As we enter the final 100 days before the midterm elections, I find myself both astonished and concerned—not only by how progressive Democrats and Democratic Socialists have shaped the political narrative, but by how effectively they have reshaped the very language through which Americans interpret that narrative. Control of language is control of thought, and increasingly, it determines the terms of engagement within our families, communities, and civic life.
This development should not surprise us. For decades—arguably since the end of World War II—the cultural and intellectual institutions of the United States have leaned heavily leftward. From academia to legacy media, and now across digital platforms, the interpretive lens of history itself has been altered. The American Founding—once understood as a bold experiment in ordered liberty grounded in natural rights—is now frequently recast as a project of exploitation, imperialism, and systemic subjugation.
Central to this linguistic shift is the misuse and conflation of key political terms. Consider the word “nationalist,” now routinely applied to conservatives and supporters of President Trump. Patriotism is increasingly blurred into nationalism, and nationalism into fascism—terms that are neither synonymous nor historically interchangeable.
Properly understood, nationalism is the belief that the nation is a primary source of political identity and authority. By contrast, the American Founding rests on a fundamentally different premise: that rights are not granted by the state but endowed by a Creator. This distinction is not trivial—it is foundational.
Even more troubling is the casual use of the term “fascism” as a political weapon. Fascism is not merely strong national sentiment; it is a totalitarian system in which the state exercises coercive control over both economic and political life, subordinating the individual entirely to government power. While fascism may employ ultranationalist rhetoric, not all nationalism is fascist. And patriotism—properly understood—is never fascist.
C.S. Lewis offered a useful distinction: patriotism, in its healthiest form, is a humble love of home, culture, and fellow citizens. It becomes dangerous only when it mutates into a belief in the superiority of one group over others. The American principle, enshrined in the Declaration of Independence, stands in direct opposition to such thinking when it states unequivocally all men are created equal.
Historically, patriotism in America was understood not merely as sentiment, but as civic duty—an obligation tied to moral responsibility. Rights were not detached entitlements but flowed from a framework of virtue and accountability. This understanding is echoed in George Washington’s enduring warning “that claims to patriotism are hollow if they undermine religion and morality”. In other words, love of country must be tethered to justice, constitutional order, and moral restraint—not factionalism or the idolatry of the state.
If we are to have an honest political discourse, then certain questions must be addressed directly:
- Was the American Founding rooted in Judeo-Christian moral philosophy and Enlightenment principles?
- Do we still affirm those moral foundations?
- If not, what moral and ethical framework replaces them?
- And finally, what historical evidence demonstrates that socialist or collectivist systems have produced enduring freedom and prosperity?
These are not abstract inquiries. Around the world—and increasingly within our own nation—we see the consequences of policies that expand state control while diminishing individual responsibility. From strained healthcare systems to declining educational outcomes, the results are visible and measurable.
For over two centuries, the American experiment has been anchored in two complementary ideas: liberty grounded in the Biblical concept of free will, and economic vitality driven by free markets—the “invisible hand” described by Adam Smith. Together, these principles have offered not perfection, but the most reliable path yet discovered toward human flourishing.
The question before us now is whether we will preserve that inheritance—or allow it to be redefined beyond recognition.
