Ryan: Mayhem in Iowa, featuring Amy Klobuchar

February 19, 2020

Kevin is an award-winning writer who focuses on long-form literary nonfiction and investigative reporting.

Down the street, NBC had taken over an entire Java Joe's Coffee House, with live broadcasts of "Morning Joe."

The world was watching all month, but especially that day. Any time you turned on the radio or scrolled through social media, the subject was Iowa. And, every moment, you could feel it, that whirling angst in your belly right before you jump off the high-board.

I'd driven straight from the Yang event to the Des Moines Marriott Downtown, for Amy Klobuchar's "Amy for America caucus night party," where I met up with Politics Politics Politics host Justin Robert Young, at the downstairs bar.

Photo by Kevin Ryan

The Des Moines Marriott Downtown was the media hub, where many of the pundits and anchors and always-glaring columnists stayed. Politicians, too. They tended to of those higher-end downtown hotels and boutiques.

The previous day, at the nearby Renaissance Savery hotel, an "NBC News analyst" overheard former Secretary of State John Kerry on his phone, while sitting at the hotel restaurant, anxiously contemplate a presidential bid to counter "the possibility of Bernie Sanders taking down the Democratic Party — down whole." He added, "maybe I'm f---ing deluding myself here."

If it were the case that Kerry had gotten spooked enough to consider hopping into the Democratic presidential race the day before the Iowa caucuses, something incomprehensibly bad must have come to his attention. Especially since Kerry was in Iowa as a show of support for Joe Biden.

By the end of caucus night, amid the disaster and chaos, the Kerry phone call would take on a sinister tone. Did Kerry get advanced warning? What did he mean about Sanders " taking down the Democratic Party — down whole"?

All night, the word was that Bernie would definitely win. In 2016, he'd been systematically robbed of the Iowa win. With caucuses all over Iowa rigged or stacked in favor of Hillary Clinton, who still only beat Sanders by a quarter of a percentage point. If it happened again — now that would seem hardly coincidental.

Photo by Kevin Ryan

Conversely, first reports hinted at a poor showing for Pete Buttigieg.

Biden's fall had been much clearer. Imagine leading a race for months — the most important race in American politics — only to sink to the back right before you can broach the finish line.

So, on caucus night, all of us reporters had an itchy look, eager to capture some half-drunk politician or erratic staffer.

Later, Kerry told NBC News reporters,

This is a complete and total misinterpretation based on overhearing only one side of a phone conversation. A friend who watches too much cable called me wondering whether I'd ever jump into the race late in the game if Democrats were choosing an unelectable nominee. I listed all the reasons I could not possibly do that and would not — and will not under any circumstances — do that.

As is the custom, Kerry had to perform an apology on Twitter.

As I told the reporter, I am absolutely not running for President. Any report otherwise is categorically false. I’v… https://t.co/BCIkCTBTpy
— John Kerry (@John Kerry) 1580680466.0

That did not go well, either.

*

To our left, in an overlarge booth, Donna Brazile sculpted a pork chop, then delivered each piece to her mouth with blissful concern. She'd come downstairs alone, but people occasionally stopped at her table to pay respects, as she sat mostly silent, chewing.

"Iowa has 99 Counties," the bartender told us. "It used to be a law that no town could be farther than a day's travel from Des Moines, so the highways here go everywhere."

She also spilled some delectable gossip about Michael Bloomberg, and winked when she told us that the acoustics in the lobby are phenomenal.

*

The Klobuchar event had the energy of a funeral. Dazed caucusers strolled into the ballroom pinching champagne flutes and miniature cheese.

Photo by Kevin Ryan

And Klobuchar was backstage, or just elsewhere.

So back to the bar.

Plenty of chatter, too, about how Trump had 80 surrogates all around the state. He wasn't there. Although he'd held a rally in Des Moines several days earlier — one of his favorite tactics, holding a rally ahead of any democratic event, in the same city.

And, tomorrow, the following day, he'd give his action-packed State of the Union address, with a special appearance by Nancy Pelosi at the end, ripping up her copy of the speech.

The day after that, Wednesday, Trump would be acquitted of Impeachment charges, both Article I: Abuse of Power and Article II: Obstruction of Congress. The vote was surgically partisan, and only Sen. Mitt Romney broke ranks, voted "Guilty" on Article I, but not Article II.

*

CNN was the hotel's chosen network, on all the glittery televisions. The feed hopped to different correspondents at caucuses all across Iowa. Some caucus sites had too many people shoved together, others were pitifully small.

The bartender had a much better grasp of the various counties and who was likely to win than the correspondents did.

"College town," she would say, uncapping another Bud Light. "Bernie, for sure. Yang might hit 15% viability, but Biden doesn't stand a chance."

When causers' candidates didn't meet the 15% viability threshold, they could migrate to another candidate. Or leave. This was considered an impolite move, but could you blame them?

"Only Iowans registered as Democrats can vote," she added.

I'd been asking people for months by then how caucusing works. By now, it had gone on too long so I had to pretend I understood.

The whole awkward dance played out on the TVs. It felt like watching some ancient sport from a far-off part of the world, and the rules made no sense, full of complications, the whole thing felt like an elaborate prank.

One group of supporters hokey-pokeyed to their designated corner of the gym or townhall or elementary school cafeteria, and score-keeping judges etched numbers or lines into their notebooks.

The New York Stock Exchange — that's what it was like, with all the feverish men in costumes squawking at the scoreboard. And then, it ended. And how did they know anything had actually been accomplished?

*

The next day at the airport. so many media figures would stroll toward their departure gate with their cameras hanging down.

The Caucuses would be all anyone could talk about.

Photo by Kevin Ryan

While waiting for the plane to board, some media guy on his cell phone, talking about the caucuses. His friend clearly didn't understand what a caucus is, thenhe explains it. Even now, at the end of it all, nobody knows what it means.

*

Justin and I were upstairs in the press pen when an on-air reporter in a red dress began half-shouting into her microphone and leaning toward the camera, then scoping down at a tablet and her phone.

We returned to the bar.

Within a minute, on every screen in the place, the woman in the red dress from upstairs, and a "BREAKING NEWS" banner.

Now, as I mentioned, the caucuses already confused me. So when I looked around and saw utter disbelief and panic and confusion, I knew that an unexpected disaster had occurred, but not how or why.

Justin scrolled through Twitter, refreshing, refreshing, searching. He was the first person I heard mention the app. He'd read an article a few weeks earlier about how the app, IowaReporterApp, hadn't been tested, despite reports of coding errors.

IowaReporterApp was supposed to tally votes digitally for all 1,679 precincts as well as 99 satellite caucuses in-state, our-of-state, and three international.

55 precincts were affected.

Conspiracy theories began to swirl, connecting the company behind the app — which, hilariously, is called Shadow Inc. — to Hillary Clinton, and maybe even Pete Buttigieg, who seemed to have benefitted from the fiasco. It was only a matter of time before the name "Soros" started appearing across the murkier crevices of the Internet.

"This is the funniest thing I've ever experience," said Justin, laughing.

I laughed the way you do when you're in a foreign country, where you don't understand the language, and everybody else laughs first.

Photo by Kevin Ryan

It wasn't until the memes started appearing on Twitter that I understood, with the "Curb Your Enthusiasm" theme song in the background.

One of the journalists at the bar with us announced that he'd just heard from a colleague that there were also calculation errors with the backup system.

"Math?!" I shouted.

*

A burst of applause came from the 2nd-floor ballroom, then Klobuchar appeared on the screen, every screen, in the entire lobby, in the entire nation.

Every journalist in the room sprinted upstairs. For that moment, nobody cared about ideological subversion, and the tragic meltdown of the caucuses was still an unknown, something we didn't have to worry about. Now, things are different.

Photo by Kevin Ryan

None of the candidates had taken the stage yet. Nobody knew how to react. Klobuchar — brilliantly, having lost severely — gave a victory speech.

www.youtube.com

"Bravo," someone said.

Koobuchar seemed too calm for such a solemn occasion. Tipsy, almost.

Yes. Definitely tipsy.

Why the hell not? Good for her.

Klobuchar was all fire. She torched Donald Trump with the acuity of a rapper on a brutal diss-track.

After her speech, she walked out into the crowd and people swarmed her. Selfies were taken. Over-thought words were said to Klobuchar. Masking fanciful ideas.

Being there was tremendous. Actually being in the room. Studios and sets all look different in person. There's only half as much of the room or set as you'd expected.

New stories come out every Monday and Thursday. Check out my Twitter. Send all notes, tips, corrections to kryan@blazemedia.com

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When did Americans start cheering for chaos?

MATHIEU LEWIS-ROLLAND / Contributor | Getty Images

Every time we look away from lawlessness, we tell the next mob it can go a little further.

Chicago, Portland, and other American cities are showing us what happens when the rule of law breaks down. These cities have become openly lawless — and that’s not hyperbole.

When a governor declares she doesn’t believe federal agents about a credible threat to their lives, when Chicago orders its police not to assist federal officers, and when cartels print wanted posters offering bounties for the deaths of U.S. immigration agents, you’re looking at a country flirting with anarchy.

Two dangers face us now: the intimidation of federal officers and the normalization of soldiers as street police. Accept either, and we lose the republic.

This isn’t a matter of partisan politics. The struggle we’re watching now is not between Democrats and Republicans. It’s between good and evil, right and wrong, self‑government and chaos.

Moral erosion

For generations, Americans have inherited a republic based on law, liberty, and moral responsibility. That legacy is now under assault by extremists who openly seek to collapse the system and replace it with something darker.

Antifa, well‑financed by the left, isn’t an isolated fringe any more than Occupy Wall Street was. As with Occupy, big money and global interests are quietly aligned with “anti‑establishment” radicals. The goal is disruption, not reform.

And they’ve learned how to condition us. Twenty‑five years ago, few Americans would have supported drag shows in elementary schools, biological males in women’s sports, forced vaccinations, or government partnerships with mega‑corporations to decide which businesses live or die. Few would have tolerated cartels threatening federal agents or tolerated mobs doxxing political opponents. Yet today, many shrug — or cheer.

How did we get here? What evidence convinced so many people to reverse themselves on fundamental questions of morality, liberty, and law? Those long laboring to disrupt our republic have sought to condition people to believe that the ends justify the means.

Promoting “tolerance” justifies women losing to biological men in sports. “Compassion” justifies harboring illegal immigrants, even violent criminals. Whatever deluded ideals Antifa espouses is supposed to somehow justify targeting federal agents and overturning the rule of law. Our culture has been conditioned for this moment.

The buck stops with us

That’s why the debate over using troops to restore order in American cities matters so much. I’ve never supported soldiers executing civilian law, and I still don’t. But we need to speak honestly about what the Constitution allows and why. The Posse Comitatus Act sharply limits the use of the military for domestic policing. The Insurrection Act, however, exists for rare emergencies — when federal law truly can’t be enforced by ordinary means and when mobs, cartels, or coordinated violence block the courts.

Even then, the Constitution demands limits: a public proclamation ordering offenders to disperse, transparency about the mission, a narrow scope, temporary duration, and judicial oversight.

Soldiers fight wars. Cops enforce laws. We blur that line at our peril.

But we also cannot allow intimidation of federal officers or tolerate local officials who openly obstruct federal enforcement. Both extremes — lawlessness on one side and militarization on the other — endanger the republic.

The only way out is the Constitution itself. Protect civil liberty. Enforce the rule of law. Demand transparency. Reject the temptation to justify any tactic because “our side” is winning. We’ve already seen how fear after 9/11 led to the Patriot Act and years of surveillance.

KAMIL KRZACZYNSKI / Contributor | Getty Images

Two dangers face us now: the intimidation of federal officers and the normalization of soldiers as street police. Accept either, and we lose the republic. The left cannot be allowed to shut down enforcement, and the right cannot be allowed to abandon constitutional restraint.

The real threat to the republic isn’t just the mobs or the cartels. It’s us — citizens who stop caring about truth and constitutional limits. Anything can be justified when fear takes over. Everything collapses when enough people decide “the ends justify the means.”

We must choose differently. Uphold the rule of law. Guard civil liberties. And remember that the only way to preserve a government of, by, and for the people is to act like the people still want it.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.

Stand with Voddie Baucham’s family in this time of loss

In the quiet aftermath of a profound loss, the Christian community mourns the unexpected passing of Dr. Voddie Baucham, a towering figure in evangelical circles. Known for his defense of biblical truth, Baucham, a pastor, author, and theologian, left a legacy on family, faith, and opposing "woke" ideologies in the church. His book Fault Lines challenged believers to prioritize Scripture over cultural trends. Glenn had Voddie on the show several times, where they discussed progressive influences in Christianity, debunked myths of “Christian nationalism,” and urged hope amid hostility.

The shock of Baucham's death has deeply affected his family. Grieving, they remain hopeful in Christ, with his wife, Bridget, now facing the task of resettling in the US without him. Their planned move from Lusaka, Zambia, was disrupted when their home sale fell through last December, resulting in temporary Airbnb accommodations, but they have since secured a new home in Cape Coral that requires renovations. To ensure Voddie's family is taken care of, a fundraiser is being held to raise $2 million, which will be invested for ongoing support, allowing Bridget to focus on her family.

We invite readers to contribute prayerfully. If you feel called to support the Bauchams in this time of need, you can click here to donate.

We grieve and pray with hope for the Bauchams.

May Voddie's example inspire us.

From isolation to connection: Overcoming loneliness

Loneliness isn’t just being alone — it’s feeling unseen, unheard, and unimportant, even amid crowds and constant digital chatter.

Loneliness has become an epidemic in America. Millions of people, even when surrounded by others, feel invisible. In tragic irony, we live in an age of unparalleled connectivity, yet too many sit in silence, unseen and unheard.

I’ve been experiencing this firsthand. My children have grown up and moved out. The house that once overflowed with life now echoes with quiet. Moments that once held laughter now hold silence. And in that silence, the mind can play cruel games. It whispers, “You’re forgotten. Your story doesn’t matter.”

We are unique in our gifts, but not in our humanity. Recognizing this shared struggle is how we overcome loneliness.

It’s a lie.

I’ve seen it in others. I remember sitting at Rockefeller Center one winter, watching a woman lace up her ice skates. Her clothing was worn, her bag battered. Yet on the ice, she transformed — elegant, alive, radiant.

Minutes later, she returned to her shoes, merged into the crowd, unnoticed. I’ve thought of her often. She was not alone in her experience. Millions of Americans live unseen, performing acts of quiet heroism every day.

Shared pain makes us human

Loneliness convinces us to retreat, to stay silent, to stop reaching out to others. But connection is essential. Even small gestures — a word of encouragement, a listening ear, a shared meal — are radical acts against isolation.

I’ve learned this personally. Years ago, a caller called me “Mr. Perfect.” I could have deflected, but I chose honesty. I spoke of my alcoholism, my failed marriage, my brokenness. I expected judgment. Instead, I found resonance. People whispered back, “I’m going through the same thing. Thank you for saying it.”

Our pain is universal. Everyone struggles with self-doubt and fear. Everyone feels, at times, like a fraud. We are unique in our gifts, but not in our humanity. Recognizing this shared struggle is how we overcome loneliness.

We were made for connection. We were built for community — for conversation, for touch, for shared purpose. Every time we reach out, every act of courage and compassion punches a hole in the wall of isolation.

You’re not alone

If you’re feeling alone, know this: You are not invisible. You are seen. You matter. And if you’re not struggling, someone you know is. It’s your responsibility to reach out.

Loneliness is not proof of brokenness. It is proof of humanity. It is a call to engage, to bear witness, to connect. The world is different because of the people who choose to act. It is brighter when we refuse to be isolated.

We cannot let silence win. We cannot allow loneliness to dictate our lives. Speak. Reach out. Connect. Share your gifts. By doing so, we remind one another: We are all alike, and yet each of us matters profoundly.

In this moment, in this country, in this world, what we do matters. Loneliness is real, but so is hope. And hope begins with connection.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.

Russell Vought’s secret plan to finally shrink Washington

Bloomberg / Contributor | Getty Images

Trump’s OMB chief built the plan for this moment: Starve pet programs, force reauthorization, and actually shrink Washington.

The government is shut down again, and the usual panic is back. I even had someone call my house this week to ask if it was safe to fly today. The person was half-joking, half-serious, wondering if planes would “fall out of the sky.”

For the record, the sky isn’t falling — at least not literally. But the chaos in Washington does feel like it. Once again, we’re watching the same old script: a shutdown engineered not by fiscal restraint but by political brinkmanship. And this time, the Democrats are driving the bus.

This shutdown may be inconvenient. But it’s also an opportunity — to stop funding our own destruction, to reset the table, and to remind Congress who actually pays the bills.

Democrats, among other things, are demanding that health care be extended to illegal immigrants. Democratic leadership caved to its radical base, which would rather shut down the government for such left-wing campaign points than compromise. Republicans — shockingly — said no. They refused to rubber-stamp more spending for illegal immigration. For once, they stood their ground.

But if you’ve watched Washington long enough, you know how this story usually ends: a shutdown followed by a deal that spends even more money than before — a continuing resolution kicking the can down the road. Everyone pretends to “win,” but taxpayers always lose.

The Vought effect

This time might be different. Republicans actually hold some cards. The public may blame Democrats — not the media, but the people who feel this in their wallets. Americans don’t like shutdowns, but they like runaway spending and chaos even less.

That’s why you’re hearing so much about Russell Vought, the director of the United States Office of Management and Budget and Donald Trump’s quiet architect of a strategy to use moments like this to shrink the federal bureaucracy. Vought spent four years building a plan for exactly this scenario: firing nonessential workers and forcing reauthorization of pet programs. Trump talks about draining the swamp. Vought draws up the blueprints.

The Democrats and media are threatened by Vought because he is patient, calculated, and understands how to leverage the moment to reverse decades of government bloat. If programs aren’t mandated, cut them. Make Congress fight to bring them back. That’s how you actually drain the swamp.

Predictable meltdowns

Predictably, Democrats are melting down. They’ve shifted their arguments so many times it’s dizzying. Last time, they claimed a shutdown would lead to mass firings. Now, they insist Republicans are firing everyone anyway. It’s the same playbook: Move the goalposts, reframe the narrative, accuse your opponents of cruelty.

We’ve seen this before. Remember the infamous "You lie!” moment in 2009? President Barack Obama promised during his State of the Union that Obamacare wouldn’t cover illegal immigrants. Rep. Joe Wilson (R-S.C.) shouted, “You lie!” and was condemned for breaching decorum.

Several years later, Hillary Clinton’s campaign platform openly promised health care for illegal immigrants. What was once called a “lie” became official policy. And today, Democrats are shutting down the government because they can’t get even more of it.

This is progressivism in action: Deny it, inch toward it, then demand it as a moral imperative. Anyone who resists becomes the villain.

SAUL LOEB / Contributor | Getty Images

Stand firm

This shutdown isn’t just about spending. It’s about whether we’ll keep letting progressives rewrite the rules one crisis at a time. Trump’s plan — to cut what isn’t mandated, force programs into reauthorization, and fight the battle in the courts — is the first real counterpunch to decades of this manipulation.

It’s time to stop pretending. This isn’t about compassion. It’s about control. Progressives know once they normalize government benefits for illegal immigrants, they never roll back. They know Americans forget how it started.

This shutdown may be inconvenient. But it’s also an opportunity — to stop funding our own destruction, to reset the table, and to remind Congress who actually pays the bills. If we don’t take it, we’ll be right back here again, only deeper in debt, with fewer freedoms left to defend.

This article originally appeared on TheBlaze.com.