Thursday, April 2, 2026

Something to Know - 2 April

Yesterday was one of those days that will live in infamy for a couple of reasons.   The first instance involved a sitting president attending a Supreme Court session during litigation concerning his move to deny all birthright citizenships.   The court seemed to cast a bad omen for Trump, especially when Chief Justice Roberts remarked, that...."yes, times and changes have happened since the beginnings, but it is still the same old Constitution."   Feeling shunned, Trump left with his attorney general after a short period; they had had enough.   The second reason is that a few hours later, Trump stood before TV cameras for a national address where he lied and sugarcoated his defeat with an utterly disgraceful declaration of war on Iran.   He did not have a good day.


Heather Cox Richardson from Letters from an American heathercoxrichardson@substack.com 
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Wed, Apr 1, 9:36 PM (12 hours ago)
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Today, for the first time in U.S. history, a sitting president attended oral arguments at the United States Supreme Court. President Donald J. Trump broke precedent to take a seat in the front row of the Supreme Court's public seating area, alongside Attorney General Pam Bondi and Commerce Secretary Howard Lutnick, to observe arguments in the case of Trump v. Barbara, a case under which Trump hopes to end the birthright citizenship guaranteed by the Fourteenth Amendment.

The case argued before the court today grew out of Trump's executive order of January 20, 2025, the day he took the oath of office a second time, titled "Protecting the Meaning and Value of American Citizenship." Fulfilling a campaign promise, the order declared that, contrary to the Fourteenth Amendment, individuals born in the United States are not citizens if their parents do not have legal permanent status.

With the help of the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) and other partners, three families who represented the many people endangered by this order sued the administration. Barbara, for whom the case is named, is an applicant for asylum from Honduras whose baby was due after the order was set to go into effect.

Trump has called for ending birthright citizenship since his first term as part of his appeal to his racist supporters who want to end Black and Brown equality in the United States. But his argument would overturn the central idea of the United States articulated in the Declaration of Independence, that we are all created equal.

The Fourteenth Amendment that established birthright citizenship came out of a very specific moment and addressed a specific problem. After the Civil War ended in 1865, former Confederates in the American South denied their Black neighbors basic rights. To remedy the problem, the Republican Congress passed a civil rights bill in 1866 establishing "[t]hat all persons born in the United States and not subject to any foreign power, excluding Indians, not taxed, are hereby declared to be citizens of the United States; and such citizens of every race and color…shall have the same right[s] in every State and Territory in the United States."

But President Andrew Johnson, who was a southern Democrat elected in 1864 on a union ticket with President Abraham Lincoln, a Republican, vetoed the 1866 Civil Rights Bill. While the Republican Party organized in the 1850s to fight the idea that there should be different classes of Americans based on race, Democrats tended to support racial discrimination. In that era, not only Black Americans, but also Irish, Chinese, Mexican, and Indigenous Americans, faced discriminatory state laws.

In contrast to the Democrats, Republicans stated explicitly in their 1860 platform that they were "opposed to any change in our naturalization laws or any state legislation by which the rights of citizens hitherto accorded to immigrants from foreign lands shall be abridged or impaired; and in favor of giving a full and efficient protection to the rights of all classes of citizens, whether native or naturalized, both at home and abroad."

When Republicans tried to enshrine civil rights into federal law in 1866, Johnson objected that the proposed law "comprehends the Chinese of the Pacific States, Indians subject to taxation, the people called Gipsies, as well as the entire race designated as blacks," as citizens, and noted that if "all persons who are native-born already are, by virtue of the Constitution, citizens of the United States, the passage of the pending bill cannot be necessary to make them such." And if they weren't already citizens, he wrote, Congress should not pass a law "to make our entire colored population and all other excepted classes citizens of the United States" when eleven southern states were not represented in Congress.

When Congress wrote the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution, it took Johnson's admonition to heart. It did not confer citizenship on the groups Johnson outlined; it simply acknowledged that the Constitution had already established their citizenship. The first sentence of the Fourteenth Amendment reads: "All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside."

In the short term, Americans recognized that the Fourteenth Amendment overturned the 1857 Dred Scott v. Sandford decision, in which the Supreme Court ruled that people of African descent "are not included, and were not intended to be included, under the word 'citizens' in the Constitution, and can therefore claim none of the rights and privileges which that instrument provides for and secures to citizens of the United States." The Fourteenth Amendment established that Black men were citizens.

But the question of whether the amendment recognized birthright citizenship for all immigrants quickly became an issue in the American West, where white settlers were not terribly concerned about Black Americans—there were only 4,272 Black Americans in California in 1870, while there were almost half a million white Americans—but wanted no part of allowing Chinese men to be part of American society.

Western state legislatures continued to discriminate against Asian immigrants by falling back on the country's early naturalization laws, finalized in 1802, to exclude first Chinese immigrants and then others from citizenship. Those laws were carefully designed to clarify that Afro-Caribbeans and Africans—imported to be enslaved—would not have the same rights as Euro-Americans. Those laws permitted only "free white persons" to become citizens.

In the late nineteenth century, state and territorial legal systems kept people of color at the margins, using treaties, military actions, and territorial and state laws that limited land ownership, suffrage, and intermarriage.

As late as 1922, in the case of Takao Ozawa v. United States, the Supreme Court ruled that Takao Ozawa, born in Japan, could not become a citizen under the 1906 Naturalization Act because that law had not overridden the 1790 naturalization law limiting citizenship to "free white persons." The court decided that "white person" meant "persons of the Caucasian Race." "A Japanese, born in Japan, being clearly not a Caucasian, cannot be made a citizen of the United States," it said.

The next year, the Supreme Court decision in United States v. Bhagat Singh Thind upheld the argument that only "free white persons" could become citizens. In that case, the court said that Thind, an Indian Sikh man who identified himself as Indo-European, could not become a U.S. citizen because he was not a "white person" under U.S. law, and only "free white persons" could become citizens. After the Thind decision, the United States stripped the citizenship of about fifty South Asian Americans who had already become American citizens.

Those discriminatory laws would stand until after World War II, when U.S. calculations of who could be a citizen shifted along with global alliances and Americans of all backgrounds turned out to save democracy.

But despite the longstanding use of laws designed to perpetuate human enslavement to prevent certain immigrants from becoming citizens, the Supreme Court always upheld the citizenship of their children. In 1882, during a period of racist hysteria, Congress passed the Chinese Exclusion Act agreeing that Chinese immigrants could not become citizens.

Wong Kim Ark was born around 1873, the child of Chinese parents who were merchants in San Francisco. In 1889 he traveled with his parents when they repatriated to China, where he married. He then returned to the U.S., leaving his wife behind, and was readmitted. After another trip to China in 1894, though, customs officials denied him reentry to the U.S. in 1895, claiming he was a Chinese subject because his parents were Chinese.

Wong sued, and his lawsuit was the first to climb all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court, thanks to the government's recognition that with the U.S. in the middle of an immigration boom, the question of birthright citizenship must be addressed. In the 1898 U.S. v. Wong Kim Ark decision, the court held by a vote of 6–2 that Wong was a citizen because he was born in the United States.

Immigration scholar Hidetaka Hirota of the University of California, Berkeley, explains that the government went even further to protect children born in the U.S. In 1889 the Treasury Department—which then oversaw immigration—decided that a native-born child could not be sent out of the country with her foreign-born mother. Nor did the government want to hurt the U.S. citizen by expelling her mother and leaving her without a guardian. So it admitted the foreign-born mother to take care of the citizen child.

The Treasury concluded that it was not "the intention of Congress to sever the sacred ties existing between parent and child, or forcibly banish and expatriate a native-born child for the reason that its parent is a pauper."

In May 2023, then–presidential candidate Donald J. Trump released a video promising that on "Day One" of a new presidential term, he would issue an executive order that would end birthright citizenship. He claimed that the understanding that anyone born in the United States is automatically a citizen is "based on an historical myth, and a willful misinterpretation of the law by the open borders advocates."

But one judge after another has sided against him on this issue, and he apparently showed up at the Supreme Court today to try to intimidate the three judges who owe their seats on the bench to him into supporting his own radical reworking of one of the key principles of our nation. He left after an hour and a half, before Cecillia Wang, the ACLU lawyer arguing for the plaintiffs, began to speak.

Later, Wang described what it was like to argue in court today. She explained, it's "a nerve-wracking experience to argue any case in the Supreme Court, and especially one as weighty as this one, where the president of the United States is taking aim at a cherished American tradition and individual right of citizenship based on your birth in this country. I myself am a Fourteenth Amendment citizen because my parents had not yet naturalized when I was born. So I walked in today with the spirit of my parents and so many people's ancestors in that first generation of Americans—whether they naturalized or not, I consider them all Americans. They came to this country with hopes and dreams, and they gave birth to future Americans, and that's us."



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Juan Matute
R.B.R.
C.C.R.C.


Wednesday, April 1, 2026

Andy Borowitz

The Borowitz Report borowitzreport@substack.com 
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4:05 PM (40 minutes ago)
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Doug Mills-Pool/Getty Images

TEHRAN (The Borowitz Report)—Shortly before Donald J. Trump was set to address the American people on Wednesday night, Iran declared that it would agree to end the war only if there was regime change in the United States.

"The United States is a rogue state led by an unstable ruler," the Iranian statement read. "Such a madman must not be allowed to possess nuclear weapons."

The Islamic Republic's ultimatum drew immediate and strong support from Greenland, Canada, and the rest of NATO.

At the White House, press secretary Karoline Leavitt said only that Trump was well-rested for his televised address, having spent the day sleeping at the Supreme Court.



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****
Juan Matute
R.B.R.
C.C.R.C.


Something to Know - part 2, 1 April

This entire newsletter from Mary Geddry is what I tried, but failed, to communicate in my last message.   

Geddry's Newsletter a Publication of nGenium marygeddry@substack.com 
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7:38 AM (5 hours ago)
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A Shameful Retreat Painted as Victory

As Trump flails abroad and strains the Constitution at home, the real issue is whether the resistance is ready to seize the moment.

Apr 1
 
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Good morning! April Fool's Day arrived with Donald Trump doing what he does best: hovering around institutions he wants to dominate. He is set to attend Supreme Court arguments in the birthright citizenship case, because it is no longer enough for this administration to assault the Constitution from the executive branch; now it must also loom menacingly over the judiciary while the justices consider whether the 14th Amendment still means what it has meant for generations. The case itself is no small procedural scuffle. It goes straight to Trump's executive order aimed at ending automatic citizenship for children born in the United States to undocumented immigrants and some temporary visitors, which means the Court is being asked, in essence, whether one man's anti-immigrant obsessions can override a constitutional guarantee written in the aftermath of slavery and Dred Scott.

Really, unless Trump planned to stroll up to counsel table and deliver the oral argument himself, his presence serves no legal purpose at all. It reads instead as one more act of presidential intimidation theater, the political equivalent of a mob boss turning up in the back row to remind everyone whose interests are on the line. No sitting president attends Supreme Court arguments because presidents are not supposed to loom over the judiciary like they are checking on renovations at one of their casinos. Trump has never understood the difference between democratic institutions and buildings he would like to slap his name on.

Abroad, the administration's Iran debacle was acquiring the full hallucinatory texture of a world that now arrives pre-satirized. Markets were rallying on hopes the conflict might soon wind down even as the bombs kept falling, tankers were being hit, Tehran was under fire again, and Trump was off insulting NATO allies as though the central problem in the Middle East were insufficient European gratitude for his chaos. The Financial Times live coverage had the usual fever-dream quality of war reporting, financial reporting, and Trump coverage all crammed into the same bloodstream: investors cheering on whispers of de-escalation while the region remained on fire and global shipping still hung in the balance.

The New York Times made the deeper problem impossible to miss. Trump is now openly saying the United States will be out of Iran within two or three weeks, with the White House promising an evening address so he can no doubt stand before the cameras and attempt to sell strategic confusion as statesmanship. But the reporting shows an administration that looks like it is frantically workshopping a surrender speech with extra explosions. Rubio has apparently been sketching a narrower list of war aims that would allow Trump to declare success and crawl toward the exit, while Trump himself continues blurting out larger fantasies about regime change, total victory, and other strongman bedtime stories.

That gap between rhetoric and reality is where the rot really shows. Trump keeps claiming he has neutralized Iran's nuclear threat, but the reporting says there is no evidence the stockpile of near-bomb-grade uranium has actually been removed or destroyed. The administration appears to be doing what it always does when reality intrudes: quietly shrinking the definition of winning until it is small enough to fit inside the available lie. The original case for war was the nuclear threat. Now that the nuclear material apparently remains, aides are redefining success downward so Trump can strut away from the wreckage in one of those grotesque made-for-TV exits he mistakes for history.

This is beginning to look exactly like what it is: a shameful retreat spray-painted gold and sold as victory. Just a disorderly climb-down wrapped in patriotic stage lighting. Trump appears desperate to claim he has already won, while the facts on the ground suggest a region still destabilized, core objectives unmet, and allies left to deal with the fallout. The old con remains intact: create a disaster, fail to achieve the original goal, then announce success while backing away from the smoking crater.

And what makes it worse is that this crisis did not spring from nowhere. One of the more useful pieces circulating today argued bluntly that the real beginning of this war was not the latest bombing campaign, but Trump's decision to tear up Obama's Iran deal in 2018. That agreement, whatever its imperfections, imposed real constraints, real inspections, and real limits on Iran's program. Trump trashed it because Barack Obama's name was on it, promised a bigger and better replacement because of course he did, delivered absolutely nothing, and now appears eager to retreat from a conflict made more likely by his own vanity and sabotage. That is the deeper scandal is not that he is just fleeing a war, but trying to flee the consequences of his own earlier wrecking spree while still demanding applause on the way out.

In Europe, the message is being received with all the enthusiasm of dinner guests watching the host set the curtains on fire and then hand them the extinguisher. Britain is now reportedly hosting talks among 35 countries on how to reopen the Strait of Hormuz after Trump signaled the United States may simply leave the war without securing the waterway. Imagine setting the neighborhood ablaze, insulting the fire department, and then announcing that everyone else should probably go get their own hoses. That is roughly where American leadership now stands. It is not the posture of an empire at the height of its competence. It is the posture of an arsonist informing the block association that he will not be staying for cleanup.

Back home, the corruption machine kept humming in its usual key of grotesque absurdity. The Justice Department is reportedly struggling to figure out how to respond to Trump's lawsuit demanding at least $10 billion from the IRS, an agency he oversees, over the leak of his tax returns to The New York Times in 2020. Trump argues the agency failed to stop former contractor Charles Littlejohn from disclosing the records, even though Littlejohn has already been prosecuted and imprisoned for the leak, and even though the disclosure itself plainly did not destroy Trump politically, since he went on to win the presidency anyway. The result is an exquisite ethical spectacle: the federal government must now decide how to defend itself against the man who runs it. Officials are reportedly debating delay tactics, conflict workarounds, and outside counsel possibilities, and may ultimately have to consult Trump himself on how the government should respond to Trump's own suit. You would reject this plotline as too on-the-nose if it appeared in a mediocre streaming drama about democratic collapse. Yet here we are, watching the state get bent once again into a personal indemnity machine for one man's grievances, appetites, and revenge fantasies.

There was also a small but satisfying hiccup in Trump's ongoing attempt to redecorate the republic in his own image: a judge ordered work stopped on the $400 million White House ballroom he wants to build where the East Wing used to be. It turns out you cannot just tear chunks off a national landmark, funnel in money from loyalists and corporations, and call it statesmanship. Sometimes even authoritarian kitsch still has to clear permitting.

Taken together, these stories reveal something important about this moment. Trump is not strong in the way authoritarians like to project strength. He is loud, vindictive, theatrical, and still terrifyingly dangerous, yes. But strong? This is a presidency straining to maintain the image of domination even as the underlying machinery groans, sputters, and contradicts itself. Anyone who has to hover over Supreme Court arguments to project strength is not secure. Neither is a president who keeps shrinking his war aims so he can back away without saying he is backing away. And a regime whose own Justice Department cannot answer its leader's personal shakedown without twisting itself into constitutional knots is plainly not at ease. These are the symptoms of a system under strain.

Moments of strain are when pro-democracy movements either find their courage or waste their opening. As activists, we should be honest about what this moment offers. Trump looks weak because he is weak, though not harmless. He looks cornered because he has created too many crises to manage cleanly. The temptation, naturally, is to answer that weakness with sheer energy: more marches, more outrage, more glorious talk of general strikes, more cathartic public fury. All of that has its place. But pressure without demands creates noise. Pressure with demands creates leverage.

That has been the missing piece in far too much of the conversation. What, exactly, do we want in return? What are the terms under which democratic resistance knows it is succeeding? If the answer is only "not this," the opposition will always be reactive, forever chasing the latest outrage while power adapts. If, however, the answer becomes concrete and expansive at the same time, then resistance starts to look less like permanent defense and more like democratic construction.

The idea of a new Bill of Rights matters so much right now. This administration has shown us, in painful detail, where our old guarantees were too weak, too narrow, too conditional, or too easily ignored. It has exposed how fragile due process can become when cruelty is policy, how quickly equal protection can be narrowed by ideology, how vulnerable voting rights remain, how brittle truth itself becomes when propaganda captures institutions, and how utterly unserious our governing system still is about protecting the living world on which every other freedom depends. We should not be fighting merely to tape the old order back together and pray the leaks slow down. We have to build something stronger than what failed.

The answer to authoritarianism cannot simply be nostalgia for the old rules, because the old rules were already failing too many people and too much of the living world. A real democratic resistance should be bold enough to imagine a new Bill of Rights, one born from everything this administration has revealed about cruelty, impunity, ecological destruction, and institutional weakness, and one expansive enough to protect both human freedom and the rights of nature to exist, thrive, and naturally evolve. That would give the resistance a destination worthy of the danger of this moment. Not just endless triage, or just "please stop." A clear destination.

That, ultimately, is how to take advantage of Trump at his weakest. Not by merely mocking him, though heaven knows he makes it easy. Not by staging resistance as a form of national group therapy. But by identifying peaceful tools that create pressure and tying them to clear democratic goals that the public can understand, measure, and rally around. Protest. Boycott. Strike where possible. Refuse normalization. Force defections. Demand accountability. Build institutions that can outlast the man. Name the concessions. Name the reforms. Name the future. In earlier posts, I've offered a draft framework for a new Bill of Rights as one possible starting place for that conversation, a way to think seriously about what must be protected, reaffirmed, and newly recognized if democracy is to survive this era. That framework is in the archives, and if it would help move this discussion forward, I'm happy to repost it simply as a conversation starter.

This is the part the authoritarians never fully understand: weakness at the top only matters if there is something organized below it, something morally serious enough and politically clear enough to exploit the opening. Trump is giving the country an extraordinary education in corruption, cruelty, and collapse. The question now is whether the resistance will settle for outrage, or whether it will seize this moment to articulate what democracy must become after him. Carpe momentum. Not someday, not after one more scandal, not after one more election cycle, not after permission arrives from the people who helped create this mess. Now. While the cracks are visible. While the performance of strength is faltering. While people can still be persuaded that a different future must be built. That is our real work now.




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****
Juan Matute
R.B.R.
C.C.R.C.