I won’t defend Schumer’s choice here. It was a bad call, and the anger from House Democrats and the base was completely justified. You’re right that the party leadership sometimes folds when they should fight. They make strategic decisions that feel disconnected from the urgency the moment demands. And yes, Democrats have corporate-aligned figures who blunt the force of reform, but that is also a reality of our current system that we have to work within.

But, sticking to your example, there is a key difference: when Democrats cave, it’s often to avoid causing harm, like a shutdown that would devastate working people. When Republicans cave, it’s to secure more tax cuts, more deregulation, and more authoritarian power. The intent and the outcome are not the same, even if the compromise leaves a bad taste in everyone’s mouth.

It also matters that Democrats have factions pushing from within. The anger from House Dems, from AOC, from the base, that’s real pressure that can move things. Republicans don’t have that kind of internal accountability. Their party punishes dissent and rewards obstruction.

And while it’s easy to say “they always have excuses,” the reality is that even when Democrats had a trifecta in 2021, their margin in the Senate was literally 50-50. One or two bad actors (like Manchin or Sinema) could tank an entire agenda, and did. That’s not an excuse. That’s a math problem, and the only way around it is bigger, more engaged progressive coalitions.

So yes, Schumer failed in that moment (and many others). Yes, we should be furious. But walking away or writing off the party entirely means handing power back to a movement that’s not just flawed. It’s actively hostile to democracy, human rights, and the planet. That’s not moral purity. That’s surrender.

I’m frustrated with the reflexive “both sides are equally bad” response that shuts down any meaningful analysis of what’s actually happening in our politics.

I’m not naive about the Democratic Party’s problems. They struggle with internal divisions, sometimes cave to corporate pressure, and they’ve made compromises that disappointed their base. But when I look at voting records, policy proposals, and legislative priorities, I see meaningful differences that have real consequences for people’s lives.

On issues I care about (healthcare access, climate action, voting rights, ext.) one party consistently proposes solutions and votes for them when they have the numbers. The other party doesn’t just oppose these policies, they fight tooth and nail to undermine them, delay them, or dismantle them entirely. That’s not a matter of opinion. That’s a matter of public record.

When Democrats fail to deliver, it’s often because they lack sufficient majorities or face procedural roadblocks. When they do have power, they’ve passed significant legislation on infrastructure, climate investment, and healthcare expansion. Meanwhile, when Republicans have unified control, their priorities have been tax cuts for the wealthy and rolling back environmental protections.

I understand the appeal of cynicism. It can feel sophisticated to dismiss all politicians as equally corrupt. But that cynicism serves the interests of those who benefit from the status quo.

If you can’t tell the difference between someone trying to reform a broken system and someone actively working to keep it broken, you’re not offering insight. You’re providing cover for obstruction.

Does this mean Democrats are perfect? Of course not. Should we hold them accountable when they fall short? Absolutely. But pretending there are no meaningful differences between the parties just because neither is perfect makes it harder to build the coalitions we need to create the change we actually want to see.

Luigi actually saved lives though. The assassination of Brian Thompson was a stated symbolic protest against insurance practices that deny life‑saving care intended to spotlight and stop those denials. His act sparked intense public outrage media attention regulatory scrutiny and investor backlash which pressured UnitedHealth to soften its claim‑denial practices and approve more life‑saving care. That shift led to higher costs. Lower profits triggered the largest one‑day stock drop in 25 years and prompted a class‑action lawsuit by investors.

Luigi set out to right actual wrong and literally saved lives in the process

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/unitedhealth-investors-lawsuit-brian-thompson-luigi-mangione/

Nothing will beat Trump’s personal Seal of the President of the United States.

Just so others know that is an actual quote.

"I want to encourage you with some substance that we are in the process of the second American Revolution, which will remain bloodless if the left allows it to be.” - Heritage Foundation President Kevin Roberts

https://www.politico.com/news/2024/07/04/leader-of-the-pro-trump-project-2025-suggests-there-will-be-a-new-american-revolution-00166583

Yeah. Should be suits pulling them down. I really don’t like that this denigrates the wonderful people who actually do the work.

This isn’t about pouring yourself out for an employer that doesn’t care. It’s not about “going above and beyond.” It’s not about grinding harder or giving more than you’re getting. That’s not the standard I’m talking about.

What I am talking about is the foundation. I am talking about the basic, essential qualities that every relationship (personal or professional) is built on: reliability, respect, integrity, follow-through.

If you say, “I’ll be there at 5,” then be there at 5. That has nothing to do with giving more or going the extra mile. It’s about whether people can trust your word. Whether your actions line up with what you say. Whether others (teammates, friends, partners, family) know that your word has value.

When you’ve built that foundation of trust, life’s inevitable curveballs become manageable and explainable. When you have a genuine emergency, when circumstances beyond your control interfere, people believe you. They extend grace because your track record speaks for itself. But if you’re consistently unreliable, every excuse (legitimate or not) gets met with skepticism. You’ve lost the benefit of the doubt.

The employee I mentioned wasn’t being asked to sacrifice for a system. He was being asked to keep his word. He said he would be there. He wasn’t. He has never been mistreated or underpaid. The opposite actually. He was hired with no experience into a well-paying, supportive environment. Every failure has been met with encouragement from leadership. But honestly? That’s not even the point. Because the values I’m talking about matter regardless of whether the system is fair or not.

Why? Because these values belong to you. You take them with you wherever you go. They make you stronger, clearer, more capable of building relationships that matter. They are what open doors (not just in jobs, but in life). And they’re what create the trust that protects you when things go wrong.

I’m not calling people to give more to bad systems. I’m calling people to give more to themselves. To build a foundation they can stand on so when they do need to call out injustice, advocate for change, or walk away, they do it from a place of strength, not reaction. Not out of anger, but out of clarity.

So yes, I am trying to convince people of something. Not to serve power. But to be powerful.

And the truth is, you can’t build anything strong (anywhere) if people can’t count on you. That’s not a corporate value. That’s a human one.

What you shared lands really close to home for me. I’m right there with you. My ADHD is the “leave‑your‑keys‑in‑the‑fridge, miss‑the‑turn‑you‑take‑every‑day” flavor, and when you layer in a hefty dose of imposter syndrome, it can feel like the whole world sees “irresponsible” when I’m just wrestling with my own wiring.

Over the years I’ve had to build some pretty extreme guardrails to keep myself on track:

• The 15‑minute rule. I aim to arrive everywhere a quarter hour early. It buys me a buffer for the inevitable “where did I put my badge?” scramble and lets me start calm.

• Alarm orchestras. My phone is a symphony of labeled reminders: “Leave NOW,” “Send daily status,” “Prep tomorrow’s kit.” If it dings, I do the thing right then (no bargaining, no “I’ll remember in five”). Future‑me is not a reliable assistant.

• Immediate action. If a task pops into my head and will take less than two minutes, I do it on the spot. That tiny rule has saved me from a mountain of forgotten follow‑ups.

• Radical transparency. This is my most important rule for myself. I tell my team straight up: “ADHD is my software; here’s how I patch the bugs. If you spot a glitch, flag me.” People are surprisingly supportive when they understand the why so I tell everyone.

None of these tricks erase my problems, but they translate good intentions into results the team can feel. And every time a coworker says, “I know I can count on you,” even when I am too harsh in judging myself.

Your story is a powerful reminder that what looks like disrespect can be a neurological hurdle. I hope anyone reading our thread pauses before labeling someone lazy or careless. Sometimes the most respectful thing we can do for ourselves and for each other is to seek understanding, build systems that work for our brains, and keep rooting for one another’s progress.

Thanks again for sharing. You’re not alone, and the fact that you care this much tells me you’re exactly the kind of teammate people want in their corner.

I can feel how strongly you feel about this, and I get it. A lot of people have been burned by workplaces where “teamwork” is just code for giving more while getting less. That kind of exploitation needs to be called out. People have every right to protect their time and energy in those environments. I support that fully.

But that’s not what happened here.

In this story, I wasn’t defending a corporation. I wasn’t demanding loyalty to a job. I was calling someone up to a standard I hold for myself and offer to my team, not out of obedience, but out of integrity. I’ve never talked down to this guy. I’ve treated him with patience, honesty, and consistency. I’ve modeled the values I believe in and asked him to rise, not for the company, but for his own sake. Because that’s what respect actually looks like in action.

You called me “the fucking problem,” accused me of guilt-tripping people, and painted me as some kind of corporate enforcer. That’s not just inaccurate. It’s unfair. And I’m going to push back on it.

Not out of ego. Not out of anger. But out of self-respect.

I believe we should challenge broken systems and still choose who we want to be in the middle of them. I believe in calling people higher, not because they owe it to a job, but because they owe it to themselves. And I believe that treating people with dignity, even when they lash out, is still worth doing.

So no, I’m not going to return the insult. But I am going to stand up for myself. Because this, right here, is what it looks like to respond with strength, not submission. With clarity, not cruelty.

You don’t have to agree with my take, but I hope this helps clarify it.

I want to clarify something I’ve been trying to express in this conversation.

I’m not saying anyone owes loyalty, effort, or integrity to a company that doesn’t respect them. If a workplace is unfair or exploitative, people have every right to disengage or walk away. That’s not just valid, it’s necessary.

But that’s not what I’m talking about.

What I’m talking about is you. Who you choose to be, no matter what kind of environment you’re in. Are you on time? Do you follow through on your word? Are you consistent and accountable. Even when no one’s watching?

This isn’t about your boss. This isn’t about your company. This is about whether you want to be the kind of person who can be trusted, counted on, and respected by yourself.

When you live by values like integrity, honesty, and reliability, not because anyone’s rewarding you, but because they reflect who you are, you gain something real. You grow. You get stronger. You carry that into everything else in your life, your relationships, your work, your reputation, your self-worth.

This isn’t submission. This isn’t compliance. You can absolutely reject broken systems while still choosing to live by your own standards. That’s what I mean by self-respect. That’s where the power is.

So when I told my guy, “I’m disappointed,” it wasn’t about control or discipline. It was about hope. I’ve tried to show him what it looks like to show up, not because someone’s cracking a whip, but because you want to be the kind of person who shows up.

I hold him to that standard because I see what’s possible in him and I believe in what those values can unlock for anyone.

This is not about imposing expectations. It’s an invitation. To rise. To grow. To build something in yourself that no one can take away.

And yes, I believe we need more of that in the world. Not because we’re told to, but because we choose to.

You’re 100% right that respect should be a two-way street. I said “should” be. It often is not. Especially when it comes to systems like fair compensation, time, and effort. No argument there. If a company or a boss is disrespecting your time and well-being, that needs to be addressed, period.

What I was trying to explore in my story is a different layer. Something personal and internal. Though respect should be a two way street, it is still a street worth walking alone. That even in imperfect systems, even when others don’t “earn” your respect or see your effort, there’s still a kind of power in choosing to show up with integrity. Not because they deserve it, but because you do.

Choosing to be reliable, communicative, and accountable, even when others aren’t, helps shape who you are. It builds character, trustworthiness, and personal dignity. It teaches you to lead yourself. That’s the kind of respect no one can take from you, even when the outer rewards aren’t there yet.

It’s not about obedience. It’s about owning your path.

It transforms your mind and, in turn, your life. It is a path worth walking.

Thanks again for engaging with the nuance. I really value conversations like this.

I hear you, and honestly? You’re not wrong. There are too many places where all the talk about “team” ends up being just a way to squeeze more out of people without giving anything back. That kind of exploitation deserves to be called out, and I’m with you there.

In our case, I do think our company tries to be generous in a lot of ways. But no, my team (and myself) don’t get paid more based on performance. So when I talk about respect, reliability, or rising to a challenge, I’m not saying the system rewards that. I’m saying you do.

What I wanted to share was really about a different kind of return on investment: the kind that lives inside you. Growth. Character. Reputation. Confidence. The way you carry yourself. The way people start to trust you without question. All of that sticks with you, no matter where you go or who signs your paycheck.

Being great doesn’t mean being a doormat or ignoring unfairness. It means choosing a higher standard for yourself, even when others haven’t earned it, but because you are worth that standard. This mindset has helped me build a career I’m proud of, even in imperfect systems.

Thanks for the push back. It helped me realize I needed to say this part more clearly.

I’ve spent the last year trying to make it work with one of my guys.

At first, I told him the rest of the team was having trouble connecting with him. He would wander off without telling anyone where he was going or what he was doing, which gave the impression that he wasn’t working. I explained that optics matter, because we’re all in this together. If we can’t count on each other, it makes it harder for everyone. He appreciated that conversation, but things didn’t improve.

He continued to show up late or call in sick, often on days when he knew we’d be busiest. I talked to him again about reliability—how it’s the most basic form of respect. Not just for your workplace, but for yourself. When you say you’re going to do something or be somewhere, it’s vital that your word means something. If you can’t be counted on, how can anyone rely on you?

I didn’t just tell him this. I lived it. I showed him with kindness and consistency how important those basic values are.

Last week was the busiest week our team has ever faced. It was also one of the most critical in terms of proving what we could do together. I prepped the team ahead of time and told them how proud I was to step up to the challenge with them.

On the first of the two most important days, he was late. The first 15 minutes were the most crucial of the entire day, and he missed half of them. I wasn’t angry. I handled it myself. But when he arrived, I told him how stressful that time was for me, and I reminded him again how important these two days were. He said he understood. He said he was sorry.

The next morning, I was 15 minutes into busting my ass alone. I texted him: Where are you? Nothing. Radio silence. No reply that day. Not a single call or message.

The next day, he told me he was sick and had a doctor’s note. The note was timestamped 3:45 p.m., and it said he was cleared to return to work that day.

I just stared at it for a moment. I didn’t get angry. I didn’t yell. I just said, “Okay,” and continued working. We worked in silence for most of the day.

Later, he said casually, “I heard you were upset yesterday morning.”

I replied calmly, “I was. Yes. It was stressful.”

He shrugged and said, “Sorry about that.”

I didn’t respond. I just kept working. Then, just before I left, I turned to him and said this in a calm but measured tone:

“Let me clarify something. Yesterday, I was upset because it was stressful. I’m not upset today. I’m disappointed today. I wanted to be able to say to the rest of the team that I could rely on you when it mattered most. But I can’t say that. I can’t defend you to the team when they feel like you leave them to figure it out on their own, because you left me when I told you I needed you the most. I’m not upset. I’m deeply disappointed.”

He tried to defend himself with the doctor’s note, but I raised my hand to stop him. He waited for me to say something else, but I didn’t. I let the silence speak, then walked out.

I’m sharing this because I saw this meme and it made me feel sad and reflect. I know it may be counter to the fun of the meme, but I thought the point was worth sharing.

Sometimes, jobs are crappy. Sometimes you work for people who don’t care but still expect you to. In those cases, I understand the temptation to stop caring or to burn bridges that don’t seem worth crossing.

But here’s my advice:

Respect—not because others have earned it, but because you are worth giving it to.

Hold yourself to a higher standard, not for them, but for you. Elevate yourself because it’s worth doing. Be better to yourself.

And when others who also respect themselves find you, they’ll recognize that quality in you. That’s when you find people worth teaming up with. That’s how you build something greater, something that’s not just productive, but meaningful and fun.

Alright, I want to say this first: I appreciate that you’ve stayed in this conversation. I really do. I can tell you care, that you take your tradition seriously, and that you’re trying to offer what you believe is truth. That matters to me. I’m going to speak just as plainly as you do, because I think you can handle it.

You keep pointing to your sin like it’s some badge of spiritual maturity. But Christ didn’t die so you could stay tethered to your brokenness. He died so you could actually change. He didn’t offer you a mirror just to say, “Yep, still filthy,” but to cleanse you and fill you with His Spirit so that His love becomes what people experience when they encounter you.

You speak of repentance as if it’s the destination. It’s not. It’s the doorway.

You talk about church as the only hospital, but then point to sacraments and tradition as the required price of admission. You keep reducing the gospel to obedience, when the whole point of transformation was not through your obedience, but His. You are like Christ because of Christ.

And if Christ in you and through you is the goal, then look at how He loved. He confronted religious pride. He broke bread with doubters. He listened before correcting. He touched wounds before calling people to sin no more.

Right now, your version of Christianity seems to say, “You’re disgusting. Come to church.”

But the gospel contradicts that directly with, “You are deeply loved. You have been made whole.”

Your sin isn’t the problem. If the work of the Cross is actually finished, your sin is not your problem. It was Christ’s.

What I see in you is a refusal to believe you can actually live differently. That Christ can actually live through you. That His Spirit doesn’t just forgive, it transforms.

You want me to come back to church? Then show me what church people look like when they truly believe they’ve been made new.

You say Christianity isn’t about me. But Jesus didn’t die to protect institutions. He died for people. For their hearts. For their healing. For their wholeness. That is the good news.

So I’ll keep talking to strangers here, or anywhere else I can connect with people. I’ll keep telling my story. I will bring the Church to them. Because someone out there needs to hear that there is nothing to be ashamed of anymore. Love defeated shame. Love defeated doctrine-as-a-weapon. Love is the good news we share through our words and our actions.

And since you speak often of repentance and obedience, I’ll offer this to you in your own language:

If the Church is a hospital, as you say, then what do you do when the wounded are afraid to walk through the doors, not because they reject healing, but because the people inside keep reopening their wounds?

Is it not a kind of spiritual malpractice to demand repentance from the hurting without first washing their feet?

You’re right, Christ calls us to die to ourselves. But if that death doesn’t make us more gentle, more approachable, more like a refuge for the broken, what exactly is dying in us? And what’s still holding on?

And one more thing. You seem to have misread my last question. It wasn’t for me.

It was for you.

Are you Christlike?

Not in your theology. Not in your discipline. Not in your sacraments or church attendance.
When people think of you, do they think of love?
Love in your tone. Love in your compassion.
Love in how you treat even a stranger—not just on some internet platform, but everywhere.

Because as Jesus said, that is how they will know you are His disciple.

I shared this with a friend years ago on discord.

First of all, I want to thank you for engaging with me. You have definitely given more thought to your position than your initial replies. I dismissed you as someone not willing to actually engage based on those short responses, but this last reply had depth and effort. I truly appreciate and respect the effort.

You’ve made your position very clear: submission, sacraments, and Church are non-negotiables in your view of faith. I understand that, and I even understand where it comes from. The tradition you’re drawing from is ancient, rigorous, and unapologetically structured.

But what’s missing here, and what is truly heartbreaking, is any sign of compassion for another person’s spiritual wounds.

I didn’t come here to tear down faith. I came because I loved the Church. I gave it years of my life, my energy, and my care. I spent six years in formal religious study. I learned Greek and Hebrew so I could seek truth and teach it faithfully. I led weekly studies for fifteen years, speaking to literally thousands of people who longed to know Christ. I watched marriages fall apart. I watched people suffer in silence. I watched young hearts burn out trying to earn a love they were told was unconditional.

And I served right in the middle of all of it. My entire life’s work has been Christ.

So when I speak of grief, I speak from the inside. This isn’t theory to me. It’s memory. It’s life.

Your response hasn’t engaged with any of that. You haven’t asked a single question. You haven’t tried to understand. You’ve quoted doctrine and offered correction without even pausing to wonder who you’re speaking to. You assume I left because I didn’t want to submit, when in truth, I stayed far longer than was good for me because I wanted to be faithful.

The Church you speak of, and the God you seem to represent, appear interested only in obedience and conformity. But the Jesus I encountered in Scripture? He wept with the broken. He dined with the outcast. He challenged the religious elite. He called people not to power, but to love.

So here’s my sincere question for you:

If someone came to you and shared that the Church had wounded them, not once, but persistently and they did so with humility and pain in their voice, how would Jesus respond?
Would He accuse them?
Would He quote doctrine?
Would He tell them their experience doesn’t matter?
Or would He listen?

Because that’s really what this comes down to. Not whether I agree with every line of theology. Not whether I tick every box of orthodoxy. But whether those who bear the name of Christ actually reflect His posture when someone is bleeding spiritually.

I have no expectations here, but I’ll leave you with one final question for you to ask yourself and sit with:

Am I Christlike?

I know. I took a look before I responded. I had a sense of who I was dealing with. I decided to extend an olive branch, but I wasn’t surprised by what I got in return. At this point, I’m mostly replying for the sake of others who might be reading the thread.

Manmoth, I have done this long enough to know when someone isn’t interested in genuine conversation.

To everyone else reading this exchange: this is exactly what I was talking about.

I shared a deeply personal experience about the gap between Christ’s teachings and the behavior of many who claim to follow Him. And this was the response:

Dismissal. Accusations of delusion. Demands for repentance. Theological gatekeeping. No curiosity about my journey. No questions about what I saw or experienced. No willingness to consider that someone might leave the church for reasons worth examining.

Instead, I was told: “You’re deluded. You’re prideful. You’re antisocial. You must go to church.”

This is the pattern many of us have encountered. When we raise concerns about the church’s witness, we aren’t met with reflection or dialogue. We’re met with accusation and calls for submission. The response isn’t, “Help me understand what went wrong,” but, “You are the problem.”

Notice what happens: Scripture becomes a weapon instead of a balm. Theology becomes a wall instead of a bridge. And the conversation becomes about control, not compassion.

And this is precisely why I can no longer bear the name Christian myself. Because this, this dismissal, this judgment, this refusal to engage with genuine spiritual struggle, is what that name has come to represent. Manmoth isn’t an outlier. This response is the norm. This is Christianity as most people experience it.

For those of you reading this who’ve had similar experiences, you’re not crazy. You’re not alone. Your concerns about the gap between Jesus and Christian culture are valid. And the fact that raising them often provokes exactly this kind of response… should tell you something.

To those in the church who genuinely want to understand why people are walking away, this exchange is a case study. The ones leaving aren’t always rebellious or prideful. Sometimes, they’re the ones who took Jesus’s words about love and integrity so seriously that they couldn’t ignore the contradiction between His call and what they saw happening in His name.

You’ve spoken fifteen words to me. And here’s what they’ve told me:

You went to a Christian church last Sunday. You believe I wasted your time with a “long-winded” explanation. And you accuse me of pride.

If you wish to defend yourself as a disciple of Christ, then tell me: Which of the 1 Corinthians 13 attributes of love have you shown me so far? Patience? Kindness? Have you honored me?

Because I can’t point to a single thing that resembles love. No curiosity. No grace. No questions. Just a dismissal, a judgment, and a label.

So let’s talk about pride.

Was it pride that compelled Jesus to overturn tables in the temple courts? Was it pride that moved Him to confront the Pharisees, the respected religious leaders of His day, for their hypocrisy, their arrogance, their empty performance of righteousness? Was it pride that led Him to say, “You honor me with your lips, but your hearts are far from me”?

Or was it love? A love so fierce, so holy, that it refused to be silent in the face of corrupted religion. A love that demanded truth, even when it cost Him everything.

What I shared with you didn’t come from pride. It came from grief. From years inside the Church, serving, loving, and ultimately mourning how far we’ve drifted from the heart of Jesus.

Pride would have stayed silent. Love compelled me to speak.

If you want to continue the conversation, I’m here and I would welcome it. But if you want to show yourself a disciple of Christ, then let your words be grounded in truth, wrapped in love, and spoken with a willingness to listen. Anything less isn’t worth the breath.

I worked in churches for over 15 years, and during that time, I met many kind, well-intentioned people. But what I often ran into—and what eventually wore me down—was the disconnect between the teachings of Jesus and the behavior of many who claimed to follow Him.

The command to “love one another” wasn’t just a suggestion. It was supposed to be the defining mark of discipleship. But instead, I saw love regularly take a backseat to doctrine, tribal loyalty, and personal comfort. When challenged, many defaulted to talking points instead of compassion. They could quote scripture fluently but seemed unable—or unwilling—to embody it, especially when it required real humility or sacrifice.

What was most painful was the hypocrisy: preaching grace but practicing judgment, offering community but withholding inclusion, speaking of Jesus while acting more like the Pharisees He opposed. And often, faith became a shield—not to protect the vulnerable, but to protect egos from the hard work of self-examination. It blinded people to their own contradictions. They believed they were living rightly, when in truth they were often just defending their culture, not their Christ.

So yes, I hope your experience is different. Truly. Because for many of us who once lived and breathed church life, the gap between Jesus and those who speak in His name grew too wide to ignore. That’s why I and some of the most authentic followers of Christ I’ve known don’t call themselves Christians anymore. Our Christian values won’t allow it.