“Republicans are just about the money, and Democrats are about the people.” I first heard that line in the late ‘70s or early ‘80s, a mantra that echoed through my childhood. It followed me everywhere—home, school, family gatherings, friends’ porches. Back then, it wasn’t just a phrase; it was gospel. And if you’d seen how we lived, you’d get why we despised the GOP.
Our world was a cramped, crumbling apartment in a Reagan-era ghetto, shared with cockroaches, mice, and rats—unwanted roommates with more legs than us. I’d wake up to them crawling on me; one even tried slipping into my mouth as I slept. Hunger was routine, with no guarantee of a next meal. Gunshots rang out blocks away, forcing relatives to scoop us up from the playground. Crime thrived, hope didn’t, and the ghetto felt like a trap with no exit.
Then there were glimpses of escape—visits to middle-class suburbs just miles away, yet a universe apart. Tree-lined streets, clean homes, kids playing without fear—it was a vacation from our reality. Leaving those places gutted me. Sure, we had tight-knit friends and endless games back home, but the contrast was stark. I blamed Republicans. Reagan, I was told, hated us. The GOP was racist, greedy, and the architect of our poverty. Authority—parents, teachers, neighbors—drilled it into me: don’t question it.
That belief stuck until I was 34. Life kept me busy, clawing my way out of that past. Then came an unexpected pivot: I became an “involuntary teacher.” I started as an aide in a private school, later I earned my teaching certificate; I helped students navigate their lessons. To keep up, I dug into the curriculum myself—U.S. history, primary sources, archived texts. What I found flipped my world upside down.
Everything I’d been taught unraveled. Republicans weren’t the cartoon villains of my youth; Democrats weren’t flawless saviors. I was furious—at the lies, at my blind faith. History became my obsession—National Archives, old documents, the raw truth. It wasn’t about party loyalty anymore; this was about what held up under scrutiny.
Now, when I’m called a Republican and mocked as some rich, money-obsessed elitist, I laugh. I live below the poverty line on a fixed income, without a government safety net. Greedy? Hardly. Yet the stereotype persists: Republicans only care about money.
Here’s the twist: they’re half-right. Money does matter to us—not for personal gain, but for future survival. Our country’s financial state is a train wreck. Debt piles up, and our kids’ kids will inherit a mess we can’t imagine. Picture The Hunger Games, but less fictional—nations spending themselves into collapse, merging into some dystopian “New World Order” the elite salivate over. I’m no economist, but I’d bet my last dollar our descendants won’t know the freedoms that we take for granted.
It’s not just bad luck; it feels strategic. Politicians—both sides—pass bloated bills, skimming the fat for their corruption. No one calls them out, so they keep at it, robbing our children blind. Wars fought, lives lost, all for liberty that’s slipping away. It’s a slow-motion tragedy, and it stings to watch.
So, yes, real Republicans care about money—but not how you think. It’s about a ledger so red our grandkids might never climb out. Call it doomsday if you want; I call it math. Greedy politicians, the Uniparty, are the real culprits. And until someone holds them accountable, the future pays the price.
AMENDMENT:
This article was written back in March of 2021. This amendment to my article is being added on March 5, 2025. President Donald J. Trump is re-elected to a second term in office. There have been a couple of attempts on his life because he exists to help the United States great again.
As of today, many corrupt actions have been exposed. We've yet to see more as of March 5, 2025.
*As an American with a Disability, I did use Grok 3 to help refine and clarify my words.
