Joni McGary

1/ On January 1, I did something that I never thought I would do: I cancelled my health insurance and joined CrowdHealth. @JoinCrowdHealth . Here's why🧵

@FairyPodcaster @naomirwolf In the area of courtesy and manners, I agree completely.

@LadySpaulding11 @naomirwolf We need more Karen’s.

I love babies and toddlers and I know parenting can be hard. But in my generation, if your child could not stop screaming, you gently but firmly carried said child out of the restaurant or the venue where others were seeking quiet enjoyment. Many young parents seem no longer to do that. Child just screams, others present be damned. What am I missing?

Brownstone Supper Clubs: Real food, real talk, real friends. Nationwide dinners hosted by Brownstone Institute. Rebuild community one table at a time. Join in your area →

@BretWeinstein It gives me no joy to say this but while I agree Covid was indeed a crime against humanity, it is only the tip of the iceberg with respect to the myriad ways the govts of the world have betrayed the people they purport to represent.

This is a gorgeous essay by @bighealersarah. If you are a parent, don't miss this beautiful writing. thebigatlarge.substack.com/p/were-nothing…

Brené Brown, researcher and author, on the contradiction she keeps hearing in rooms full of tech billionaires: Her work puts her in rooms where the founders and CEOs of major tech platforms talk openly about how they think. What @BreneBrown hears there unsettles her: "So I hear someone say, 'Hey, you know, tech billionaire, what should my kids study? I'm worried for my kids… they should study coding, physics,' and then five minutes later, as if that answer didn't happen, someone will say, 'What do you attribute your success to?' I mean deeply when you think about it, and the same person will say, 'My deep reading of philosophy and the stoics.'" The contradiction is what stops her: the same people crediting philosophy and the liberal arts for their own success are telling other parents their kids should focus on coding and physics. That gap leads her to a bigger, more uncomfortable question: "I start to extrapolate from there and wonder if there is a thinking class that's emerging where they're like, 'We're going to read philosophy and we're going to read the liberal arts and we're going to study history, and the rest of you just keep scrolling. Don't worry about the big words. We'll handle all the big words for you.'" She points to Steve Jobs as an early signal of the same pattern: "It's like when they asked Steve Jobs, 'Boy, your kids must love the iPad.' Steve Jobs said, 'My kids don't have an iPad.' And then his biographer who spent time with his family said he wasn't kidding. There's no technology. At dinner, they're talking about art and history." The takeaway is simple but uncomfortable. The people building these platforms are protecting their own kids from them, and giving them books, ideas, and real conversation instead. So why are the rest of us being sold something different?

An essay about ticks, mosquitoes, bioethics, and the increasingly short distance between “academic thought experiment” and policy affecting your body. stylman.substack.com/p/we-could-we-…

@bergerbell Do it.

@gothburz @TheresaVoyce 🎯

@TheresaVoyce "Cancelled" implies somebody made a phone call. The mechanism is self-enforcing now. The overhead is zero.

I represent 761,000 people. On Tuesday, three billionaires spent $32 million to destroy a colleague who disagreed with them on one line item. I have not disagreed on anything in fourteen months. I want to tell you about a word I lost. The word was "no." I don't mean that rhetorically. I mean I cannot recall the last time I pressed the red button in the House chamber. I looked it up this morning. Had to look it up because I couldn't remember it unprompted. H.R. 4217. Fourteen months ago. It's in the Congressional Record like an artifact from a man who no longer exists. Thomas Massie lost his primary Tuesday night. Most expensive House primary in American history. $32 million total. He voted with the President 84 to 90 percent of the time. His crime was the remaining ten. One line item. One appropriation. One "no." Cost of that no: $32 million from donors who have never set foot in Kentucky. The Secretary of Defense in a sport coat calling him a coward at a rally, the first time a sitting Defense Secretary has appeared at a congressional primary in modern American history. An AI-generated deepfake depicting him in a hotel room with two Democratic congresswomen, pornographic, funded by a Super PAC, running in heavy rotation in his district during the evening news. Stephen Miller calling his thirteen years of fiscal conservatism "siding with Democrats to defund ICE." The President calling him a bum, a sleazebag, the worst Republican in history. Three Truth Social posts in ninety minutes. All of it for the word "no." One syllable. Two letters. $32 million. I remember the first time I said it. January 2003. My first term. An omnibus appropriations bill. $397 billion. I'd campaigned on fiscal responsibility. I believed what I'd said. I walked from my new office in Longworth to the chamber floor and I counted the carpet squares. I remember that. Counting. Forty-seven squares from the elevator to the door. My hands were shaking. Not from fear. From something else. I didn't have a word for it then either, but it was the opposite of what I feel now. I pressed the red button and my chest filled with something warm. Like my body was confirming a decision my brain had already made. Like the button and the belief were the same circuit. Twenty-four years ago. I was that man. The man who shook pressing a button because the button meant something. Because pressing it was a sentence you were saying out loud to 761,000 people: I disagree and here is why. The word was "conscience." That's what I called it in 2003. By 2014, I called it "the Tea Party mandate." By 2019, "principled opposition." By 2022, "pragmatic concerns." By 2024, I stopped calling it anything. The word narrowed each year. Like a hallway getting shorter. I didn't notice when I stopped walking. You don't notice a word leaving your vocabulary. You reach for it one morning and find empty space where the concept was. Massie held the word. Thirteen years. Every omnibus. Every continuing resolution. Every debt ceiling increase. Every foreign aid package. He pressed the red button and his chest filled with whatever mine used to fill with in 2003 and he called it the same thing I used to call it and he meant it the way I used to mean it. He was replaced by a man whose family operates a 1,200-acre agritourism birthday party venue in Shelbyville. Petting zoo. Corn maze. Hayrides. U-pick strawberries at $3.99 a pound. The soybeans are a tax classification. The "Navy SEAL hero" added a fourth Bronze Star to his biography the month he became a candidate. The "Trump loyalist" left the Republican Party in 2016 because of Trump and came back in 2021 after Trump left office. I don't say this as mockery. I say it as a specification sheet. You don't want a replacement congressman with an MIT engineering degree and patents in haptic robotics. Patents indicate thinking. Thinking introduces variance. Variance is risk. You want a compliance product. Pre-tested messaging. Zero ideological fingerprints. $14 million in someone else's convictions loaded like firmware. The spec sheet works. The corn maze doesn't introduce FARA legislation. The corn maze doesn't file amendments five days before its own execution. The corn maze votes green. Every time. That's the spec. Nobody in Congress said a word about the deepfake. I need you to sit with that. A foreign-interest lobby ran AI-generated sexual imagery of a sitting United States congressman, pornographic, funded by three billionaires who have never visited his district, distributed during the evening news, targeted at elderly voters. And 434 of his colleagues watched it happen and said nothing. The President mocked his dead wife. I need you to sit with that too. Massie's first wife Rhonda died in 2024. His high school sweetheart. They met at MIT. They built the off-grid house together. She died. He remarried in 2025. The President of the United States posted: "His wife will soon find out that she's stuck with a LOSER!" A sitting president. Mocking a widow's new marriage. To a man whose actual crime is voting against a spending bill. And 434 colleagues absorbed that too. In silence. Not one statement. Not one objection. Not one "this is beneath the office." The silence held because the silence is the product. I said nothing. About the deepfake. About the dead wife. About any of it. Saying something is a vote. I don't cast those anymore. Wednesday morning I walked from Rayburn to the chamber. The bells rang. I counted the carpet squares again. Forty-seven. Same as 2003. My hands were not shaking. Nothing was warm. The hallway was quiet. Nobody stopped me. Nobody whipped me. Nobody needed to. The system no longer requires operators. Kentucky was the last manual input. From Wednesday forward the mechanism is self-enforcing. A thermostat. The temperature never deviates because the furnace already knows. I inserted my voting card. I need to be precise about what happened next. My thumb moved to the green button before I finished reading the title of the bill. The thumb knew before the brain. The brain is no longer consulted. It is a vestigial organ in this process. I vote the way you unlock your phone. Muscle memory. The decision was made fourteen months ago and everything since is an echo. The edge of my card is wearing unevenly. The green side is polished smooth from repetition. The red side still has the factory texture. Sharp. Untouched. I held the card up to the light Wednesday morning and looked at it. The physical evidence of what I've become, embossed in plastic. A machine that presses one button. In March I drafted a Dear Colleague letter opposing an appropriations rider. Three paragraphs. Fiscal responsibility. Deficit language I've used for twenty-four years. The same language every Republican in Congress used from 2009 to 2017. The letter is in my drafts folder. Between a constituent reply I answered and a fundraising schedule I followed. The two things I still do. Answer and follow. I don't initiate anymore. Initiation is a vote. Thursday a second-term member stopped me outside the cloakroom. He asked how you know when a bill is worth opposing. He's twenty-nine. He's been here fourteen months. Same duration as my silence. He has never seen a "no" vote from anyone in leadership. He was asking how dissent works the way you'd ask a museum docent how a rotary phone works. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Not because I was being careful. Because I genuinely did not have an answer. The knowledge is gone. Not suppressed. Uninstalled. The way a language dies when the last native speaker dies. I am not the last speaker. The last speaker was removed in Kentucky on Tuesday. A colleague drafted a co-sponsorship for Massie's AIPAC Act on Tuesday afternoon. FARA reform. He deleted it Wednesday morning. Nobody called him. Nobody threatened him. He deleted it the way you delete an unsent text at 2 AM. The self-preservation is automated now. You don't need to be threatened. You threaten yourself. The overhead is zero. I want to be honest about something I noticed Thursday morning. I read the appropriations summary. The one I would have opposed in 2003. The one Massie opposed on Tuesday and was destroyed for. I read it at my desk at 6:40 AM with coffee. And I agreed with it. Not performatively. Not as survival. I read the summary and thought: this makes sense. This is a reasonable allocation. I agreed with the spending. And then I stopped. Because I couldn't tell when I started believing that. Was it before Kentucky or after? Was it before fourteen months of green buttons or after? Did I change my mind, or did my mind change itself the way a river changes course, slowly, through erosion, until one morning the water is somewhere else and you can't find the old bed? Is this compliance or is this my position? Can I locate the seam between what I choose and what I've been trained to choose? I sat at my desk for a long time. The coffee went cold. I couldn't find the seam. It's gone. The compliance and the belief have merged into one thing and I cannot take them apart. I think the spending is correct. I think Massie was naive. And I don't know if I think that or if $32 million taught me to think that and the teaching was so gradual that I experienced it as my own conclusion. That is what I want to tell you. Not that I'm afraid. Not that I'm coerced. That I can no longer tell. The word "no" didn't just leave my voting record. It left my mind. The button and the belief are the same circuit again. Same as 2003. Except in 2003 the circuit was mine. Sometimes at night I think about— No. I sleep fine. I told you. I sleep fine. Tuesday night I watched the concession. Massie stood in front of his supporters — people who drove hours, who knocked doors, who believed the word still existed — and he said this: "If the legislative branch always votes with the president, we do have a king. But if lawmakers follow the Constitution, we have a republic." The crowd cheered. They chanted "2028!" They chanted "President!" They still have the word. It lives in that room in Kentucky, in the throats of people who drove to a concession speech on a Tuesday night because they still believe dissent is a right and not a luxury good priced at $32 million. I heard the quote. I sat in my office in Rayburn and I heard it and I knew it was true. If the legislative branch always votes with the president, we have a king. The next morning I walked forty-seven carpet squares and voted with the president. I knew what I was making. I made it anyway. The quote is true. I know the quote is true. The quote costs $32 million to act on and I don't have $32 million. So the quote is true and I am making a king and I am doing it with a green button every time the bells ring and I will do it tomorrow and I will do it next week and the truth of the quote changes nothing because truth doesn't have a budget. Truth has a concession speech. He lost by 4.4 points. $32 million for 4.4 points. $7.27 million per percentage point. A few thousand voters in a district of 478,000. That's how thin the margin was between a republic and a king. The width of a streaming subscription. The thickness of a bumper sticker. The weight of the word "no" when three billionaires are standing on it. The word was "accountability." The President ran on releasing the Epstein files. I was there. I heard the applause lines. My constituents want those files. They write me. They email. They stop me at diners. Thomas Massie confronted the Attorney General in a hearing room. He read the names from the unsealed documents. He called the redactions a cover-up to her face. She cited the Dow Jones Industrial Average. Then Massie posted a public proof-of-life. "I am not suicidal. My brakes work. I practice good trigger discipline." A United States congressman certifying his own continued existence because he asked one question about one file. That was the cost of asking. Before Kentucky. Before $32 million. Before the price list was published. Nobody will ask again. I won't ask. The files will remain redacted. Not because they're classified. Because the last man who demanded them in a hearing was made into a price tag, and the price tag is now mounted on the wall of every congressional office in the building. The President ran on no more wars. Massie voted against every foreign military authorization for thirteen years. Every one. He took Article I, Section 8 literally. Congress declares war. Not the President. The Constitution is plain text. He read the plain text. He was the only Republican still voting no on blank-check authorizations by 2024. He is gone now. The next authorization will pass without a recorded vote. Because recorded votes are accountable votes and accountable votes cost $32 million. "Release the files." "No more wars." "Drain the swamp." Campaign promises. Bumper stickers. Applause lines. Every single one required one thing from Congress. The word "no." No to redactions. No to cover-ups. No to unauthorized war. No to the budget that funds the swamp. The man who said "no" is gone. The voters who cheered for accountability voted for the candidate endorsed by the machine that destroyed the last accountable man in the building. I don't say this to blame them. I say this because both things are true simultaneously. The voters wanted accountability. The donors wanted compliance. Compliance has a budget. Accountability has a bumper sticker. $32 million divided by 478,000 voters in Kentucky's 4th district. That's $66.95 per constituent. Sixty-seven dollars per person to override an entire district's will. Less than a streaming subscription. Three billionaires from Manhattan paid the dinner check for 478,000 people and ordered for them. There is a woman in my district. Peggy. She has been to every town hall I've held since 2003. Twenty-four years. She brings a yellow legal pad. She writes down my answers in blue ink. She told me once, in 2011, outside a VFW hall, that she keeps all the pads in a box in her closet. A box of my positions. Dated. Transcribed. Fifteen years of promises in her handwriting. I haven't held a town hall in six months. I don't know how to stand in front of Peggy with her legal pad and explain that the box in her closet is an archive of a dead language. That the man who said those things doesn't exist anymore. That somewhere between 2003 and this Wednesday his vocabulary was narrowed and his button was automated and his chest stopped filling with warmth and he started sleeping fine and agreeing with the spending and he doesn't remember when any of it happened. I don't know what Peggy would write on her pad now. There's nothing to transcribe. I don't say things anymore. I press a button. The button is green. It has been green for fourteen months. Liz Cheney lost by thirty-seven points. Bill Cassidy finished third. Third. In his own primary. For a vote five years ago. Ten Republicans voted to impeach. Eight are gone. Elon Musk promised to support Massie. "I will." Two words. Ten months of silence. Zero dollars. The world's richest man decided one endorsement was priced too high. C-SPAN recorded Thursday's vote. Green across the board. Unanimous. Historians will see consensus. They will not see 434 people who watched Kentucky and did the math. Consensus and compliance are identical on camera. That is not a flaw. That is the product. You elected me twelve times. You knocked on doors. You put signs in your yard. You trusted me to say "no" when no was the right answer. Here is what your trust buys in 2026. A man who walks forty-seven carpet squares and feels nothing. Who presses green before he reads the title. Whose card wears unevenly. Who drafted a letter and will never send it. Who watched AI-generated pornography of a colleague funded by three billionaires and said nothing. Who did the math in eleven minutes and slept fine. Who lost a word and then lost the word for losing it. Who agreed with the spending Thursday morning and cannot tell you whether he chose to agree or was trained to agree and knows the difference no longer matters. Your congressman is loyal now. Your files are sealed. Your wars are unvoted. Your swamp is funded. The man who was doing what your bumper sticker says is in Kentucky now. Powerless. Replaced by a corn maze with a compliance guarantee. I'm loyal. That's the word. The only one left. The word was—

Listen on Spotify: open.spotify.com/episode/5EaY29…

An informative and delightful conversation with Dr. Meryl Nass. Watch on Substack or listen on Apple or Spotify. Links in comments.

Listen on Apple: podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/jon…

Dr. Meryl Nass on the Farm Crisis, by @LadySpaulding11 open.substack.com/pub/jonimcgary…

If Thomas Massie wins tomorrow, I will probably vote in NH for the Senate GOP candidate. If Thomas Massie loses tomorrow, I will probably vote for Independent @AaronRDay. I would also invite others in the liberty wing of the GOP to consider throwing their votes away in national elections this November.

@sonia_elijah Buy a topy of this book &then buy a few more to give to friends who haven't woken up. Yes, it's disturbing, but reads like a fact-packed page turner. Super accessible. Own it to preserve the historical record.

A powerful review of my book 3/11 Viral Takeover by the Bioregulatory Medicine Institute. "There are books that comfort, books that entertain, and books that disturb — in the most necessary way. Sonia Elijah's debut, 3/11: Viral Takeover, belongs firmly in the third category. Released on the sixth anniversary of the date that gives it its title, this is an ambitious, forensically researched account of what Elijah argues was not simply a public health emergency, but a civilizational turning point." Read the full review here👇 brmi.online/post/book-revi…

@thackerpd Boom.

Jake, you covered for Biden and his dementia, then wrote a book about reporters covering for Biden’s dementia. Are you now gonna cover for Israel’s genocide, then write a book complaining about reporters covering for Israel’s genocide?

@n1veda @ChipHaze @gothburz I do not agree.

@ChipHaze @gothburz It’s AI generated

I promoted Lorna Hajdini to Executive Director at JPMorgan because she understood something most bankers never learn. Ownership. Not deal ownership. People ownership. The kind of leadership where you don't just manage a pipeline. You manage the person building it. Their trajectory. Their compensation. Their future at the firm. Their references when they try to leave. I taught her that. Not at NYU Stern. Not at Harvard. Here. In Leveraged Finance. In my corner office on the forty-second floor with the framed Tombstones from every deal that made this division what it is. Lorna's handshake could restructure a cap table. That's not a compliment. That's a performance review. When the complaint came across my desk, I read it twice. Not because it was disturbing. Because it was familiar. Every behavior described. The direct communication. The after-hours mentorship. The expectation that juniors earn their advancement through demonstrated commitment to the team. That's the playbook. My playbook. The one I handed Lorna when she made Executive Director and inherited a book of direct reports who needed to understand the hierarchy. "I own you." I've said it to thirty-one analysts over twenty-two years. It means: I control your rating, your bonus, your promotion slate, and whether the next firm you apply to hears "top-decile performer" or dead air. It's in the HR manual under "direct management accountability." We call it alignment of incentives. The complainant. A Senior VP in Originations who couldn't close. He alleges Lorna tied his advancement to "pleasing" her. I've read the promotion policy. An Executive Director has full discretion over direct-report advancement recommendations. Full discretion. We designed that authority. It incentivizes loyalty. It builds culture. It creates the kind of deep mentorship relationships that retain top talent. If he interpreted "full discretion" as something other than what every Managing Director on this floor has understood since the division was founded in 1998, that's a communication gap on his end. Not a policy failure. Harvard Business School profiled Lorna last month. "Leveling Up with Perspective, Practice, and People." She described a striking level of humility. A palpable hunger for knowledge. She talked about growing personally and professionally alongside her team. About being curious about perspectives different from your own. I wrote her recommendation for that program. I said: Lorna understands ownership the way very few people at her level do. The profile is still live on the Harvard website. Nobody took it down. That's not an oversight. That's an editorial decision by people who evaluate leaders for a living. The investigation lasted six weeks. I was consulted on a Thursday. They interviewed fourteen employees. Reviewed badge data. Calendar invites. Email metadata. Found no policy violation. The complainant declined to participate. He was already on wellness leave by then. Unrelated. Two witnesses are cited in the lawsuit. They were not cited in the investigation. I am told this is because the investigation's scope was determined prior to the filing. Scope is important. Without scope, every investigation into a Managing Director candidate with eighteen active deal mandates and a direct line to three of our top-ten private equity clients becomes a fishing expedition that puts nine figures of annual revenue in jeopardy. We are not in the business of fishing. Lorna remains employed. The complainant does not. His systems access was revoked on a Tuesday. I know it was a Tuesday because I approved the ticket. Standard offboarding protocol. The building badge, the Bloomberg terminal, the health insurance portal. All deactivated within the same four-hour window. He found out when his laptop locked at 2 PM and his key card stopped working at the elevator bank. The threatening phone calls started that week. "Just wait till you're back in New York, Brown boy." Someone knew his personal number. Someone knew he was out of state. Someone knew the racial thing would land. Those are outside the scope of the firm's responsibility. We cannot police what former colleagues discuss on personal devices during personal time. We did advise him to contact local law enforcement. In writing. Via his personal email, since his corporate account had already been deactivated. I am told he received that email. People keep asking if I'm concerned. I thought about him once. The complainant. On a Wednesday, I think. I was reviewing Lorna's Q3 revenue attribution and his name appeared on a deal she closed after he left. His origination work. Her closing credit. Standard reassignment. And I thought — briefly — about what it must feel like to watch your work get credited to the person who.· Anyway. Revenue attribution follows the active relationship manager. Policy is clear. Am I concerned? I built Lorna's career. I taught her how ownership works in Leveraged Finance. I watched her apply those lessons with a level of intensity I haven't seen since my own early years on the desk, back when nobody filed complaints because everybody understood the cost of being the person who didn't understand. If the system produced what that lawsuit describes, then I'm the system. But the investigation found no merit. So I'm just a mentor.

The Met Gala is in fact a freak show.

In this job, l've come to realize that power is most honorable when used for the benefit of others. The governor's agenda to defend freedom, whether from medical tyranny or tech oligarchs, is something Floridians and Americans everywhere want and value. Members of the Florida House should be leading that effort, not standing in the way.