I’m Still Waiting for an Apology—and Why I’ll Never Get It

I’m still waiting for an apology. Not because I expect one, and certainly not because I need it. I’m waiting because the absence of apology reveals everything. The silence is the confession. I’ve been called names, lost business, watched institutions collapse under the weight of their own virtue signaling—and through it all, I’ve kept the ledger. This post is part of it. I opposed NAFTA when it was still being sold as bipartisan brilliance. I warned that it would hollow out manufacturing, gut local economies, and trade civic consequence for globalist comfort. They called it progress. I called it surrender. No apology came when the factories closed—just silence. In 2009, I warned that the incoming administration would usher in technocracy and identity politics under the guise of hope and change. I saw the scaffolding crack. I named it early. They called me paranoid. I called it inevitable. No apology came when the cultural fog rolled in—just celebration. I stood with the Tea Party and the 10th Amendment. I supported Ron Paul—not for slogans, but for sovereignty. I watched him nullified by media and party machinery. I believed in earned liberty. They believed in managed compliance. No apology came when the Constitution was sidelined—just mockery. I warned against DEI and ESG before they became corporate gospel. I said merit would be replaced with metrics, principle with performance, and institutions would rot from the inside out. I watched it happen in real time. No apology came when competence collapsed—just hashtags. I refused the vaccine. I refused the mask. Not out of rebellion, but out of reason. I was slandered, exiled, and punished for choosing clarity over compliance. I lost business. I lost friends. I lost standing. No apology came when the narrative shifted—just revision. I warned against the weaponization of language, the collapse of consequence, and the rise of bureaucratic virtue. I watched institutions bend, break, and beg for forgiveness from mobs they helped create. No apology came when the damage was done—just denial. And now, I watch a culture demand that I affirm what I do not believe. I don’t care how someone lives. I don’t care who they sleep with. I don’t care what they wear or what they call themselves. But I will not be forced—or guilted—into affirming someone else’s delusion. Transgenderism is a mental health crisis. It demands compassion, not celebration. It demands care, not coercion. I respect your right to live freely. I reject your demand that I lie for you. This isn’t hate. It’s scaffolding. It’s the difference between tolerance and submission. Between liberty and linguistic tyranny. I don’t need your apology. I need your reckoning. I don’t seek closure. I seek consequence. This post is not a plea. It’s a record. If you’re reading this and feel indicted—good. If you feel sharpened—better. The crucible is lit. The metal is raw. Enjoy the ride.