Amber Nicole Thurman’s family will not be having a wonderful Mother's Day.
Amber Nicole Thurman from Georgia only needed a routine procedure to clear her uterus, called a dilation and curettage, or D&C.
She waited in pain in a hospital bed, worried about what would happen to her 6-year-old son.
Due to Georgia’s strict abortion bans, all doctors could do was monitor. Monitor her spreading infection; monitor her sinking blood pressure and monitor her organs beginning to fail.
Trump's abortion bans are causing cruel excruciating deaths. He said this is what we wanted.
Is that what Amber’s son wanted, to be motherless?
I know what Mother's Day feels like as an adult without a mom. I can't imagine a child.
#DemsUnited
#AbortionIsHealthcare
With deep sorrow, we say farewell to one of the final sentinels of the Tuskegee Airmen. George E. Hardy, who once danced across the skies of Europe in his Mustang has taken his final flight at the age of 100. Leaving behind a legacy forged in courage, resilience, and unwavering dignity.
It began in a quiet room in Philadelphia. A 16-year-old boy hunched over his homework as the radio crackled with the news of Pearl Harbor. In that instant, the world fractured, and George’s childhood evaporated. He didn't wait for history to call; he went to meet it.
Denied entry because of the color of his skin, he didn't retreat. He leaned into the wind. He joined the U.S. Army Air Forces, arriving at Tuskegee not just to learn the mechanics of flight, but to dismantle the mechanics of prejudice.
By 19, George was a "Red Tail," a guardian of the clouds. While the world below was segregated, the flak in the European theater was indifferent. He flew 21 combat missions over Nazi-occupied territory, a teenager in a cockpit proving that valor has no pedigree.
Most men would have seen enough of war. George was not most men.
- World War II: 21 combat missions in the P-51 Mustang.
- Korea: 45 combat missions, braving the dawn of the jet age.
- Vietnam: 70 combat missions, a veteran hand guiding a new generation.
For nearly thirty years, he wore the uniform of a country that didn't always love him back, yet he protected it with a devotion that shames the very idea of hate.
When he finally climbed out of the cockpit, he didn't stop serving. As a Lieutenant Colonel, he helped architect the military’s first global communication systems. He spent his sunset years ensuring that those who followed him would never be out of reach, never be truly alone in the dark.
"He rose above the clouds so we could finally see the light."
Today, we don't just salute a pilot. We salute a man who endured the sting of Jim Crow to earn the silver wings of a hero. He was the quiet defiance in the face of "no," the steady hand in the cockpit, and the humble heart in the room.
The "Red Tails" are thinning now, their formation heading into the eternal sunset. But as George E. Hardy crosses the ultimate horizon, he leaves behind a legacy etched not in ink, but in the very air we breathe.
Rest well, Colonel. The watch is ours. The sky is yours.
Holy shit, this is BRILLIANT: This dude breaks down why everyone thinks the whole WHCD event was fake... everything about trump is FAKE.
Best video you'll see today.
brilliant -- Morning Joe put together clips of Pete Hegseth reciting a fake Bible quote from Pulp Fiction, along with the Samuel L. Jackson scene from the movie
Robert Mueller died last night.
He was 81 years old. He had a wife who loved him for sixty years. He had two daughters, one of whom he met for the first time in Hawaii, in 1969, on a few hours of military leave, before he got back on the plane and returned to Vietnam. He had grandchildren. He had a faith he practiced quietly, without performance. He had, in the way of men who have seen real things and survived them, a quality that is increasingly rare and increasingly mocked in the country he spent his life serving.
He had integrity.
And tonight the President of the United States said good!
I have been sitting with that word for hours now. Good. One syllable. The thing you say when the coffee is hot or the traffic is moving. The thing a man who has never had to bury anyone, never had to sit in the specific silence of a room where someone is newly absent, reaches for when he wants the world to know he is satisfied. Good. The daughters are crying and the wife is alone in the house and good.
I want to speak directly to the Americans reading this. Not the political Americans. Just the human ones. The ones who have lost a father. The ones who know what it is to be in that first hour, when you keep forgetting and then remembering again, when ordinary objects become unbearable, when the world outside the window seems obscene in its indifference. I want to ask you, simply, to hold that feeling for a moment, and then to understand that the man you elected looked at it and typed a single word.
Good.
This is not a country having a bad day. I need you to understand that. Countries have bad days. Elections go wrong. Leaders disappoint. Institutions bend. But there is a different thing, a rarer and more terrible thing, that happens when the moral center of a place simply gives way. Not dramatically. Not with a single catastrophic event. But quietly, in increments, until one evening a president celebrates the death of an old man whose family is still warm with grief, and enough people find it acceptable that it becomes the weather. Just the weather.
That is what is happening. That is what has happened.
The world knows. From Tokyo to Oslo, from London to Buenos Aires, people are not angry at America tonight. Anger would mean there was still something to fight for, some remaining faith to be betrayed. What I see, in the reactions from everywhere that is not here, is something older and sadder than anger. It is the look people get when they have waited a long time for someone they love to find their way back, and have finally understood that they are not coming.
America is being grieved. Past tense, almost. The idea of it. The thing it represented to people who had nothing else to believe in, who came here with everything they owned in a single bag because they had heard, somehow, across an ocean, that this was the place where decency was written into the walls. That idea is not resting. It is not suspended. It is being buried, in real time, with 7,450 likes before dinner.
And the church said nothing.
Seventy million people have decided that this man, this specific man who has cheated everyone he has ever made a promise to, who has mocked the disabled and the dead and the grieving, who celebrated tonight while a family wept, is an instrument of God. The pastors who made that bargain did not just trade away their credibility. They traded away the thing that made them worth listening to in the first place. The cross they carry now is a costume. The faith they preach is a loyalty oath with scripture attached. When the history of American Christianity is written, this will be the chapter they skip at seminary.
Now I want to talk about the men who stand next to him.
Because this is the part that actually breaks my heart.
JD Vance is not a bad man. I have to say that, because it is true, and because the truth matters even now, especially now. Marco Rubio is not a bad man. Lindsey Graham is not a bad man. They are idiots, but not bad, as in BAD! These are men with mothers who raised them and children who love them and friends who remember who they were before all of this. They are not monsters. Monsters are simple. Monsters do not cost you anything emotionally because there is nothing in them to mourn.
These men are something more painful than monsters.
They are men who knew better, and know better still, and will get up tomorrow and do it again.
Every small compromise they made had a reason. Every moment they looked the other way had a justification that sounded, at the time, almost reasonable. And now they have arrived here, at a place where a president celebrates the death of an old man and they will find a way, on television, to say nothing that means anything, and they will go home to houses where children who carry their name are waiting, and they will say goodnight, and they will say nothing.
Their oldest friends are watching. The ones who knew Rubio when he still believed in something. Who knew Graham when he said, out loud, on the record, that this exact man would destroy the Republican Party and deserve it. Who sat next to Vance and thought here is someone worth knowing. Those friends are not angry tonight. They moved through anger a long time ago. What they feel now is the quiet, irrecoverable sadness of watching someone disappear while still being present. Of watching a person they loved choose, again and again, to become less.
That is what cowardice costs. Not the coward. The people who loved him.
And in the comments tonight, the followers celebrate. People who ten years ago brought casseroles to grieving neighbours. Who stood in the rain at gravesides and meant the words they said. Who told their children that we do not speak ill of the dead because the dead were someone's beloved. Those people are tonight typing gleeful things about a man whose daughters are not yet done crying. And they feel clean doing it. Righteous. Because somewhere along the way the thing they were given in exchange for their decency was the feeling of belonging to something, and that feeling is very hard to give up even when you can no longer remember what you gave for it.
When Trump is gone, they will still be here.
Standing in the silence where the noise used to be. Without the permission the crowd gave them. Without the pastor who told them their cruelty was holy. They will be alone with what they said and what they cheered and what they chose to become, and there will be no one left to tell them it was righteous.
That morning is coming.
Robert Mueller flew across the Pacific on military leave to hold his newborn daughter for a few hours before returning to the war. He came home. He buried his dead with honour. He served presidents of both parties because he understood that the institution was larger than any one man. He told his grandchildren that a lie is the worst thing a person can do, that a reputation once lost cannot be recovered, and he lived that, every day, in the quiet and unglamorous way of people who actually believe what they say.
He was the kind of American the world used to point to when it needed to believe the story was true.
He died last night. His wife is alone in their house in Georgetown. His daughters are learning what the world is without him in it. And somewhere in the particular hush that falls over a family in the first hours of loss, the most powerful man and the biggest loser on earth sent a message to say he was glad.
The world that loved what America was supposed to be is grieving tonight. Not for Robert Mueller only. For the country that produced him and then became this. For the distance between what was promised and what was delivered. For the suspicion, growing quieter and more certain with each passing month, that the America people believed in was always partly a story, and the story is over now, and there is nothing yet to replace it.
That is all it needed to be.
A man died. His family is broken open with grief.
That is all it needed to be.
Instead the President said good.
And the country that once stood for something looked away 🇺🇸
Gandalv / @Microinteracti1
Imagine that! Read "‘Trump is aiming for dictatorship’. That’s the verdict of the world’s most credible democracy watchdog | Martin Gelin" on SmartNews: https://t.co/lGLUC2FIvM
You see folks, as far as I can tell, from the outside, this is what it looks like: America has elected a man who talks and behaves like a megalomaniac, and the rest of the planet is supposed to just trust that he won’t completely lose his grip on reality and drag us all into catastrophe.
You want to steal Greenland.
You want Cuba to “make a deal before it’s too late”.
You talk about bombing or invading Mexico.
You kidnap a President and knock off the peoples oil in Venezuela.
You joke about annexing Canada like it should be a shopping centre car park you can just claim because you feel like it.
Do you have any idea how insane that sounds to the rest of us?
This isn’t tough talk. This isn’t strategy. This is a deeply unstable old man threatening sovereign nations like he’s flipping over a Monopoly board because he’s losing. This is not normal behaviour. This is not leadership. This is not strength. This is a walking, talking international crisis.
And Americans, this is where it comes back to you. Not just MAGA, not just the people who voted for him, all of you. Because when the President of the United States starts talking about kidnapping leaders, annexing countries, and issuing ultimatums like a mob boss, the rest of the world doesn’t get a vote. We just get the consequences.
You don’t get to shrug and say, “Well I didn’t vote for him.” That might fly at a dinner party, but it doesn’t fly when nuclear powers are watching this circus and recalculating their own red lines. This is your system. Your presidency. Your responsibility.
From the outside, it looks like America lit the fuse and then wandered off while everyone else stands around the bomb wondering who’s going to cut the wire.
And let’s be brutally honest. This man is nearly 80. He’s frail. He’s clearly deteriorating. He is not some long term visionary playing chess. He’s at the end of his lifespan and acting like nothing matters after him. That is the most dangerous type of leader there is. A man with nothing to lose and an ego that demands constant feeding.
Why should the rest of the world pay for that?
Why should families in Europe, Asia, Australia, South America, anywhere, have to worry about war, trade collapse, energy shocks, or global instability because America couldn’t get its own house in order?
This is not about left or right anymore. This is about basic sanity. This is about stopping a psychopath before he does something irreversible. Because once a war starts, once a country gets invaded, once alliances fracture beyond repair, you don’t get a reset button.
So yes, this falls on Americans. You got the world into this mess, and you damn well better roll your sleeves up and get us out of it. Impeach him. Remove him. Contain him. Do whatever your system allows, but do it fast.
Because the rest of us just want to live our lives, raise our families, pay our bills, and not wake up one morning to find out World War Three started because an unhinged old man wanted to feel powerful one last time.
This isn’t funny anymore.
It isn’t theatrical.
It isn’t tolerable.
Get this lunatic under wraps before he ruins it for everyone.
>American airman asleep on a train in France while on vacation with his childhood friends
>Wakes up to the sound of screaming and breaking glass
>Sees a terrorist step into the aisle carrying an AK-47 and 300 rounds of ammo
>Doesn't look for an exit, doesn't hesitate
>Sprints 30 feet down the aisle straight at the barrel of the gun, completely unarmed
>The terrorist pulls the trigger; the rifle miraculously jams
>Tackles him, gets slashed in the neck and hand with a box cutter, almost losing his thumb
>Ignores the bleeding, chokes the attacker unconscious with his bare hands
>Credits God for the jammed rifle and his survival
>Saves everyone on board
Patriot airman Spencer Stone is a hero.