thing I did was find a job at an alarm company before moving out there. I applied from New Jersey and told them everything about me moving there. My boss understood the entire situation and had the job waiting for me. The day had finally come for me to drive to Nashville with all of my belongings stuffed into a Mitsubishi Eclipse, but I’d get no answer from my friend on the phone. Call after call, no answer. It wasn’t until I was a couple hours away from Nashville that he finally answered. “Sorry man, you can’t stay here.” My heart sank, and I didn’t know what to do. Admittedly, I was already kind of broke but hoped that a new job would get me out of the dumps quickly. Here I am on a Friday night after driving over 13 hours to Nashville, and I have no place to go. I may write about this in the future, but I coincidentally had another car friend in Huntsville, Alabama, who let me stay with him for the weekend so I didn’t have to spend my last dollars on a hotel. Monday rolls around, and it’s my first day on the job. It was like this looming secret in my head, and I didn’t know if I should say anything or not. These people don’t know me, and I don’t know if it would negatively impact my job—one I desperately needed. A couple hours into my shift, my boss pulls me into his office for a friendly chat. “So, everything go okay with staying with your friend?” It was a crossroads for me: being honest or lying to hide my embarrassment. For some reason, I told him the truth; I told him everything. I tried to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal because I could just sleep in my car in the meantime. He looked legitimately concerned and told me he would get back to me later that day. Before the end of my shift, he talked to me again in his office and told me that none of management wanted to see me sleep in my car. This man got together with all the supervisors—with discretion in mind—told them my situation, and asked if they’d be willing to pool some money together to place me in a hotel for as long as I needed. Even writing about it still brings tears to my eyes. These people knew me for less than a day and were willing to commit to helping me have a warm place to sleep for weeks. They paid for my hotel rooms and, I believe, gave me a little cash to get some food to eat. If my memory serves me, I believe they paid for upwards of 5 weeks for me to stay in a weekly hotel before I had enough money to get my own apartment. No one outside of management ever knew what was going on with me. Once in a while, a supervisor would ask during a shift if I was alright—almost like code speak for them wanting to sincerely make sure I was safe. There was never a discussion of me paying them back or anything like that. However, for me, I paid them back by being the best damn employee they ever had. Any time they needed someone to work overtime, I took it. I went above and beyond to show my appreciation for the people who sacrificed when they didn’t even know me. For a long time, I was ashamed of the situation I put myself in. 20 years since this happened, I still don’t know if I told my mother all of these details because I felt foolish; this was the primary reason I didn’t ask her for help at the time. I would later find out that my “friend” didn’t have his own home and that he falsified a lot about his life. His car friend didn’t know who I was or what the plans were. His girlfriend would later reach out to me months later apologizing to me because she knew what was going on and wished she’d said something to me before I left my life behind. These Amazing Americans, who were of various ages, races, and sexual orientations, all cared about me—a complete stranger. They didn’t want anything from me other than for me to be safe in the world. So, when I say that Americans are amazing, it’s not an empty slogan to me. It stems from various encounters with people who helped me when I was in need and inspire me to be a better man, father, and citizen of this great nation. America is great because of the heart of its people; don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. If you like this series, subscribe to the link in the following post for more in the future.

"73% approve of President Trump’s recent efforts to make sure Americans no longer pay more than other countries when it comes to prescription drug prices" This is polling of people with various political affiliations. Listen to the voters and it could positively impact midterms.

"Jack Smith’s Arctic Frost operation crossed a constitutional red line, and everyone involved should be held accountable." The more that is uncovered about Arctic Frost, the more I believe Jack Smith and Judge Boasberg should be held accountable. We'll see what Patel's FBI does

The commentary around the ICE shooting reminds me of 2020 when I posted on my Facebook account a bunch of statistics surrounding black Americans post-George Floyd. A black woman told me, “I hope you have that same energy when you get shot by a cop.” My first thought was, that’s not likely because I’m not a criminal. I’m not breaking laws on a regular basis nor am I consuming illegal substances like drugs. I don’t place myself in situations where cops are called and I sure as hell don’t involve myself in official police business. The reason the commentary reminds me of this dialogue is because people are pretending that this shooting is a likely outcome for any American. But it isn’t. It’s incredibly far-fetched to act as if these men are walking around looking to shoot some rando driving a car. But it becomes believable if your entire concept of ICE is that everything they’re doing is at random. What has bothered me is that even normies think ICE is going door-to-door looking for people who “appear” illegal. They’ve consumed media that has convinced them that there are these immigration cowboys running around the country ready to terrorize your neighborhood. They have no clue about how ICE operates, and what their primary objectives are. Even more so, most people live a life of comfort and never see the underbelly of what ICE and other law enforcement officials see. ICE is at the forefront of stopping human trafficking, including children being trafficked. The men and women they are deporting range from being criminals in their homeland to criminals domestically. Nothing about their activities is random; they are highly targeted apprehensions. They are a limited enforcement arm and it would be objectively stupid and unproductive to operate “randomly.” They know where to find specific people because many have already been to immigration court and have deportation orders. They have their addresses and know who they associate with. Some have committed crimes here and so they have this information already. But when you understand that these men and women aren’t running around like headless chickens searching for brown people to deport, and that they’re highly trained officers, it makes more sense as to why you shouldn’t fear being wrongfully deported or shot by them. If you were attempting to impede any investigation or apprehension of any law enforcement arm, you’d be entering a dangerous territory that could lead to your arrest. Or in simple terms, don’t mess around with people who have guns and authority. So to the woman who said for me to have the same energy, I won’t need to because I don’t play foolish games with people with guns and authority. I also don’t attract attention by doing illegal things. Overwhelmingly, criminals are the ones who get shot by cops and criminals are the ones who shoot at cops as well. Likewise, none of you should be concerned about being deported unless you aren’t here legally. You shouldn’t be concerned about being shot by ICE unless you are provoking a response from them by interfering with their work. When you live in their reality of today may be your last day, you don’t play around with unruly people. Giving the benefit of the doubt to people can get you killed in a uniform. This is why ICE officers wear armor and masks. They face death threats and attempts on a consistent basis now that their jobs have been politicized. So, any person who is telling you to live with fear of an unlikely outcome, know they are attempting to manipulate you for some form of gain. There is a lot of that happening today; stay vigilant and protect your soul.

Demons are real. I've had a couple of supernatural events involving the demonic. I had one earlier this year where it was laughing in a child's voice, mocking my childhood. Then I called Jesus' name, was blinded by a golden light made by the Holy Spirit and it was gone.

"They refuse to fight back against the communist takeover despite obvious signs of internal domination because they still believe an Orange Man is scarier than the Red Guard." My latest w/ @nypost nypost.com/2025/11/03/opinio…

Today, I am voting for Republican Jack Ciattarelli @Jack4NJ as Governor of New Jersey. This will be the first time I’m voting for a Republican as Governor in New Jersey. I am an independent who has voted both Democratic and Republican in my lifetime, but the Democrats have destroyed my state in recent years. New Jersey is often the butt of jokes (many initiated by myself), but it’s a beautiful state that is riddled with overtaxation and is simply not affordable to live in. New Jersey has the highest property tax rate in the country and simultaneously has the highest average home price. I know several people who have decent homes who are paying $12,000+ a year in property taxes. Meanwhile, in neighboring states like Pennsylvania, the same house and property would probably cost them half the amount in property taxes. New Jersey has a progressive income tax system with a top marginal rate of 10.75%. Among the 50 states, this ranks as the 4th highest top marginal individual income tax rate. We are effectively being economically squeezed to death by overtaxation, and the dagger in the heart has been the rising energy costs. Our energy costs have risen 24-31% in a single year, and everyone is bearing the brunt of these costs. What’s not helping is that our state government is going all in on renewable energy projects that’ll cost lots of money but won’t be sufficient for the demands. Not every issue is the fault of Democrats, but their solutions are not helping. Their promises are falling flat, and what’s been happening is that their messaging has been about attacking Trump rather than acknowledging there is a massive affordability issue in our state for the working class. Prior to the pandemic, my wife and I were looking to become first-time homebuyers. On average, in the areas we were looking at, a home would cost around $350,000. That same home a couple of years later is half a million. Even condos aren’t going for that price in a decent area. Even if we could save up enough for a decent down payment, we are faced with high interest rates and murderous property taxes in nearly every area of this state. We’ve asked ourselves if it’s even worth staying here because even with an above-average income, we are still priced out of experiencing the American dream. It’s hard to fix things if you don’t acknowledge that there is a real problem, and Jack’s Democratic challenger, Mikie Sherrill, doesn’t appear to understand how dire it is that we resolve these issues; otherwise, the next generation of residents will suffer an even greater consequence than what I’m going through. I’m terrified for the college kid who wants to start a family in New Jersey in the near future. How can you build a life here when rent in a halfway decent area is astronomical and saving to buy an already overpriced house is nearly impossible in the most expensive state in the country? The Democrats have been compromised by radical progressive ideologues and minimize the pain of anyone who isn’t in the top tax bracket. We are being strangled, and they don’t seem to recognize that we can’t breathe. Another massive issue tied to the economics is the illegal immigration issue here. New Jersey is seen as a “sanctuary state,” and I’ve been inside these warehouses all over the state: illegal Hispanic workers are in massive abundance. These are jobs that would have given citizens who are lower-middle class employment opportunities with enough money to take care of their families, and now they’re being skipped over for a cheaper illegal workforce. We look at how, decades ago, you could own a house, a car, and take care of your family on a single factory job. Those days are gone because Americans are battling an illegal workforce that drives down our wages. I’m a pragmatic and realistic voter; I don’t expect Jack to fix every issue that we have going on in this state. What I want is someone who is prepared to stop this unaffordability train that’s about to economically derail us. I joke about New Jersey, but I’ve lived in this state for over 25 years and I like it here. I’ve lived in multiple counties throughout the state, and this place is my home. There are good people here who are trying their best to make ends meet, and the pathway over the past couple of decades hasn’t been working (yes, even under Christie). It’s time for a change and for there to be equal competition for every resident’s vote. It’s time for everyone’s interests to be in mind and not just the niche interests of the upper class. I’ve lost trust in the Democratic Party and the people they prop up for positions of power to champion what I care about. Jack's platform acknowledges these issues and he's approaching things with a common sense response. Whether he follows through, only time will tell. I’m giving Jack Ciattarelli a shot. He has my vote.

Days ago, I lost my friend to a tough battle with cancer. It was only weeks ago that he told me that, due to his age and the advancement, the doctors said there was nothing else they could do. The last time I talked to him, I believe he knew it would be the last time we would speak. I've heard lots of stories of people dying, and they just have a sense that it's coming to an end. While he was a fighter, I think he knew the inevitability of his passing was coming even before the doctors told him. I found out he passed away only hours after being on stage at a conference in Orlando this past Saturday. I received a video call while sitting in the audience from his account, which was unusual since we don't video chat. I called back, and it wasn't him; it was his wife. She was distraught and told me that the man she’d been married to for over 30 years and her best friend, died two days ago. She said that he told her to reach out to me after he passed and tell me how much our friendship meant to him. To honor his memory, I want to talk about my friend, Phil, and how we became unlikely friends. I met Phil originally on a free speech platform shortly after the death of George Floyd. From my perspective, it seemed like our country had just flipped on its head, and new narratives were being formulated that at times made me question my sanity. Was I going crazy, or was everyone else insane? On this forum, I would write intimately about my feelings and perspectives. Being there was a blessing for multiple reasons, but if it weren't for that forum, I wouldn't be where I'm at today. After a couple of long-form posts, I received several messages of encouragement stating that I should write more often: Phil was one of those people. Our dialogue would switch from the forum to Facebook Messenger, where we would talk almost daily about anything. At first, our conversations were cultural and political banter, and then they shifted into deeper topics, like our childhoods. I say we are unlikely friends because, on the surface, you wouldn't think we'd ever be friends. He was in his 70s, a military veteran, and white; the complete opposite of myself. However, we not only had common viewpoints on politics, but we bonded over our childhood trauma. We were both abandoned and lost boys, unsure of how to become strong men because we never had fathers to train us up. Phil never knew who his father was because no adult would ever tell him. He admitted to me how he always felt less than other boys, and I knew exactly what he felt like. He stated that the only reason he joined the military was because he didn't know what to do with his life and felt that the structure was helpful. While the military was a positive part of his life, he would never shake that feeling of being lost in the world and lacking value. He didn't really talk about it when he was younger. Instead, he drank alcohol to numb the pain. At the beginning of our friendship, he would state how he had regret for his early adult years because of how alcohol messed up his relationships, especially with his children. He knew he wasn't a good father, and he hated that about himself. He had tremendous guilt about what he used to be and felt hopeless about what he could do to reunify with his children. It was because of Phil that I gained empathy for flawed fathers filled with regret who lost hope due to their own internal strife. He didn't have a father figure, a man to properly show him how to be a healthy father figure. Instead, he was left alone to figure out how to handle his childhood wounds, and he did it the best way he knew how: through the bottle. Despite him years later being able to stop drinking, the damage was done with his relationship with his children. The first time he told me about these intimate details, I told him that he should never give up on his children. I explained to him that he needed to apologize for what he had done with all sincerity. I didn't judge him because he had already done enough of that to himself. Instead, I empathized with him and restored hope in reunification. This conversation happened in 2020, and earlier this year, when I inquired about how everything was with his children, he let me know that two of his children were back in his life. From the very beginning, Phil always believed in me and encouraged me to keep writing and speaking the truth. Not many people know this, but when I wrote my first book, only a handful of people knew about it. Phil was one of those people, as I would periodically send him pages of the book as I was writing it. He would be blown away and tell me how I needed to hurry and finish so the world could read my words. He was so impactful for me during that time that I wrote about our friendship in my first book, “Black Victim To Black Victor.” If I'm honest, I had no real expectations of the book going anywhere. I thought my Facebook friends, some family, and maybe 10 strangers who discovered it somewhere would be interested in reading my book out of pure curiosity. Where I am today, Phil always knew would happen. He saw what I couldn't see. Over the five years of knowing each other, Phil would periodically send me messages giving me congratulations and telling me how he was proud of me. He would see my television appearance or read an article in the New York Post and make it known that he knew I would be here. As an abandoned kid, you grow up wondering if anyone cares about you. It's the low self-esteem part of me that would question if I'm of value and if anyone believes in my capabilities. So, it means a lot to me when people believe in me. Phil wanted nothing but the best for me, and I felt the same for him. They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but he grew as a man after we became friends. We met at a tumultuous time in American history, and he’s told me on a couple of occasions that I kept him from going down a more ideologically radical road. I loved him too much to let him fall down the rabbit hole. Usually, I don't expect to meet my online friends, but when he found out that I was giving a speech in a neighboring state, he drove down with his lovely wife of over 30 years to meet me in person for the first time. I wish I had gotten to spend more time with him, but I feel blessed to have met him at all. Since finding out about his passing, it's been difficult. I am sad but happy that he's no longer suffering because he's with the Lord now. On my plane ride home, I stared out the window, looking at the clouds, and I couldn't stop crying as I was thinking about him. Whenever someone close to me passes, I always think about the totality of life. It realigns my purpose and makes me even more thankful for the time I have here with people that I care about. Phil knew I would change the world even when I wasn't sure if I'd be able to. And to change the world, all you have to do is impact at least one person, and that positivity will ripple throughout the world in ways you'll never see. While at this conference, I spoke with a young man who was hesitant about reunifying with his father, who was regretfully not in his life. I told him to give his father grace and start a new relationship with him because that's what I would do if my father were alive. The next day, the young man told me via social media that he agreed to meet with his father, which his father was extremely pleased to hear. It was shortly after this conversation that I found out about Phil's passing. I like to think that Phil was there with me while helping this young man come back together with his father. I already know that I made him proud, and when times get difficult, I'll remind myself of Phil's words of encouragement in the darkest of times. Rest in Peace, my dear friend, Phillip Bannister. May the Lord be with you.

On October 25th, The Seed & Roots Summit will bring voices from across America to speak honestly about what it takes to build strong families, thriving communities, and meaningful work in an age of division, distractions and opportunities. (Link To Tickets In The Next Post)

Today is my birthday, and I'm now 41 years old. A lot has happened over the past year or so, from being baptized to writing a new book. I made this video to reflect on the past year and give thanks for what I have and the people I've been able to impact.