Author: Brutus X (Page 5 of 5)

My Sons,

There’s been a lot of talk lately about what it means to be a man—what’s expected, what’s allowed, what’s supposedly under attack. Some would have you believe that manhood is a fixed point, a rigid thing with clear rules and boundaries, that to be a man means to follow a script written long ago. But I want you to understand something that too many people refuse to see: manhood is not a cage, it’s a spectrum, a living thing that grows with you, that evolves with time and experience.

You will hear people—especially those who crave power—tell you that masculinity is being attacked. That’s a lie. What’s being questioned, rightfully so, are the narrow, outdated ideas of what men must be: unfeeling, aggressive, dominant, stoic to the point of silence. These are not strengths; they are chains. You do not need to measure your worth by them.

Instead, I want you to see manhood not as something you must fit into, but as something you shape. You are not just inheritors of masculinity; you are creators of it. And like anything worth creating, it requires thought, care, and the courage to challenge what doesn’t serve you or those around you.

There is nothing wrong with being strong. There is nothing wrong with resilience, or with standing up for what you believe in. There is nothing wrong with “telling jokes” or “having a beer.” But there is a vast difference between true strength and toxic masculinity, which confuses dominance with power and silence with control.

A man who lifts others up is strong, a man who crushes others to feel taller is weak.

A man who faces his fears is strong, a man who denies he has any is fragile.

A man who protects the vulnerable is strong, a man who preys on the weak is cowardly.

There will be people who tell you that expressing kindness, compassion, or emotion makes you less of a man. That’s nonsense. A man who cannot express love is not strong—he is stunted. A man who cannot say “I’m sorry” or “I was wrong” is not tough—he is afraid.

You do not need to fear your emotions. The world does not need more men who bottle up their pain until it curdles into violence or bitterness. The world does not need more men who believe tears are only for women or children. The world needs men who understand that strength without vulnerability is hollow.

There was a time when being a man meant swinging a sword or plowing a field. A time when it meant never questioning authority, never showing fear, never crying over loss. But the world has changed, and so must we.

Your male ancestors were, of course, men of their times. Some of what they believed was admirable—hard work, duty, resilience. Some of what they believed was toxic—silence as a virtue, anger as the only acceptable emotion, love expressed only through sacrifice rather than words. Their strengths should be remembered, their mistakes should be learned from, and their limitations should not be yours.

Manhood should not be a hand-me-down suit you are forced to wear—it should be something tailored to fit who you truly are.

You do not need to only be a warrior to be a man. You do not only need to be wealthy. You do not only need to be a leader.

You only need to be you.

I hope you become men who are strong enough to be gentle. Men who can fight for what’s right without needing to fight for the sake of it. Men who can say “I don’t know” and seek answers instead of pretending they already have them. Men who respect others—not because it makes them look honorable, but because respect is the foundation of real strength. Men who do not confuse cruelty for power. Men who know that masculinity is not one thing, but many things, and that your manhood is yours to define.

I will not tell you what kind of man you must be. That’s for you to decide. But I will tell you this: the world is full of people who will try to fit you into a mold that serves them rather than you. Don’t let them. You don’t need permission to be the kind of man you want to be.

And if someone tells you that you are “not man enough” because you cry, or because you love openly, or because you refuse to follow the old scripts—then know this: they are the ones who are afraid. Afraid that masculinity can be more than what they comprehend. Afraid that it can be something richer, deeper, and more human than the brittle, narrow thing they have built their identities around.

Be strong. Be kind. Be wise enough to know the difference between confidence and arrogance, between power and cruelty, between tradition and chains. Be the kind of man who builds, not the kind who destroys.

To the world I am Brutus.

To both of you I will always be proud to be just Dad

I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to take a moment to engage with you on a topic that has, in recent years, become one of the most contentious issues in our cultural and political discourse: transgender identity. I know that for many conservatives, the growing visibility of transgender individuals and the societal changes surrounding gender identity may feel unsettling, even threatening. My goal here is not to dismiss your concerns but to explore them honestly and to offer an alternative perspective—one rooted in both history and reality.

You may feel that the increasing recognition of transgender people represents a fundamental shift in our understanding of gender, a challenge to traditions that have guided civilization for millennia. This is a valid feeling; cultural change can be disorienting. However, history tells us that transgender and gender-nonconforming individuals have always existed, across all societies and eras. From the Hijras of South Asia to the Two-Spirit people of Indigenous North America, variations in gender expression are not new. What is new is our society’s willingness to acknowledge these identities and protect the rights of those who hold them.

One of the central concerns I often hear from conservatives is the belief that acknowledging transgender identities erodes the concept of biological reality. But science itself does not support a rigid binary view of gender. Biological sex is complex, influenced by chromosomes, hormones, and brain development, and there are naturally occurring variations beyond male and female. Recognizing this does not mean denying biology but rather acknowledging its complexity. The American Medical Association, the American Psychological Association, and countless other medical bodies recognize that gender identity is a deeply ingrained aspect of human experience, and for some, it does not align neatly with the sex they were assigned at birth.

Another major concern seems to be the fear that acknowledging transgender people somehow threatens traditional values, family structures, or even the rights of others. But in reality, transgender individuals seeking recognition and equal treatment are not infringing on the rights of anyone else. They are not demanding that you change your beliefs, only that they be allowed to live their lives freely, just as you do. The existence of transgender people does not prevent you from raising your children with the values you hold dear, worshiping as you choose, or maintaining traditional gender roles in your own life. It simply allows others the same freedom.

The perception of a threat often comes from how the issue is framed in media and political discourse. When politicians or commentators argue that recognizing transgender rights means the collapse of civilization or the destruction of the family, they are not engaging with reality but rather stoking fear. Fear is a powerful political tool, and it is often used to rally people against change, even when that change is fundamentally about extending dignity and respect to others.

Perhaps the most charged aspect of this debate concerns children and gender identity. I understand why many conservatives worry about the well-being of children, and I share that concern. But the best available evidence suggests that affirming a child’s gender identity leads to better mental health outcomes. It is important to recognize that gender-affirming care does not mean rushing children into medical interventions but rather providing a supportive environment where they can explore their identity safely. The reality is that transgender youth exist, and ignoring or denying their identity does not make them disappear—it only increases their suffering.

Ultimately, I believe the core conservative principle of individual freedom should lead to a position of tolerance, if not outright support, for transgender people. If we value personal liberty, should that not extend to people making decisions about their own bodies and identities? If we believe in limited government, should we not resist laws that police how people express themselves? And if we champion the family, should we not support parents who choose to love and affirm their transgender children?

I am not asking you to abandon your beliefs, but I do ask that you consider the possibility that transgender people are not the enemy of civilization, tradition, or morality. They are simply people—people who, like everyone else, want to live freely, love openly, and be treated with dignity.

I appreciate you taking the time to read this letter, and I hope it fosters reflection, if not agreement. At the end of the day, we may not see eye to eye on everything, but if we can at least see each other as human beings rather than adversaries, that is a step toward a better, more understanding society.

With respect and sincerity,
Brutus X

“CONGESTION PRICING IS DEAD. Manhattan, and all of New York, is SAVED. LONG LIVE THE KING!”

Donald TruMP, February 19, 2025

When I launched Defy the Crown in February 2025, the “crown” was meant as an allegory—a symbol of unchecked power, whether from the left, center, or right. I never expected to hear President Trump declare himself a king—even if, as he’ll now insist, it was just a joke.

What’s more disturbing is how casually his supporters are laughing it off—dismissing the comment, rolling their eyes at any suggestion of danger, and treating it like just another of Trump’s neuron misfires that he thinks is clever.

This time, though, it’s different. The Trump administration intervened to halt New York’s congestion pricing plan—exercising federal overreach to benefit his base—and then dropped the “king” line like a closing argument. If that wasn’t enough, the White House doubled down, amplifying the monarchical imagery by posting an image of Trump adorned with a crown alongside the phrase “Long Live the King.”

This is more than just Trump being Trump. This is a deliberate flirtation with autocratic symbolism in a country founded on the rejection of monarchy.

Caesars, Kings, and Emperors: When Leaders Claim the Crown

The United States was founded in direct opposition to monarchy. Make no mistake: the Declaration of Independence wasn’t just a strongly worded complaint—it was a declaration of war. The American Revolution wasn’t a polite request for better representation—it was a violent overthrow of a king’s rule.

The Founders rejected even the appearance of kingship, recognizing that once a leader starts seeing himself as above the people, democracy is in trouble. Yet, history is filled with leaders who toyed with royal imagery on their way to consolidating power—often justifying it with promises of national greatness (again, perhaps).

1. Julius Caesar (44 BCE) – The Republic’s Last Breath

Rome’s republic lasted nearly 500 years, fiercely resisting anything resembling a monarchy. Then came Julius Caesar—who, in 44 BCE, declared himself “Dictator for Life.”

He never officially took the title of “king,” but wielded absolute power and even let Mark Antony publicly offer him a crown. At that point, the symbolic rejection of monarchy no longer mattered—Rome was already a dictatorship.

His assassination did nothing to save the Republic. Instead, it led to civil war, ending in the rise of the Roman Empire under Augustus. Rome learned the hard way: once a leader places himself above the system, democracy doesn’t just snap back into place.

2. Napoleon Bonaparte (1804) – From Republic to Empire

After the French Revolution toppled the monarchy, France became a republic. Enter Napoleon Bonaparte, who rose to power promising to protect democracy—then, in 1804, crowned himself Emperor. He didn’t even let the Pope do it. He placed the crown on his own head in an unsubtle display of, I am the State.

Napoleon justified his power grab as necessary for stability, waged war across Europe, and ultimately led France into chaos and ruin. His empire collapsed, he was exiled, and France spent decades recovering from his reign.

3. Trump (2025) – A Crown for the Taking?

Trump isn’t Caesar or Napoleon—but he knows the power of spectacle. From gold-plated elevators to Bible photo-ops, his political playbook thrives on grandiosity. And now, he’s leaning into monarchical imagery.

Like Caesar, Trump has worked to erode institutional checks on executive power, casting himself as the only true defender of the republic.
Like Napoleon, he wraps himself in grandeur, presenting himself as a historic leader destined to reshape the nation.
Like King George III, he views legal challenges and opposition as personal insults rather than necessary features of democracy.

This isn’t just about Trump. It’s about where American democracy is heading. History warns that when leaders flirt with monarchical rhetoric, it’s rarely just bluster—it’s a test. A test of whether citizens will push back or get comfortable with the idea that their leaders are above the law.

The Modern Implications of Trump’s “King” Remark

If history holds, Trump’s self-coronation may actually backfire. Public resistance to blatant power grabs has, in the past, galvanized movements against authoritarianism. The American and French Revolutions didn’t happen because rulers declared themselves kings—they happened because people refused to accept them.

The best-case scenario? This sparks a renewed commitment to democratic principles, forcing leaders of all parties to reaffirm that no one in America rules by divine right.

The worst-case scenario? We dismiss it. We shrug it off. We normalize the idea that presidents can casually float monarchy as a possibility without consequences. That’s how symbolic monarchy becomes real autocracy.

Rome thought it was immune to dictatorship. Then it got emperors for centuries.

The Republic—If We Can Keep It

Benjamin Franklin, when asked what kind of government America had created, famously responded, “A republic—if you can keep it.” Republics don’t collapse in a day. They erode. Each rhetorical step toward monarchy makes the next one easier.

Trump’s “king” remark is not dangerous because he suddenly transformed into a monarch overnight.
It’s dangerous because it tests the waters—to see if Americans will accept a leader who believes himself above the law.

The real question isn’t whether Trump thinks he’s a king.

It’s whether the American people will act as subjects—or as citizens.

The ruling class has always found ways to silence dissent. Sometimes, they send in the riot police. Other times, they wrap their repression in a bow, using calls for civility to neuter rebellion before it begins. Demands for “respectful discourse” and “polite debate” don’t exist to foster productive conversations—they exist to protect power. When those in charge set the rules of engagement, they ensure their critics remain unheard, dismissed as hysterical, irrational, or simply too rude to be taken seriously.

From Aristocratic Etiquette to Colonial Subjugation

Before the French Revolution, aristocrats maintained a rigid etiquette code dictating how one could air grievances—assuming they dared. If a nobleman had a problem with the monarchy, he had to phrase it delicately, dressing his complaints in elaborate courtesy. Anything too direct was vulgar at best, treasonous at worst.

Take the Estates-General of 1789, where citizens were invited to submit grievances. Among them, the crushing weight of taxation was a prime concern. But outright demands for relief? Unthinkable. Instead, complaints came wrapped in obsequious groveling:

“His Majesty, whose paternal heart is ever inclined toward justice, will surely see fit to relieve his most faithful and devoted subjects…”

Translation: Please, dear King, we adore you—if it’s not too much trouble, might we have slightly fewer crushing taxes?

Meanwhile, those too poor for powdered wigs and flowery petitions—the ones without the “proper breeding” for refined discourse—were dismissed as crude, unworthy of political consideration. Yet when revolution finally came, it wasn’t the polite reformers who tore down the monarchy. It was the angry masses.

Fast forward to the Civil Rights Movement, and the same strategy was at play. Martin Luther King Jr.—now sanitized as the gold standard for “respectable” activism—was relentlessly criticized in his time for being too disruptive. In his Letter from Birmingham Jail, he took aim at these critics:

“I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro’s great stumbling block in his stride toward freedom is […] the white moderate who is more devoted to ‘order’ than to ‘justice.’”

Civility, in other words, wasn’t being used to facilitate dialogue—it was being used to delay justice indefinitely.

The Modern Weaponization of Civility

Today, the expectation of politeness remains a powerful tool of suppression. Calls for “civil discourse” are routinely used not to engage ideas, but to erase them.

Take social media, where civility rules seem to be enforced selectively. Figures who challenge corporate power, state overreach, or elite interests often find themselves de-platformed for “violating community standards,” while those reinforcing the status quo roam free. The ever-shifting moderation policies of platforms like Facebook, X, and YouTube reveal a simple truth: civility is often just a flimsy pretext for censorship.

In politics, we see the same pattern. Whistleblowers and dissidents—Chelsea Manning, Edward Snowden, Julian Assange—aren’t just attacked for breaking the law. They’re vilified as unpatriotic, reckless, and disrespectful. Meanwhile, politicians and corporate elites—who commit far greater crimes—are protected by their polished speeches and expensive suits.

This dynamic plays out in activism as well. Take Black Lives Matter. The outrage wasn’t just about the movement’s message—it was about the tone of the protests.

• BLM protesters disrupted rallies—and were scolded for being disrespectful to political discourse.
• They blocked highways—and were told they were inconveniencing hard-working Americans.
• They staged “die-ins” in shopping malls—and were accused of disrupting business.

The focus was never on why they were protesting, only on how inconvenient it was for everyone else. People claimed they weren’t against the message, just the “methods”—which conveniently meant they could ignore both. BLM became a laughingstock to some, a menace to others, but for many, it was never allowed to be taken seriously.

When Civility Is a Leash

To be clear, civility isn’t always bad. A society that completely abandons respectful discourse risks descending into chaos (or, at the very least, into Elon Musk’s version of social media). But when civility is selectively enforced—used to muzzle the powerless while allowing the powerful to operate unchecked—it stops being a virtue and becomes a leash.

Those who demand politeness from the oppressed while tolerating brutality from the elite aren’t defenders of order. They are enforcers of injustice.

History has made one thing clear: real change doesn’t come from those who play by the rules of “respectable” conversation. It comes from those who refuse to be polite in the face of oppression.

In 1938, African American writer J. Saunders Redding told of a Black laborer warning a companion to “stay woke”—a call for vigilance against racial injustice. The phrase carried weight, urging awareness of oppression. It echoed through the Civil Rights Movement, in Lead Belly’s warning about the Scottsboro Boys—nine Black teenagers falsely accused of rape. It lived in whispered reminders that injustice lurked in courthouses, police stops, and voter rolls.

How fortunate we are that our rulers possess infinite wisdom, impeccable morals, and an unwavering dedication to the public good. Imagine, if you dare, a world where they were instead driven by greed, folly, or hypocrisy—what an absurd spectacle that would be! Picture, if you can, leaders who preach restraint while hoarding fortunes, speak of liberty while forging new chains, and profess peace while reveling in the thunder of war. But let us not indulge in such scandalous fantasies.

A Most Reasonable Proposal

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a society unburdened by disease is a danger to itself. We stand at the edge of catastrophe, staring into a world where illnesses once celebrated for their vital role in population control are vanishing. Polio, measles, smallpox—these noble afflictions, once culling the weak and fortifying the strong, have been rudely eradicated by the relentless march of science. Is this truly the world we want? A world where childhood lacks struggle, where preventable illness no longer reminds us of our mortality?