What Matters More, Your Party Or Your Country? Choose Law Over Impulse

Chapters

• 0:02 Mission And No‑Fluff Opening
• 1:16 Die For It Or Live Under It
• 3:41 Freedom Requires Restraint And Discipline
• 5:01 Constitutional Inflection Point In 2025
• 6:36 The Bill Of Rights As Operational Limits
• 9:27 Gradual Centralization And Administrative Power
• 9:27 Elections, Authority, And Legitimacy
• 13:02 Borders, Defense, And Federal Duty
• 16:08 Education, Surveillance, And Debt
• 18:43 Speech, Platforms, And The Second Amendment
• 23:07 Real‑World Costs Of Unaccountable Rule
• 24:20 Federalist Lessons On Restraint
• 26:00 Oath, Loyalty, And Constitutional Fidelity
• 29:36 If Law Falls, Who Holds Power?
• 33:42 Serious Citizenship And Practical Challenges
• 36:05 Closing, CTA, And Disclosures

Transcript

SPEAKER_00: 0:02

You're listening to the Walt Blackman Show, hosted by combat veteran and constitutional Conservative Walt Blackman. No fluff, no filters. Just real talk for citizens who still believe the Constitution matters. If you're ready to move past slogans, tribalism, and political theater, welcome. The Walt Blackman Show starts now.

SPEAKER_01: 0:26

I'm Walt Blackman, combat veteran and Arizona lawmaker and constitutionalist. This isn't a show for spectators or grifters who sell fear and pass it off as patriotism. Some people make money off outrage. Some of us paid in blood. This isn't Call of Duty. There's no reset button, no extra life, no spectator mode, where you cheer erosion as long as it hurts the right people. Real blood paid for real limits on power, and those limits don't disappear because you're angry, impatient, or politically convenient. This podcast is for Americans who are sick of the DC drama, keyboard warriors, and political terrorists masquerading as patriots. If you're here to posture, step aside. If you're here to live under the oath of the Constitution, then you're in the right place. Let's get to work. I often hear self-proclaimed patriots say they would die for the Constitution. That declaration is dramatic and it is easy. Dying for an idea requires a single moment of resolve. Living for it requires a lifetime of discipline. The harder question, the one that actually sustains a republic, is not whether you are willing to sacrifice in theory, but whether you are willing to submit in practice. Are you willing to live for the Constitution when it restrains your side, your preferences, and your impulses? Living for the Constitution means more than quoting a line when it suits your argument. It means more than wearing it as a symbol or invoking it as a weapon against political opponents. It means accepting limits on your own power, your own certainty, and your own passions. It means allowing a document written to restrain human ambition to restrain your ambition, even when obedience is inconvenient, unpopular, or personally costly. That is the kind of fidelity the founders demanded, because they understood that a republic collapses not when people stop praising liberty, but when they refuse to be governed by it. And let me be clear about this. As a leader of soldiers, I live this life not from a keyboard, not from a studio, and not from the safety of commentary, but from the battlefields of Iraq and Afghanistan. I learned what constitutional restraint looks like when decisions carry weight, when authority is bounded by law, and when the misuse of power has immediate, irreversible consequences. In uniform, the Constitution is not an abstraction. It governs when force may be used, how authority is exercised, and when restraint must prevail over impulse. That is why this is the only broadcast in America where the Constitution is still read in full sentences, examined as a coherent instrument of governance rather than scavenged for isolated phrases by those who confuse rhetorical certainty with constitutional comprehension. Here, the Constitution is not a slogan to be shouted or a costume to be worn. It is a discipline to be lived, a restraint to be honored, and a standard against which all power, including our own, is measured. And that lived experience is exactly why the next point matters. Because once you have operated under real authority with real consequences, you learn very quickly that freedom without restraint is not freedom at all. You learn that discipline is not the enemy of liberty, it is its safeguard. Power that is not bounded does not protect. It corrodes. Authority that is not restrained does not serve. It consolidates. The architects of American liberty understood something modern politics prefers to ignore. Freedom is not self-executing. Liberty is volatile. It requires moral restraint, institutional discipline, and continuous calibration against the corrupting tendencies of power. Treated with care, it produces ordered self-government and durable civic peace. Treated casually, it does not liberate. It destabilizes. And destabilization, left unresolved, reliably invites consolidation. History is not ambiguous about this sequence. When people confuse liberty with impulse, they eventually beg for control in the name of stability, and they call that surrender security because it sounds less humiliating. We stand in 2025 at a genuine constitutional inflection point, one the framers anticipated and tried to restrain. Article I vested legislative power in Congress precisely to prevent lawmaking by convenience. Yet today that power is routinely exercised through administrative decree. Article II constrained executive authority to execution, not authorship, yet emergency justification has become a permanent substitute for consent. Article III confined courts to cases and controversies, yet rights are increasingly announced in abstraction while remedies are resisted in practice. The Tenth Amendment reserved undelegated power to the states and the people, yet centralization is justified as efficiency rather than necessity. The result is a familiar pattern. Liberty praised rhetorically while abandoned operationally, rights celebrated in theory while denied through process. Everyone wants freedom until freedom requires discipline. Everyone demands rights until rights require courage, restraint, and personal accountability. That contradiction is not accidental. It is diagnostic. It is the early warning signal of a republic testing whether it still remembers the difference between constitutional liberty and managed comfort. The Bill of Rights was not written to make governance easier. It was written to make tyranny harder. That distinction alone seems to irritate modern governance, because restraint is inconvenient and inconvenience is apparently unconstitutional now. The First Amendment protects speech precisely because unpopular ideas test courage. The second affirms that sovereignty ultimately resides with the people, not the state. The fourth rejects efficiency as a justification for intrusion, no matter how badly someone wants to streamline your privacy. The fifth and sixth insist that process, not convenience, is the price of justice. The eighth restrains punishment because power, once unleashed, has never demonstrated an ability to stop itself voluntarily. And yet somehow every generation rediscovers the same temptation. Surely this time we can ignore the restraints without becoming what the restraints were written to stop. These rights were never meant to be ceremonial promises or decorative plaques for courthouse walls. They were operational restraints. And when speech is tolerated only when agreeable, privacy surrendered for convenience, and due process delayed in the name of expedience. The Bill of Rights may still exist on paper, but liberty exists only by permission. That is not constitutional freedom. That is managed compliance. The founding generation anticipated this moment with unsettling clarity. They designed a system because they had already seen what power does when it is unbounded, personalized, and justified by necessity. One school of thought warned that liberty is most endangered not by sudden usurpation, but by gradual accumulation, authority advancing through plausible convenience, disguised as temporary and rendered permanent by habit. Another insisted that energy in government is essential to public safety and national cohesion, but only when bounded by accountability, counterforce, and the discipline of law. Their dispute was never whether power is dangerous, it was how to cage it without suffocating the republic. What they shared was the central conviction that constitutional survival depends less on declarations of devotion than on obedience to restraint, especially when restraint is inconvenient. They assumed ambition would check ambition, not that virtue would permanently overpower temptation, when that architecture is bypassed, when authority migrates from representation to permanence, from law to administration, from consent to efficiency, the Constitution does not collapse in a dramatic instant. It is hollowed out, its language remains, its restraints erode, its sovereignty is rerouted. Take elections. I believe our elections must be secure and protected under the Constitution, administered transparently and honored because they follow the law, not because someone tells you to trust them. Under the Constitution, authority over elections is deliberately divided. Article 1, Section 4, the Elections Clause, expressly empowers state legislatures to prescribe the times, places, and manner of holding elections for senators and representatives while still allowing Congress to step in and make or alter such regulations when necessary to protect uniformity in federal elections. Article 2, Section 1, establishes how the president and vice president are chosen through the Electoral College, with electors meeting in their respective states to cast ballots that are then certified and sent to the seat of government. Together, these provisions reflect a constitutional balance. States administer elections, but the federal framework ensures legitimacy and uniform standards for federal office. And this structure isn't incidental. It reflects a republic that intends elections to be both resilient and accountable. The Constitution assigns electoral authority with deliberate precision. Article 1, Section 4, vests state legislatures with primary responsibility for regulating the time, place, and manner of congressional elections while reserving to Congress a supervisory power to impose uniformity where national interests require it. Article 2, Section 1 establishes the mechanism for choosing the president and vice president through the Electoral College, requiring electors to convene within their respective states, cast their ballots, and transmit certified results to the seat of government, which of course brings us to the constitutional cowboys, those fearless interpreters who discover brand new powers no one noticed for the first two centuries. Impressive work. One might almost assume the text was optional, but I'm sure you knew that already. Every cycle, a new class of keyboard jurists emerges with pocket-sized constitutions displayed like a badge of expertise, earning honorary doctorates in constitutional law overnight without ever reading the syllabus. If your constitutional education came from a meme posted at two in the morning, I'm not mocking you. I'm indicting the system that trained you to substitute confidence for comprehension. Confidence is not comprehension. The founders were not obsessed with ballots. They were obsessed with who controlled the mechanisms that translate votes into legitimacy. They understood that elections fail not when people disagree, but when control over the process becomes distant, opaque, or unaccountable. And today those mechanisms run through software, federal mandates, and bureaucratic decree, and the public acts genuinely shocked that sovereignty now passes through servers. At some point, we need to admit the obvious. When power migrates into systems no one can explain and no voter can audit, surprise is not an argument. It's an admission. Tyranny no longer rides in on horseback. It arrives through automatic updates. Let's take a constitutional test, a purely theoretical one that does not require a slogan, a bumper sticker, or a strong opinion delivered loudly on social media, just the document itself, and maybe the patience to read past the first paragraph. The Constitution is not subtle about the first duty of government. Article 4, Section 4, requires the United States to protect each of the states against invasion, not analyze it, not workshop it, not poll it, protect it. Borders, inconvenient as they have apparently become, remain the most unfashionable yet immutable principle of sovereignty. The physical and legal protection of the people within a government's jurisdiction is not a side project. It is the job. Everything else is decorative administration. The Federalist papers make this painfully clear. In Federalist number 23, Hamilton argued that the federal government must possess all powers necessary to provide for the common defense because the safety of the people is not optional and cannot be negotiated away through hesitation. Madison reinforced this in Federalist No. 41, warning that a government unable or unwilling to secure the nation would fail at its most basic obligation. The founders did not debate whether borders mattered. They debated how to ensure they were defended without destroying liberty in the process. The Anti-Federalists, often caricatured or ignored, added an equally relevant warning. Writers like Brutus and Federal Farmer feared that a distant central authority might centralize power while neglecting protection, leaving states exposed, communities unsafe, and accountability nowhere to be found. Their concern was not rebellion, it was abandonment. They understood that when the federal government fails to perform its core duties, states will not sit politely and wait for a white paper. They will act to protect their people. And that is where we are today. National defense, once understood as the apex of public duty, has been rebranded as a policy option contingent on moral fashion and administrative comfort. When the federal government intellectualizes its most elemental responsibility into paralysis, states asserting defensive authority are not committing insurrection. They are exhibiting constitutional reflex, the political nervous system compensating for executive dormancy. At some point, calling this controversial, stops being analysis and starts being avoidance. A republic cannot outsource its first duty and remain a republic. When a government cannot or will not control who enters its territory and under what conditions, it stops governing by consent and starts managing decline by excuse. And history is very clear on this point. Governments that abandon border integrity do not become more compassionate. They become less sovereign, less accountable, and eventually less free. Or put more simply, if a government can't do the one job it was created to do, it doesn't get credit for being busy doing everything else. Education remains the most strategically vulnerable flank of every free society. Control the pedagogy, and you shape the civic future long before ballots can correct it. In 2025, parents are told they are merely stakeholders in the upbringing of their own children, as though parenthood were a consulting role rather than original jurisdiction. No, you are not a stakeholder in your child. You are the original authority entrusted by nature, duty, and moral law with shaping the next generation of citizens. Centralized education does not merely transmit knowledge, it consolidates civic consensus. And when a system consolidates consensus, dissent is no longer treated as disagreement. It is treated as malfunction. Surveillance now functions as the sacrament of the modern administrative state. The founders risked execution over general warrants, open-ended instruments of intrusion unrestrained by probable cause. In 2025, the warrant is replaced by biometric consent and unread contractual surrender. Tyranny no longer knocks. It sends an email marked no reply. Citizens proclaim, I have nothing to hide, as though privacy were an admission of guilt rather than a constitutional veil against power. Surveillance is no longer imposed. It is adopted, updated annually, and synchronized across platforms. The dystopia the founders feared did not arrive with soldiers at the door. It arrived with convenience, facial recognition, and the seductive lie that voluntary surrender is not surrender at all. Now consider debt, the vertiginous mathematics of national obligation that has surpassed the horizon of intuitive comprehension. Debt has become a metaphysical abstraction where accountability hibernates. One founder envisioned national credit as strategic stability. Another warned that debt would shackle unborn generations. We have realized both predictions simultaneously. With digital currency architecture emerging, the state would not simply tax productive output, it would possess theoretical access to transaction-level behavioral auditing. The founders feared centralized banking. They did not anticipate centralized economic obedience at the speed of light, enforced not by chains but by permissions. Consider the modern administrative, a governing superstructure operating beyond electoral removal, beyond legislative authorship, and increasingly beyond judicial containment. It now functions as a consolidated apparatus in which rulemaking, enforcement, and adjudication converge into a single institutional vector insulated from democratic correction. This fusion of powers, the constitutional definition of tyranny, has not arrived through formal amendment or popular ratification, but through incremental bureaucratic accretion justified under the euphemism of efficiency. Liberty rarely collapses through revolution. It files paperwork first. Regulations materialize from offices no constituency can name and no ballot can dislodge. The people retain the illusion of self-government while the substance migrates into permanence. Free speech now survives at the tolerance threshold of algorithmic arbitration. The First Amendment was designed as a restraint on the state's coercive muzzle. Now the state computes through proxies and platform partnerships, watching dissent evaporate under community standards and procedural euphemisms. Error must be tolerated where reason remains free to contest it. Today, error is recoded as disinformation the instant it disrupts the centralized narrative. If an idea cannot endure free contestation, it is unfit for Republican citizenship and destined for laboratory containment. When speech is conditioned on compliance, liberty is not merely threatened. It is redefined. The Second Amendment remains ritualistically caricatured and strategically misunderstood. It was never drafted as a sporting clause. It was constructed as a sovereignty clause. And armed citizenry was not conceived as a pastime, but as the terminal deterrent against absolutism. History confirms with merciless clarity that comprehensive disarmament campaigns are preceded by moral panic and justified by proclamations of public safety. Governments disarm only those populations they no longer intend to govern by consent. Are you willing to live for the Constitution, even when it restrains your instincts on both sides of this debate? For those who lawfully own firearms, that means understanding the Second Amendment not as a license for impulse or bravado, but as a grave civic responsibility inseparable from order, restraint, and the rule of law. For those who seek limitations, it requires confronting an uncomfortable constitutional truth. The Second Amendment was never drafted as a sporting clause or a cultural artifact, but as a structural guarantee rooted in sovereignty and consent. The founders themselves argued this tension openly. Madison believed a well-constructed republic, separated powers, competing institutions, and representation could restrain tyranny through design. The Anti-Federalists were less optimistic. They feared that no parchment barrier, however elegant, could withstand the gradual consolidation of power without an armed citizenry as a final safeguard. The Second Amendment emerged as the bridge between those views, a constitutional acknowledgement that while law restrains power in theory, an armed people restrains it in extremis. It was not written because the founders distrusted citizens, it was written because they distrusted unchecked authority. Public safety and liberty were never understood as opposites by the founding generation. They believed safety without liberty was submission, and liberty without discipline was chaos. And armed citizenry was not conceived as a pastime, nor as a political threat to civil order, but as a constitutional backstop, subordinate to law, accountable to community, and decisive only when consent fails. History confirms with merciless clarity that comprehensive disarmament campaigns are nearly always preceded by moral panic and justified by urgent appeals to security, while accountability quietly recedes. Paychecks. The business collapsed not because he failed, but because power traveled through unelected channels no ballot could touch. I have seen the same with a rancher whose water rights vanished under a reinterpretation no legislature debated, with parents investigated not for abuse but for deviation from mandated doctrine, and with hospitals suffocating under reimbursement formulas drafted by committees immune from electoral consequence. The mechanism is always identical. Authority migrates out of representation and into permanence to the work. The Federalist papers warned us plainly that liberty survives only under conditions restraint over impulse, courage over convenience, and responsibility over entitlement. James Madison told us in Federalist No. 51 that if men were angels, no government would be necessary, reminding us that liberty cannot exist without restraint because human impulse is unreliable and power, left unchecked, always seeks more. In Federalist number 10, Madison went further, warning that free societies rarely fall to kings, they fall to factions. When passion overwhelms reason and discipline gives way to impulse, Alexander Hamilton was just as direct. In Federalist No. 15, he warned that a republic fails when laws are treated as suggestions rather than obligations, when obedience becomes selective and convenience replaces duty. In Federalist No. 57, Madison made clear that self-government presumes moral responsibility, that rights divorced from virtue and accountability cannot endure. And in Federalist No. 68, Hamilton deliberately designed a system that frustrates speed and ease because liberty requires patience and courage, not efficiency, at the expense of judgment. Finally, in Federalist No. 78, Hamilton made the principle unmistakable. Even popular will must submit to constitutional law because no act, no matter how popular, can be valid if it violates the Constitution. Taken together, Madison and Hamilton left us one unmistakable conclusion. Freedom does not mean doing whatever we want, it means governing ourselves by law, especially when the law tells us no. And let me be equally clear about something else. This show is not about attacking someone's views or opinions. Disagreement is not the enemy of a republic. Ignorance is. Debate is not the problem. Abandoning constitutional boundaries is. This is not about left or right, red or blue, my side or your side. Let me ask this plainly, because pretending this is complicated is how republics die. What matters more to you, your party, your tribe, your outrage, or your country? I didn't fight in two wars so the Constitution could be optional. I didn't leave pieces of myself on foreign soil so grown adults could replace law with feelings and call it patriotism. I raised my right hand and swore an oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic, not when it was convenient, not when it favored my side, but always. That oath was not symbolic. It was a contract. It demanded fidelity to principle over personality, to law over loyalty, and to the republic over my own comfort. It required obedience to a document designed to restrain power, even when that power claimed to be acting for our own good. When a citizen places party above constitution, that oath is broken. When a movement demands loyalty before law, tyranny has already entered the room. And when people who call themselves patriots cheer the erosion of limits because it hurts the right enemy, they are not defending the republic. They are dismantling it. So stop dodging the question. If your allegiance shifts with election results, you don't believe in the Constitution. If your principles collapse under pressure, you never understood them. And if you think liberty survives without discipline, history has already proven you wrong. The oath was clear. The Constitution is still binding. The only thing left undecided is who still deserves to speak in its name. Let me ask this plainly, because pretending this is complicated is how republics die. What matters more to you, your party, your tribe, your outrage, or your country. I didn't fight in two wars so the Constitution could become optional. I didn't leave pieces of myself on foreign soil so Americans could trade law for feelings and still call themselves patriots. I raised my right hand and swore an oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic, not to a party, not to a personality, not to whatever side happened to be loudest that week. That oath was not symbolic, it was binding. It demanded loyalty to principle over power, to restraint over rage, and to the republic over personal comfort. As I wrote in from Iraq to the State House, in combat you learn quickly that discipline, not emotion, keeps people alive. A republic is no different. When discipline collapses, freedom follows it into the ground. That is why this moment matters. When citizens put party above the Constitution, the oath is broken. When movements demand loyalty before law, tyranny has already entered the room. And when people who claim to love liberty cheer the erosion of limits because it hurts the right enemy, they are not defending America. They are rehearsing its failure. So stop dodging the question. If your allegiance shifts with election results, you don't believe in the Constitution. If your principles evaporate under pressure, you never had them. And if you think liberty survives without discipline, history has already written your rebuttal in blood. The oath was cleared. The Constitution is still binding. The only thing left undecided is who still has the courage to live under it. What matters more? Winning right now or preserving the Constitution that binds us together, restrains us all, and makes self-government possible in the first place? Because the Constitution was never designed to validate your anger or guarantee your preferred outcome. It was designed to restrain power, especially when power feels justified, especially when your side is certain, especially when passion demands exception. And that question exposes everything. Hardliners who excuse anything as long as their side wins, progressives who believe restraint is oppression when it slows their agenda, keyboard warriors who confuse volume with virtue, when political arsonists, ideological terrorists who don't want reform at all but collapse, they can stand on and call justice. So here is the question they never answer. If the Constitution falls, what replaces it? And who controls that power? Because history is merciless on this point. When law collapses, power does not disappear. It concentrates, and it never lands in the hands of the loudest activists. It lands in the hands of the most ruthless organizers. If you demand power today, are you willing to live under that same power tomorrow when your enemies inherit it? If the rule you're cheering were enforced against you, would you still call it justice? If everyone governed the way you are arguing right now, would the Republic survive? This is about the Constitution. It is about whether we still believe in a system of self-government restrained by law, grounded in structure, and sustained by citizens, willing to place principle above passion. It is about whether we can argue fiercely without abandoning the rules that make argument meaningful in the first place. This is more than political rhetoric. This is not entertainment. It is not tribal signaling. It is not keyboard warfare dressed up as civic engagement, and it is not political arson carried out by people who profit from division while claiming to defend liberty. The Constitution does not survive on hashtags, hot takes, or permanent outrage. It survives when serious citizens do serious work, reading, restraining themselves, telling the truth, and choosing law over impulse even when it costs them approval. That is why this moment demands more of us. As President John F. Kennedy reminded the nation, we choose to do these things not because they are easy, but because they are hard. Constitutional self-government is hard, discipline is hard, restraint is hard. But difficulty has never been an excuse for surrender in a free society. It has always been the price of preserving one. That is what this show is about, because liberty is not defended by the loudest voices, but by the most disciplined ones. So here is the civic challenge. So let me ask the question plainly, because avoiding it is no longer an option. What matters more to you, your party, your tribe, your feelings, or your country? What matters more? Winning right now, or preserving the constitution that binds us together, restrains us all, and makes self-government possible in the first place. It was designed to restrain power, especially when power feels justified, especially when your side is certain, and especially when passion demands exception. That single question forces a reckoning with where your loyalty actually lives. And that reckoning is uncomfortable because it exposes everyone. It exposes hardliners who excuse anything as long as their side wins. It exposes progressives who suddenly redefine restraint as oppression the moment it slows their agenda. It exposes keyboard warriors who confuse volume with virtue and outrage with courage. And it exposes political arsonists, ideological terrorists who don't want reform at all, but collapse they can stand on, chaos they can exploit, and ashes they can call justice. So here's the question they never answer. If the Constitution falls, what replaces it and who controls that power? Because history is merciless on this point. When law collapses, power does not disappear. It concentrates. And it never lands in the hands of the loudest activists, the most righteous voices, or the people who swear they mean well. It lands in the hands of the most ruthless organizers, the most disciplined coercers, and the last people you would ever trust once they no longer need your applause. If you demand power today, are you willing to live under that same power tomorrow when your enemies inherit it? If the rule you are cheering were enforced against you, your family, your beliefs, would you still call it justice? And if everyone governed the way you are arguing right now by impulse, certainty, and moral outrage, would the Republic survive or would it fracture under the weight of everyone insisting they are the exception? This is about the Constitution. It is about whether we still believe in a system of self-government restrained by law, grounded in structure, and sustained by citizens willing to place principle above passion. It is about whether we can argue fiercely without abandoning the very rules that make argument meaningful in the first place. This is not entertainment. It is not tribal signaling, it is not keyboard warfare dressed up as civic engagement, and it is not political arson carried out by people who profit from division while claiming to defend liberty. The Constitution does not survive on hashtags, hot takes, or permanent outrage. It survives when serious citizens do serious work, when they read instead of react, restrain themselves instead of demanding exception, tell the truth instead of feeding narratives, and choose law over impulse, even when it costs them approval, popularity, or power. That is why this moment demands more of us. As President John F. Kennedy reminded the nation, we choose to do these things not because they are easy, but because they are hard. Constitutional self-government is hard, discipline is hard, restraint is hard, but difficulty has never been an excuse for surrender in a free society. It has always been the price of preserving one. That is what this show is about. Because liberty is not defended by the loudest voices, the angriest crowds, or the most confident certainty. Liberty is defended by disciplined citizens willing to bind themselves to law even when it frustrates them. So here is the challenge, and it is deliberately practical. This show is not for spectators, it is for citizens. This week, read one Federalist paper, just one, and read it not like a slogan, but like a manual for power. Audit one rule governing your life. Ask who wrote it, who enforces it, and who benefits from it. Invite one person into a real constitutional argument grounded in text, structure, and history, not trending outrage. Because citizenship is not an aesthetic. It is not a performance. It is not a brand. Citizenship is a discipline, and discipline is the price of liberty. So are you willing to live for the Constitution? Thank you for tuning in to podcasts, Spotify, YouTube, or wherever you get your shows. If this message matters to you, like, share, and subscribe, and send it to someone who still believes citizenship is an action, not a label. And if you want the full story, grab my book, From Iraq to the State House: A Soldier's Journey of Leadership, Service, and Sacrifice. Available now on Amazon, Barnes Noble, and independent bookstores nationwide. And one last thing, if you're carrying the Constitution in your pocket, do the Republic a favor and actually read it. It's not a symbol, it's a standard, and this is the Walt Blackman show. Until next time, stay vigilant, stay disciplined, and stay informed.

SPEAKER_02: 36:46

Disclosure: Walt Blackman is a combat veteran who sustained a service-connected traumatic brain injury, TBI, during his military service. As part of his ongoing recovery and communication process, he may utilize assistive technologies and structured content tools to support clarity and accessibility. All opinions and viewpoints expressed remain entirely his own, shaped by first hand experience, public service, and a deep commitment to constitutional principles.