SHANE​ WARREN

If you’re coming to Mardi Gras this weekend, come for joy and bring responsibility with you. Let it be loud. Let it be beautiful. Let it be safe. Let it be the kind of night that tells every kid watching from the sidelines: you are not alone.

Trump wasn’t a candidate despite his cruelty. He was a candidate because of it. Not because everyone who voted for him is cruel. That’s lazy thinking and it’s not what I believe. But because he gave a certain kind of person, along with a certain kind of impulse, public permission.

I’ve been noticing something lately, and I’m trying to name it without turning into the cranky guy yelling at clouds. It’s this… vibe. A kind of social theatre that plays out in comment sections, on talkback, at family dinners, in workplace kitchens. The place where someone says, “I’m just asking questions,” but it doesn’t feel like a question. It feels like a door gently closing.

Freedom of speech… or freedom to be a nuisance with a microphone?

When fear rises, when the world feels brittle, when people are tempted to retreat into suspicion or anger, the instinct is to pull the light inward protect it, hide it, ration it. Hanukkah does something else. It puts the light where others can see it.

If you squint, the ban looks sensible. The harms are real; the stories are heartbreaking; the platforms have been slow to grow up. A hard age line feels like action.

These instruments do not “prove” that crowns cause prosperity, freedom, or happiness. They do support a humbler claim: where a democracy already takes law and competence seriously, an apolitical head of state helps it stay serious in bad weather.

Every few years, a chorus emerges: “What if we ran government like a business?” The logic feels neat and tidy. CEOs cut costs, strike deals, and whip teams into shape. Surely, they could do the same with a nation-state.