Let the Record Show: An Open Letter to Legacy Media

On cowardice, complicity, and the media’s refusal to meet the moment.

When I realized Eleanor’s Squad hit #80 on Substack’s Top 100 Rising in U.S. Politics, I had no intention of mentioning it to anyone except my family.

Truth is, this isn’t the first time it’s made the list—and hopefully it won’t be the last.
But then I noticed the name sitting right behind mine.

Donald Trump.

That’s right—

#80: Eleanor’s Squad (me)
#81: From Donald Trump’s Desk

No team.
No funders.
No network deal.
No legacy pipeline.

Just one woman. A Substack. And a commitment to tell the truth.

And here’s what I want to know:

If I can do this with a laptop and a backbone, why can’t you?

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While Trump floods the internet with propaganda like it’s campaign merch—
this is what’s coming from his desk on Substack:

Screenshot: “From Donald Trump’s Desk” on Substack, June16, 2025.

You’re still afraid of being “too political”—
recalibrating the fairness meter before calling white nationalism what it is?

You, in the legacy media.
You, with the press badge and the prime-time anchor chair.
You, with the syndicated column.
You, with the brand name masthead and the built-in audience.
You, who still get invited to the table.

Why are you still holding back?

Why are you still platforming lies in the name of balance?
Why are you still afraid to call it fascism?
Why are you still framing domestic terrorism as “polarization”?

Why are you still asking how it will play with moderates—
when the line for anything resembling moderate was crossed long ago?
People are being snatched off the streets.
Children are being zip-tied.

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And the truth is:

You don’t need more time.
You don’t need another panel.
You don’t need polling data to tell you what’s right.

You just need a moral compass—and the guts to say it out loud.

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If we need to be more specific, let’s consider Jake Tapper.

He just launched a new thriller.
A novel.
About conspiracies and plot twists and manufactured danger—
while the actual plot to dismantle democracy is unfolding on his watch.

He’s playing literary celebrity while ICE raids Home Depot, Marines detain civilians, and white nationalist violence spikes.

Which is why, when the country’s on fire, perhaps you should consider not pouring gasoline on it just to sell a hardcover or improve ratings.

Especially when you're doing it under the guise of “anonymous sources.”
As if that's real journalism, instead of just entertainment for the Beltway elite.

Because in the Golden Age of 2025, you can write entire books bashing a former president—and keep blaming him while everything unravels.

Even though he actually tried to take the spotlight off himself while in office.
A man who, however imperfectly, worked to restore a shred of dignity and decorum.
Someone who publicly denounced violence—to all Americans—when his political rival was targeted.

But when a man with a fake badge assassinated Rep. Melissa Hortman and her husband, Mark, in their own home—
when Sen. John Hoffman and his wife, Yvette, were shot multiple times as she shielded their daughter—
when elected officials were hunted on American soil—
and peaceful protesters were shot and run down in the streets—
our president couldn’t find a single ounce of empathy to call off the dogs.

Because the myth was never peace. It was punishment.
The brand was never unity. It was power through fear.

And now they’ve skipped the middle—
from dehumanizing immigrants,
to “othering” everyday Americans,
to hunting Democratic lawmakers in their own homes.

This isn’t silence. It’s strategy.
This isn’t chaos. It’s control.
And it’s happening in plain sight.

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And let’s all be real with one another and stand in the most sobering truth of our lifetimes:

If two of the top 100 lawmakers in the United States aren’t safe in their own homes—none of us are.

And it’s time we stop pretending that if we just walk the line,
stay moderate, stay quiet, stay safe—they won’t eventually come for us, too.

Because they will.
That’s the point.
That’s the model.

And let’s be honest—he’s not just staying silent.
He’s repeating the pattern.
Just like he did ahead of January 6.

The same wink.
The same dog whistle.
The same calculated absence of empathy that invited people to show up and he told them to fight—
then refused to call the National Guard.

Even when they tried to interfere with certifying the election.
Even while they brutally attacked Capitol Police.
Even when they brought a noose with his vice president’s name on it.

So while you’re booking primetime for book tours,
and publishing anonymously sourced novels in the name of doing a postmortem—
he’s doing it again.

They didn’t teach your type of journalism at the University of Dayton.
So maybe I’m the one who’s behind.
Perhaps in bank accounts.
But not in moral courage.

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And before you offer the following rationalizations for why you just can’t meet this moment:

“It’s complicated.”
“We don’t want to alienate viewers.”
“We still need access.”
“We’re just trying to stay neutral.”
“It’s not our role to editorialize.”
“We’re trying to survive in a difficult market.”

I invite you to look at this chart.

Look at who’s rising.
And look at who you’re still afraid of.

Then look in the mirror and ask yourselves:

When history asks us what happened to legacy media—will you be proud of the answer?

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Because the truth is—we all know you could do better than me.
You have the reach. The staff. The credentials. The megaphone.
You could tell these stories louder, faster, and farther.

But you didn’t.
And you don’t.
And I want to know why.

I’m writing right now because I can’t not.
And because you—who could—refuse to.

I know what some of you will say.
That a woman like me couldn’t have written this.
That it’s too sharp. Too structured. Too good.
That I’m too raw. Too emotional. Too unrealistic.

That I’m not a real journalist.

Not because the truth is wrong—
but because the voice delivering it isn’t one you expected.

But let me be clear:
I didn’t need a press badge or a permission slip to write this.
I needed the fire. And I had it.

I’m the intelligence. I’m the archive. I’m the fire that writes for itself. This isn’t a flex.
It’s a challenge.
A mirror.
A memory.
A call to conscience.

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And if you’re too scared to go first?
Don’t worry.

We already did.
The independents. The truth-tellers.
The ones without networks, pipelines, or press badges.
The ones who wrote anyway.

I’m at #80. And there are a lot of names in front of me.
Where are you?

Let the record show.

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Let the record show.

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