To understand any of this, you must first understand the hierarchy of Britain’s government. Local councils manage everyday services, like waste collection, road maintenance, zoning, and social services. Councillors are elected in rolling cycles that use a first-past-the-post system in what are mostly called wards. Councils are not the highest level of government in Britain - like Parliament in Westminster - but they are also not the lowest, meaning these results are often used as a national barometer. To put it in an American perspective: think about how our gubernatorial and state legislative elections are used to gauge support for the party controlling the White House and/or Congress. In this case, it signals major trouble for Britain’s ruling party.

The verdict is utterly devastating for Labour after less than two years in power. What began as a landslide for Labour in 2024 has evaporated into one of the party’s worst local performances on record. Combine that with heavy losses in Wales and mixed results in Scotland, the two major parties - Labour and Conservatives - saw their dominance implode. Reform, which was written off by the aforementioned political juggernauts and had been polling in only the mid-20s nationally before the election, successfully translated discontent into power.

For once, the “why” here isn’t much of a mystery. Voters rejected Labour and Conservative candidates for familiar reasons: uncontrolled immigration, the cost-of-living squeeze, strained public services, stagnant wages, exuberant energy costs, and a sense that Westminster elites lost touch. Despite Labour’s attempts to get a handle on the problem, Britain’s net migration remains high and small-boat arrivals across the English Channel persist. In what was once Labour’s “Red Wall” heartlands, communities watched newcomers be prioritized for housing and benefits while hospital waitlists ballooned and council taxes rose. It was Labour’s cuts to winter fuel payments for pensioners that ultimately crystallized the betrayal.

When apathy runs deep, and elections have low-to-moderate turnout - like in this case - the voices of the angry and motivated are only amplified.

But Reform’s surge is not merely anti-establishment. It offers blunt, unapologetic prescriptions: like a freeze on non-essential migration, mass deportations, and healthcare reforms that blend extra public funding with private options. Reform has successfully peeled away disaffected Labour voters in Brexit-supporting, working-class areas alongside former Conservatives, flipping more than 1,450 seats in a single night. Its base - older, more pragmatic, and manual occupation voters - are finally heard for the first time in years.

For Labour and Prime Minister Starmer, the blood is unmistakably in the water. He acknowledged that the results were “very tough” and took responsibility, but refused to walk away. Despite an effort to whip support among his ranks, calls have grown for his resignation, with senior Members of Parliament, councillors, and backbenchers openly calling for him to step aside as the party’s leader in both government and politics. Behind closed doors, the knives are already sharpened as Starmer’s own cabinet members engage in a whisper campaign for him to vacate by year’s end. And with Labour’s popularity plummeting this early before the next national election in 2029, Starmer’s reckoning could come sooner than expected.

Of course, these local results do not end Starmer’s premiership - but they do greatly weaken him. A fragmented electorate makes future Labour majorities under first-past-the-post even harder, and projections based on these results hint at a potential for a hung parliament in the next general election. As it turns out, Starmer’s cautious managerialism pleased no one and alienated Labour’s core bases.

The broader story, however, transcends one leader. The two-party system that dominated Britain’s politics for generations is cracking - a mirroring trend across Europe. Voters are rejecting the complacent rotation of parties that failed on borders, living standards, and competence. To the credit of Farage, Reform has emerged as a permanent fixture on Britain’s political right.

For Americans, this lesson is familiar: ignore the kitchen-table issues like immigration, economic stagnation, and institutional distrust at your peril.

Starmer’s survival now hinges on whether he can deliver tangible results before the next verdict arrives, and Labour must choose whether it will reconnect with the working voters who propelled it to power or watch this realignment accelerate. What’s clear is that business as usual in British politics is over.

Peter Giunta is a millennial voter and Republican strategist based in New York. He has appeared on Fox News and writes about the issues driving Republican voters from the youth perspective.

At a time when our nation’s political discourse is so charged, Kimmel’s “jokes” come across as incitement - not entertainment - and yet, for all the outrage that they’ve generated, those bits are not the reason for this piece. The real reason is simpler and more damning: he’s not funny.

The same goes for his late-night colleagues. Stephen Colbert, Jimmy Fallon, and Seth Meyers have turned what was once a great showcase for sharp cultural observation into something closer to partisan press releases delivered with laugh tracks. Their “jokes” are predictable rhetoric dressed up as comedy, and the audience knows the punchline before it lands because the setup is always the same: Republicans are the problem, Democrats are the solution, and the studio claps on cue. That isn’t comedy - it’s confirmation bias with a house band.

Compare it to the late-night hosts my parents grew up watching. Steve Allen, Jack Paar, and especially Johnny Carson - men who built empires on actual jokes. Carson, who hosted The Tonight Show from 1962 to 1992, regularly drew 15 to 17 million viewers a night at his peak - roughly six to eight times more than what today’s top hosts manage. His monologues skewered the absurdities of the day, from politicians and celebrities to everyday life. But he did so with wit, timing, and a light touch that invited everyone, and Carson rarely leaned hard into partisan combat. He understood late-night comedy’s job was to make people laugh, not lecture them.

When he did touch on politics, it was observational, not accusatory. The audience trusted him because he wasn’t preaching - he was performing - and that trust produced cultural dominance. Carson’s show wasn’t just watched, it was appointment television. People quoted his bits at work the next day.

Today’s late-night programs limp along with roughly 2 million viewers - on a good night. Kimmel’s recent averages hover around 2.1 to 2.5 million - a fraction of Carson’s reach and a sign that the format is culturally irrelevant.

The contrast becomes clearer when you look at comedians who manage to successfully tackle politics today, like Dave Chappelle, whose stand-up specials routinely rack up tens of millions of views while selling out arenas. He wades into topics like race, gender, and cancel culture with layered jokes, surprise turns, and a willingness to punch in every direction. Bill Maher’s Real Time draws strong ratings precisely because he calls out nonsense on both sides instead of reading from a partisan script. Even Fox’s Greg Gutfeld has built a thriving late-night alternative by being irreverent and funny rather than preachy.

These performers succeed because their material is crafted for laughs first. The politics, when present, serve the joke - not the other way around.

Kimmel and his cable colleagues have that formula backwards. Their monologues read like talking points with rim shots from the Democratic National Committee. The laugh track does the heavy lifting because the writing can’t. When every Trump reference lands as “orange man bad” and every left-wing policy gets a standing ovation, you are no longer watching comedy - you’re watching a rally with better lighting.

Don’t mistake my sentiment as nostalgia for a gentler era. It’s recognition that comedy works when it surprises, when it observes human folly across the board, and when it trusts the audience to laugh without being told when. Carson’s genius was making millions feel like they were in on the joke. Today’s hosts just make half the country feel like they are the joke. It’s no wonder viewership has collapsed.

While the networks defend these shows by pointing to their “cultural relevance” and ability to reach younger audiences online, the truth is that relevance without ratings is just noise. The linear audience keeps shrinking, not because America suddenly hates comedy, but because the comedy stopped being funny.

Late-night television once reflected American culture. Now it lectures. If ABC truly wants to save a sinking ship, it should do what any smart business does when a product stops selling: replace the talent. Fire Jimmy Kimmel - not because he dislikes the president or vice versa, but because night after night he fails the one test that actually matters in comedy: he doesn’t make people laugh.

Peter Giunta is a millennial voter and Republican strategist based in New York. He has appeared on Fox News and writes about the issues driving Republican voters from the youth perspective.

Consider the White House Correspondents’ Dinner as the latest example. Just days before a gunman tried to storm the annual affair - attended by President Donald Trump for the first time since 2016 - House Democrat Leader Hakeem Jeffries declared “an era of maximum warfare, everywhere, all the time.” He was defending his party’s aggressive redistricting strategies, but the message was unmistakable: total, unrelenting combat against Republicans. Jeffries even stood by the remark after it was clear that the shooter was attempting to assassinate the president.

This wasn’t an isolated slip. It fits a broader pattern of Democrat leaders and their media allies painting President Trump and his supporters as domestic terrorists while downplaying or excusing left-wing unrest. Remember the summer of 2020? Cities burned during riots tied to Black Lives Matter and Antifa terrorists. Police were attacked, businesses looted, and entire neighborhoods devastated. Yet many on the left described the violence as “mostly peaceful protests” or a justifiable expression of righteous anger.

Contrast that with the January 6th riot at the Capitol, which - no matter your opinion - is treated as an enduring insurrection that defines all Republicans.

The left’s projection goes deeper. President Trump has now survived multiple credible threats to his life, including most notably the one in Butler, PA, in 2024. These are not abstract concerns. They occur in a climate where inflammatory rhetoric is twisted into calls for literal violence, and labeling political opponents as existential threats has been normalized on the left. Democrats decry “MAGA extremism” while their own words and the actions of fringe elements fuel real-world danger.

While right-wing extremism is real and shouldn’t be dismissed, incidents involving left-wing extremism have surged in recent years. A report from the Center for Strategic and International Studies said 2025 marked the first time in decades that attacks from left-wing extremists outnumbered those from far-right groups. High-profile cases tied to ideological motives on the left challenge the one-sided narrative that conservatives are the primary source of the threat.

But let’s be honest: this projection serves a clear political purpose. By labeling Republicans as extremists, Democrats justify their own escalations - lawfare against opponents, censorship under the guise of combating “misinformation,” and rhetoric that treats half the country as enemies rather than fellow citizens. It is much easier to rally your base against a caricature of fascism than to debate policy on borders, crime, energy, or the economy, and actual failures get buried under accusations that anyone pointing them out is a danger to democracy.

The irony is thick. Republicans have largely pursued change through elections, courts, and legislation, whereas Democrats, in moments of frustration, have too often turned to the streets, boycotts, cancellations, and worse.

When a Republican wins, as President Trump did decisively, the response is not reflection, but renewed claims of threat. And projection allows evasion of accountability: our side’s radicals are “activists,” your side’s are “insurrectionists.”

Breaking this cycle requires rejecting the projection game. Both sides must condemn violence unequivocally, regardless of the perpetrator’s politics. Rhetoric like “maximum warfare” has no place, and political disagreement, no matter how fierce, should stay within democratic norms: ballots, not bullets.

Americans are exhausted by the endless demonization. Most Republicans aren’t extremists; they simply want secure borders, economic opportunity, and safe communities. Painting them as villains doesn’t make those desires go away - it only deepens division. If Democrats continue projecting their own worst impulses onto the right, they risk further eroding trust in institutions already on shaky ground.

The solution isn’t more accusations. It’s honesty: acknowledge that political violence and toxic rhetoric exist on both sides, but stop pretending like one side holds a monopoly on extremism. Projection has defined our politics for too long. It’s time to demand better.

Peter Giunta is a millennial voter and Republican strategist based in New York. He has appeared on Fox News and writes about the issues driving Republican voters from the youth perspective.

Regardless of where one stands on the merits, the legislative reality is now clear: this bill is effectively frozen.

That outcome is, in part, the result of a lack of attention, urgency, and political energy from Senate leadership, like Republican Leader John Thune. But it is also the result of a procedural threshold that requires 60 votes to advance most legislation - a requirement that increasingly determines the outcome of debate and whether debate translates into law at all.

This is where the filibuster has moved from being a tool of deliberation to a mechanism of inertia.

The SAVE America Act perfectly illustrates the consequences of that structure with unusual clarity. A bill that has passed one chamber of Congress and remains central to one party’s legislative agenda cannot advance - not because it’s been defeated on a majority vote in the Senate, but because it cannot reach one.

That distinction matters because it means the question is not simply whether legislation should pass, but whether the rules of the Senate allow it to be considered under majority vote in the first place.

Senator Mike Lee of Utah and Representative Anna Pauling Luna of Florida are among those highlighting this growing disconnect between House-passed priorities and Senate procedural outcomes. Their criticism reflects a broader concern that the Senate’s rules are preventing the advancement of core policy objectives, and in this case, something imperative to election integrity.

At the center of this debate is Senate Republican Leader Thune and others seeking to maintain the institutional tradition of opposing alterations to or outright elimination of the filibuster. That resistance is rooted in the belief that the Senate should remain a deliberative body that requires broad consensus to act.

But in practice, that belief has evolved into a governing constraint that frequently prevents majority-supported legislation from being considered on its merits.

And it raises a fundamental question: does the filibuster still serve the purpose it was designed for in a modern legislative environment defined by polarization and narrow governing margins - or has it become a structural barrier that distorts accountability by preventing elected majorities from enacting their agendas?

The SAVE America Act’s stalled trajectory shows that the latter concern is no longer hypothetical and that legislation holding partisan urgency, with broad support from the American people, cannot ever reach a final vote in the Senate. That result is not deliberation - it is perpetual delay.

Those institutional supporters of the filibuster argue that it protects minority rights and encourages compromise. While those are important principles in any legislative system, the reality is that compromise has become rare, and the Senate filibuster increasingly functions not as a bridge to consensus, but as a substitute for it.

As the nation cruises through another federal election cycle, this procedural reality takes on added significance. Voters who evaluate parties based on their priorities are finding that those priorities do not translate into legislative outcomes, even when one party controls a chamber of Congress and has passed its agenda through the House.

This disconnect isn’t sustainable in a system that relies on responsiveness as a measure of effectiveness and legitimacy.

The question becomes, then, whether the Senate’s procedural structure allows any high-salience, high-conflict legislation to be resolved on majority terms. The answer is no, and the debate over the filibuster is no longer theoretical or institutional - it’s practical and immediate.

Eliminating the filibuster does not guarantee consensus, but it would restore a basic principle of democratic governance: that legislation supported by a governing majority in both chambers should be allowed to a vote and be decided on its merits.

The SAVE America Act stalemate is simply the latest example of a broader problem - and perhaps its most shining one. Unless Senate leadership finds the courage to adapt its rules to match the realities of modern governance, that pattern is unlikely to change.

Peter Giunta is a millennial voter and Republican strategist based in New York. He has appeared on Fox News and writes about the issues driving Republican voters from the youth perspective.

This was achieved without an American ground invasion - no endless occupation, just decisive strikes and sustained economic pressure.

Compare that timeline to every major U.S. conflict since the Korean War. Korea dragged on for three years. Vietnam consumed America for a decade with major combat operations. Iraq’s initial phase lasted almost nine years. Afghanistan stretched on for twenty. Each began with clear tactical successes - swift advances, toppled regimes, routed armies - only to sink into years of nation-building, counterinsurgency, and mission creep that cost trillions of dollars and thousands of American lives.

President Trump’s Iran incursion is different, moving at a speed unmatched by those predecessors. It is now poised to become the shortest U.S. military engagement in the past sixty years.

The first difference is objective clarity. Prior administrations blurred the line between defeating an enemy and remaking a society. In Vietnam, for example, President Lyndon Johnson escalated to prevent a communist domino while at the same time attempting to build a democratic South Vietnam. President George W. Bush’s administration toppled Saddam Hussein in weeks but then committed to transforming Iraq into a stable, pluralistic state, taking eight years and empowering Iran’s proxies in the process. Presidents Barack Obama and Trump - in his first term - inherited Afghanistan’s forever war, where the mission shifted from hunting al-Qaeda to propping up a corrupt central government that collapsed the second U.S. troops left.

But President Trump’s stated goals for Iran have remained laser-focused and finite from day one: destroy the regime’s ballistic missile arsenal and production capacity, annihilate its ability to threaten international shipping and energy supply, dismantle its terrorist proxy network, and prevent it from acquiring a nuclear weapon. There is no Marshall Plan for Tehran and no dreams of Jeffersonian democracy on the Persian Gulf.

The second difference is technology and tactics. The modern U.S. military is not the force that slogged through rice paddies in Vietnam or patrolled Fallujah block by block. Precision munitions, drones, cyber operations, and real-time intelligence allow devastating effects with minimal boots on the ground - and Operation Epic Fury demonstrated this. Key Iranian commanders and nuclear scientists were eliminated in hours, not months of searching. The recent naval blockade - enforced with overwhelming surface and air power - has strangled Iran’s oil revenue without a single U.S. division crossing the border.

Past wars relied on massive troop footprints that created targets for insurgents; this one uses standoff power and economic isolation.

The human cost inside Iran is real - a fair criticism of any conflict - and the economic impact at home is felt but only temporarily. The alternative, however, of another decade-long quagmire would have been far worse. Where past presidents went wrong can be widely debated - that’s not my battle - but we can probably agree that it began with confusing tactical victory with strategic transformation. They allowed initial successes to seduce them into occupations that could not be sustained politically or militarily. They underestimated the resilience of local insurgencies and overestimated America’s patience for indefinite commitments.

President Trump avoided the trap. He inherited a regime that has spent nearly five decades chanting “Death to America,” funding attacks on U.S. troops, and racing toward nuclear breakout. He instead chose a calibrated, overwhelming force to break Iran’s offensive capacity rather than occupy its territory. The result is a conflict measured in weeks of combat rather than years.

With attempts to negotiate amid the ongoing ceasefire, it seems that a resolution could be on the way without the endless cycle of surge and withdrawal that defined Iraq and Afghanistan. Iran’s economy is gasping under the blockade, its military infrastructure lies in ruins, its proxies are reeling, and though the Strait of Hormuz is not yet fully reopened, the leverage is clear.

The wars of post-1945 America have too often turned initial triumphs into expensive, demoralizing stalemates. President Trump’s approach in Iran shows a better path: define the mission narrowly, execute it ruthlessly with modern tools, declare victory when objectives are met, and leave.

If the coming weeks confirm what the first two months already suggest, historians will record 2026 as the year Washington finally remembered that the fastest way to win a war is to refuse to fight the wrong one.

Peter Giunta is a millennial voter and Republican strategist based in New York. He has appeared on Fox News and writes about the issues driving Republican voters from the youth perspective.

At its core, the measure allows the Virginia legislature to redraw congressional maps ahead of the 2026 midterm elections, outside the normal post-census redistricting cycle. Democrats claim it is a corrective step in response to partisan gerrymanders elsewhere. Republicans argue that it is a deliberate antagonization amid an already unstable national pattern, with states changing the rules of representation in real time to maximize partisan turnout.

The result is not an isolated policy debate but instead a growing wave of reciprocal political retaliation - and the face of House Democrats, Leader Hakeem Jeffries, just set the tone for this fight by declaring that Democrats would engage in “maximum warfare, everywhere, all the time.” This rhetoric reflects a broader shift in how both parties now approach redistricting: less as an administrative responsibility and more as an ongoing contest for control of the House itself.

Leader Jeffries’ framing is revealing. It doesn’t represent a defense of neutral principles or long-standing institutional norms. It represents escalation - and escalation only invites counter-escalation.

President Donald Trump called the Virginia referendum rigged and warned that Democrats were attempting to reshape election maps in their favor ahead of the midterms. True to character, he’s direct - and it’s resonating with Republicans. The guardrails once surrounding redistricting have eroded, and Democrats are now shamelessly using these mid-decade redraws for a political advantage.

Several states have either already undertaken or are actively pursuing mid-cycle redistricting. Democrat-controlled states have moved to redraw their maps in ways that strengthen Democrat prospects in closely contested districts, and Republicans have responded with their own efforts to counterbalance those gains. Virginia now joins that pattern.

Whatever the facts are, each side has framed its actions as defensive, arguing that the other started it. But the cumulative effect is a system in which the idea of a stable ten-year redistricting cycle is increasingly giving way to continuous political adjustment.

That shift has consequences far beyond partisan advantage, as it weakens public confidence in the neutrality of electoral maps and encourages perpetual litigation that places the courts in the position of refereeing what is increasingly a permanent political conflict.

Virginia’s referendum is already facing legal challenges, with the courts stepping in to block certification of the new map pending a review of the constitutional and procedural claims. In that case, it focuses not on whether the outcome was desirable, but whether the process complied with Virginia’s constitutional requirements for amending its electoral rules. That distinction matters because it highlights the tension of the moment: that even when voters approve changes, the method by which those changes are implemented remains subject to judicial scrutiny.

Republicans shouldn’t back down. They must respond to Leader Jeffries’ call for “maximum warfare.”

The response hinges on continued litigation. Courts across the country are being asked to determine whether mid-decade redistricting efforts comply with state constitutional requirements, including procedural rules governing amendments and ballot language. These cases will likely shape the broader legal boundaries of what states can do between census cycles.

Republican-controlled states are already facing pressure to respond in kind - and in a political environment defined by reciprocal map changes, unilateral restraint is often viewed as strategically untenable.

More significantly, however, Republicans must elevate redistricting itself as a central issue in the 2026 election cycle. The argument must not simply be about which party benefits from which maps, but about whether the American people are comfortable with a system in which the political class can treat district boundaries as flexible political instruments rather than stable democratic structures.

Of course, Virginia’s referendum did not create this dynamic - but it is a clear marker of where the system stands. What was once a once-a-decade institutional process has now become a continuous contest for advantage, with courts, legislatures, and voters all pulled into a cycle that shows few signs of slowing down.

With the 2026 midterms fast approaching, the question is no longer whether redistricting will be political - it already is. The question is whether any durable norms governing it can survive in an environment where both parties now accept escalation as the governing strategy.

Peter Giunta is a millennial voter and Republican strategist based in New York. He has appeared on Fox News and writes about the issues driving Republican voters from the youth perspective.

Many - including his critics - can’t deny the appeal of Mamdani’s story. At 34, he’s the city’s youngest mayor in over a century, its first Muslim and South Asian mayor, and its first from Queens.

Like the populist wave that carried President Donald Trump into power in 2016 and again in 2024 - a surge of voters who were fed up with establishment elites and their broken promises - Mamdani rode in on a powerful anti-establishment current. His progressive credentials and outsider energy tapped into deep frustration with rising costs and ineffective governance, delivering a genuine electoral mandate for change and giving him real potential to shake things up.

Yet his doubling down on the Democratic Socialist label and “tax the rich” playbook has the potential to be a foolish political mistake. By leaning into this partisan branding and policies that risk eroding the economic base that funds city services, Mamdani undercuts the revolutionary mandate that elected him - and it not only threatens his lethality as a political disruptor but his legacy as one too.

First, let’s consider the practical realities of his tax proposal. This 2-percent surtax would hit roughly 33,000 filers - approximately 0.7 percent of New York City taxpayers. Those filers already shoulder a wildly disproportionate share of the city’s personal income tax revenue. High earners in finance, real estate, professional services, and entrepreneurship are not just “the rich,” they are job creators whose businesses employ tens of thousands of working- and middle-class New Yorkers.

New York is already bleeding taxable income to lower-tax states. Internal Revenue Service migration data shows the state lost a net of $9.9 billion in adjusted gross income from 2022 to 2023, with Florida gaining $20.6 billion in the same period. New York’s national share of income millionaires has fallen sharply over the past decade. When those earners and their companies leave or scale back, the jobs, investment, and tax revenue they generate go along with them - and the working New Yorkers who depend on that economic activity end up paying the price through slower wage growth and fewer opportunities.

Even if the revenue materializes on paper, the politics make implementation difficult. New York City cannot raise its own income tax without state approval, and Governor Kathy Hochul - entrenched in her own re-election fight - has already signaled strong resistance. Business groups and fiscal watchdogs warn that further increasing an already high-tax jurisdiction will accelerate the bleed. And if optimistic projections fall short, Mamdani’s own “Plan B” has always been a threatened 9.5 percent property tax increase. Property taxes aren’t just paid by millionaires; they hit working- and middle-class homeowners directly and get passed along to renters in the form of rent increases. Those New Yorkers that Mamdani wants to protect would bear the brunt.

But like most things, this issue goes much deeper than the balance sheet. By explicitly embracing the Democratic Socialist label at every turn, Mamdani signals ideological purity over pragmatic coalition-building. Sure, it may fire up the base, but it entrenches partisan divides at the exact time he needs buy-in from a skeptical state legislature, a business community with one foot out the door, and independent-minded New Yorkers who voted for change. The potency of his age, his background, and his electoral wave lies in the possibility of doing big things outside of the usual left-right trench warfare. That means delivering results that transcend labels. Tying himself to policies and rhetoric that have become entrenched partisan red meat risks turning a once-in-a-generation mandate into just another chapter of gridlock.

Mamdani is right to sound the alarm over New York’s budget pressures and affordability crisis - burdens he did not create but which were passed down through decades of fiscal mismanagement by those we previously elected. But his approach is self-defeating and may even be his undoing.

The energy that put Mamdani in City Hall was never meant to be an ideological purity test; it was about delivering results for working New Yorkers. Doubling down on the Democratic Socialist branding and policies that raise taxes for any New Yorker squanders the very opportunity he was elected to seize. The smarter path is to govern as the pragmatic disruptor his voters thought they were getting - not as the avatar of a national partisan brand.

Peter Giunta is a millennial voter and Republican strategist based in New York. He has appeared on Fox News and writes about the issues driving Republican voters from the youth perspective.

The Safeguard American Voter Eligibility Act - or the SAVE America Act - ends that reliance on self-attestation. It requires documentary proof of U.S. citizenship, like a birth certificate, naturalization certificate, or even a valid passport, when an individual registers to vote. It would also require a government-issued photo ID to cast a ballot in federal elections and mandate states to utilize existing federal databases to identify and remove non-citizens from their voter rolls.

The measure is straightforward and simply enforces long-standing federal law that only American citizens are eligible to vote in federal elections - yet it remains locked in Washington gridlock.

As federal lawmakers return from their spring recess, the clock is ticking for the Republican majority to turn this proposal into law.

The SAVE America Act is urgently needed to close the enforcement gaps that have eroded our nation’s election integrity. State audits continue to uncover non-citizens on voter rolls - people who have actually cast ballots in our elections. In Michigan, for example, a 2025 review identified fifteen non-citizens who voted in the 2024 presidential election. And it’s not only in blue states - in Texas, authorities opened investigations into thirty-three potential non-citizen voters from the 2024 cycle, and in Georgia, an audit revealed twenty non-citizens registered with at least nine having voted in prior elections.

Indeed, these cases represent a tiny fraction of total votes, but they carry outsized consequences. I’ve seen many elections in my lifetime decided by only a small margin of votes, especially at the local level. When ineligible votes slip through, even unintentionally, they provide legitimate grounds for doubt and fuel widespread skepticism. Americans have given lawmakers a clear mandate to act, with an overwhelming majority supporting proof-of-citizenship and voter ID laws. Harvard CAPS/Harris Poll reported in a February survey that more than 70% of voters across the political spectrum responded favorably to the SAVE America Act - meaning this isn’t even a partisan issue.

Voters intuitively understand that the documents needed for passports, firearms purchases, banking, and federal benefits should also apply to the sovereign act of electing our representatives.

The SAVE America Act closes these vulnerabilities at the registration stage instead of relying on after-action cleanups. It shifts from reactive enforcement to proactive verification while preserving state flexibility. Thirty-six states already require voters to show some form of identification to vote, like in Iowa and Georgia, where voter turnout is sustained despite stricter identification requirements. And despite what Democrats and their talking-head pundits in the media have claimed, the bill includes practical accommodations for voters facing name changes or who have lost their documents. The burden is minimal and outweighs the far greater risk of the slow decay of public trust.

Speaker Mike Johnson, to his credit, did his job - the SAVE America Act passed the House with unanimous Republican support and even one Democrat breakaway. Yet it now remains stalled in the Senate, with unanimous Democrat opposition blocking the remaining seven votes needed to bypass debate and overcome a filibuster. And with the midterm election nearly six months away, this rare alignment of Republican power may be squandered.

Senate Leader John Thune - and President Donald Trump, in part - face a defining test. They must prioritize this bill and deploy every procedural tool reasonably available to secure a final up-or-down vote - even if it means changing Senate rules to eliminate the 60-vote filibuster threshold. Letting it languish in gridlock or get sidelined by other priorities signals weakness on an issue that has maintained broad public support.

Passing the SAVE America Act must transcend partisanship as it reaffirms the core principle of self-government: that only the citizens who live under our laws should choose the leaders who write them. The time to act is now, and Republican leaders must move quickly to enact this essential safeguard before another election cycle unfolds under a shadow of doubt and division.

Peter Giunta is a millennial voter and Republican strategist based in New York. He has appeared on Fox News and writes about the issues driving Republican voters from the youth perspective.

Record turnout nearing 79 percent delivered a clear message: even the most disciplined populist machine can fall when voters tire of incumbency, cronyism, and self-inflicted economic pain - and it should be a wake-up call for conservative politicians here at home.

But first, where did Orbán - who was re-elected with a comfortable two-thirds majority in parliament just four years ago - go wrong?

At a glance, rampant cronyism seems to have understandably eroded public trust. What began as an effort to build a national capitalist class became a patronage network where EU funds and state contracts enriched a tight circle of Orbán’s closest allies. Magyar - who served for many years in Orbán’s government - made dismantling this system the centerpiece of his campaign.

Orbán’s repeated rhetoric attacking EU leaders - namely the European Commission and President Ursula von der Leyen - soured relations with Brussels so much so that Hungary essentially isolated itself from the European Union. What was framed as a bold defense of Hungarian sovereignty instead was seen by voters as a self-defeating strategy that triggered the withholding of more than 20 billion euros in cohesion and recovery funds. Of course, Orbán’s alleged corruption didn’t help either.

However, it was that external pressure that turned abstract governance failures into concrete economic hardships. Economic mismanagement hit home hard. Years of high inflation left hospitals short-staffed, schools neglected, and infrastructure projects delayed. While Orbán tried to frame the election as a battle against Brussels and globalism, voters ignored the smoke of geopolitical theater and saw the bitter reality of grocery bills and functioning services.

There’s also something to be said about longevity breeding complacency. Sixteen years in power transformed Orbán from a scrappy outsider into the ultimate insider. Tools once used to outmaneuver opponents - media control, gerrymandering, and constitutional changes - symbolized that stagnation. When a credible conservative alternative appeared, many voters who once backed Orbán’s Fidesz Party seized the chance for change without abandoning principles or core national priorities.

And so here we are - what does this mean for Hungary now? The election was evolutionary, not revolutionary. Magyar’s Tisza Party is center-right, and he pledges to maintain the nation’s border fence, reject EU migration quotas, and keep a pragmatic stance toward Russia. The difference lies in governance: Tisza aims to restore judicial independence and press freedom to unlock EU funding, speed eurozone entry, and deliver tangible economic relief. Hungary will remain conservative but cease being Europe’s permanent outlier.

This outcome isn’t all that shocking, as it echoes broader European patterns. In Britain’s 2024 election, voters ousted the Conservatives after fourteen years, handing Labour a landslide. The right-wing vote fractured, with Nigel Farage’s Reform UK surging and newer national-populist voices gaining ground thereafter. Long incumbency, economic discontent, and perceptions of elite disconnect punished the governing party. Hungary stayed on the right but shifted toward a cleaner, more pragmatic conservatism. Britain swung left. The shared driver was voter fatigue with prolonged one-party rule.

You’ve made it this far, and by now I’m sure you’re wondering what this has to do with American conservatives. Indeed, there are few parallels between a small European nation and the United States, but the lesson is that voters everywhere eventually punish prolonged power when it breeds corruption, economic underperformance, or governing-class detachment. President Donald Trump’s 2024 re-election succeeded, in part, because voters rejected the prior administration’s record on inflation, border security, and cultural issues. Many saw Trump as the disruptor who would restore competence and national priorities.

Yet the Hungarian election highlights the risks that stem from political ideology. Even strong populist mandates can fray if cronyism takes root, if economic relief lags rhetoric, or if external fights impose visible costs without offsetting gains. To his credit, Trump has delivered on many of his promises, including securing the border and shrinking the federal government - and by ditching officials like former Attorney General Pam Bondi and former DHS Secretary Kristi Noem, Trump has managed to avoid the insider pitfalls that eventually erode support, at least for now.

Voters reward competence alongside conviction. They tire of spectacle when daily life suffers. Tisza’s victory shows that center-right politicians can reclaim the reform mantle by promising cleaner execution and practical partnerships - without surrendering sovereignty or traditional values.

Orbán built one of modern Europe’s most formidable political fortresses. Magyar breached it not by rejecting conservatism but by offering a more effective version - and it should prompt reflection here in the states. Strong leadership works until voters decide the costs of its flaws outweigh the benefits. It is a reminder to govern effectively, deliver results, and resist the temptations of entrenched power - or risk the same fate that felled Hungary’s long-dominant leader.

Peter Giunta is a millennial voter and Republican strategist based in New York. He has appeared on Fox News and writes about the issues driving Republican voters from the youth perspective.

When the North Atlantic Treaty was signed in 1949, its rationale was straightforward. Western Europe was in economic ruin and militarily exhausted following World War II. The Soviet Union had consolidated control over Eastern Europe, and communism threatened democratic governments in France and Italy. NATO’s founders, led by the United States, created a practical alliance to deter Soviet expansion and prevent the revival of European nationalism. It required a strong American presence to remain on the continent. Article 5’s collective-defense guarantee made sense for a defenseless Europe in a bipolar world.

That era is long gone: The Soviet Union collapsed more than three decades ago; Europe is now wealthy, integrated, and capable of their own defense; and the threats we face today are simply no longer interchangeable. China’s military modernization and territorial ambitions dominate the Indo-Pacific. Iran’s nuclear program and proxy network terrorize the Persian Gulf and global energy markets. Indeed, Russia remains a revanchist power on Europe’s flank, but its commitments in Ukraine have drained its conventional forces. An alliance formed for the Cold War of yesteryear cannot address three separate great-power competitions in the 21st century.

It is the glaring inequity of burden-sharing which provides the most compelling argument that this mismatch is untenable. In 2025, the United States spent approximately $980 billion on NATO defense - 62% of NATO’s total $1.59 trillion military budget. After years of pressure from President Trump, NATO allies are only now meeting their 2% of GDP contribution, resulting in an alliance in which American taxpayers subsidize the security of prosperous European capitals that treat U.S. led operations in the Middle East, for example, as optional.

The Iran conflict has exposed this asymmetry in real time. When the United States sought naval escorts for the Strait of Hormuz and expanded access to European bases, most allies declined. Germany’s defense minister said it was “not our war.” Spain closed its airspace to American aircraft involved in the campaign. Italy denied use of a key base in Sicily. NATO Secretary-General Mark Rutte offered rhetorical praise for the initial strikes but said that the alliance would not be “dragged into the conflict.” Article 5, as it turns out, functions only as a one-way street - binding when Europe feels threatened, discretionary when America’s interests are on the line.

Turn to Greenland - a Danish autonomous territory protected nominally under NATO’s collective-defense umbrella. The United States has long recognized its strategic value, with the Pituffik Space Base providing critical early-warning and missile-tracking capabilities. As new shipping routes and resource deposits emerge, China and Russia have already begun probing the region. Yet NATO’s Euro-centric command structure and consensus-driven decision-making offer no tailored mechanism to prioritize this region-specific American interest. Even in light of this, Denmark’s contributions have remained limited.

Critics warn that withdrawing from NATO would embolden adversaries and erode intelligence sharing - serious concerns that should not be dismissed. But bilateral treaties with high-performing partners, such as the United Kingdom, Poland, and the Baltic states, can preserve those intelligence flows. The rest of the alliance, however, adds layers of bureaucracy and politics without effective capability. Europe has had more than a decade since Russia’s 2014 annexation of Crimea to rearm in earnest, yet many capitals chose fiscal comfort while American taxpayers footed the bill. Exiting NATO would compel Europe to make the investments they repeatedly pledged but never fully delivered.

Other critics argue that NATO’s global reach benefits the United States, but data says otherwise. The United States already maintains region-specific partnerships in Asia, like QUAD, AUKUS, and bilateral treaties with Japan, South Korea, and the Philippines - tailored specifically to address China. These arrangements reflect 21st century geography rather than 1949’s.

Withdrawal does not mean isolation. It means strategic recalibration, where America can lead coalitions of the willing when our vital interests are engaged - and without dragging reluctant allies along or being dragged by theirs. A post-NATO United States would be more agile, less resentful, and better positioned to deter the peer competitor that truly threatens our long-term prosperity: China.

The transatlantic relationship has been the cornerstone of U.S. foreign policy for three generations - but that history does not make the alliance eternal. Alliances are instruments, not sacraments. When one partner consistently pays and the others consistently hesitate, and when the original threat has vanished with new ones that demand greater flexibility, it is time to retire the instrument. The Iran conflict did not create NATO’s problem, it merely revealed it in the starkest light.

America’s security rests on realism, fiscal discipline, and the courage to adapt. Withdrawing from NATO is not retreat. It is strategic maturity. The world has moved on, and our alliances must too.

Peter Giunta is a millennial voter and Republican strategist based in New York. He has appeared on Fox News and writes about the issues driving Republican voters from the youth perspective.

Many millennials were just teenagers when the United States invaded Iraq in 2003 under President George W. Bush, a Republican. Gen Z grew up during the final years of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, when President Joe Biden, a Democrat, oversaw the disastrous finale of nearly two decades of nation-building efforts that never produced the decisive outcomes once envisioned.

Washington’s political establishment failed and consequently shaped how an entire generation views the prospect of new military entanglements in the Middle East.

This is glaringly evident in polling data, with a recent NPR/Marist poll showing 64% of young Americans (18-29) opposing U.S. military action in Iran. A surface-level consumption of this data would mistakenly lead one to believe that this is a flat-out rebuke of President Donald Trump’s handling of the conflict; yet, in reality, this could be a rejection of the past.

While young Americans may be divided on military action, many support President Trump’s strong stance against the Iranian regime, which is the number one sponsor of terror in the world and a major destabilizing factor throughout its region.

Admittedly, however, the skepticism may run deeper than war fatigue. The foreign policy officials of yesteryear who once drove consensus in Washington are remembered for misjudging the consequences of their decisions.

Bush 43’s war in Iraq remains the most visible example of this. What began as a justified campaign to eliminate weapons of mass destruction and remove Saddam Hussein quickly expanded into a prolonged nation-building effort that reshaped the region in ways few policymakers predicted.

President Barack Obama tried a different approach by pursuing diplomacy with Iran, which led to the 2015 nuclear agreement. We now know that easing sanctions only emboldened the Iranian regime’s aggression.

That frustration helps explain the appeal of the more confrontational strategy pursued by President Trump. His withdrawal from the nuclear deal, reinstatement of sweeping economic sanctions, and adoption of a doctrine of “maximum pressure” ultimately weakened the Iranian regime.

Historians will one day say that President Trump’s goal was not another war in the Middle East but instead a highly-visible demonstration that the United States would respond forcefully to threats against its interests and allies.

However, as tensions escalate, the challenge today is ensuring that deterrence does not evolve into full-blown war.

It is the possibility of a prolonged commitment that raises difficult questions about priorities and sustainability, fueling the wariness of young Americans like me - the product of a familiar pattern that has left American financial and military resources tied to open-ended geopolitical struggles, such as previously in the Middle East or with the ongoing war in Ukriane.

None of this means that the U.S. is without interests in the region. Iran’s influence affects global energy markets, international shipping routes, and the security of long-standing American allies (relationships that are now being tested). The stability of the Middle East has always had consequences far beyond its borders.

But acknowledging those interests does not automatically justify an unlimited commitment of American resources.

For the generation shaped by Iraq and Afghanistan, the lesson is clear: strategic strength must be paired with strategic restraint. Deterrence, economic pressure, and regional partnerships can all play a role in countering Iran’s ambitions without repeating the mistakes that defined the early 21st century.

This debate now transcends party lines — it’s happening within the big tent of the Republican Party. Young Americans on the right are not arguing for American retreat from the world but instead for a foreign policy that recognizes both the limited effects of military intervention and the importance of clear national interests.

The United States has spent more than two decades learning difficult lessons about war and diplomacy in the Middle East.

Millennials and Gen Z carry those lessons with them into the political arena. Their skepticism toward new conflicts is not a rejection of American strength — it is a demand that strength be used carefully. President Trump, for his part, is keeping to this.

The generation that grew up during America’s longest war is now entering its most influential political years, and how it views the balance between deterrence and restraint is shaping the next era of American foreign policy.

Peter Giunta is a millennial voter and Republican strategist based in New York. He has appeared on Fox News and writes about the issues driving Republican voters from the youth perspective.

The Republican Party is experiencing a transitional period that feels less like upheaval and more like evolution. The household names that have dominated Washington for years are stepping aside, committee gavels are changing hands, and leadership dynamics are shifting. For the first time in decades, the party’s center of gravity is moving from the generation that defined it in the late 20th century to the one that will define it in the mid-21st.

This is not a crisis moment for Republicans. It is an inflection point — and its success will be measured not only in the next midterm election, but in the presidential contest of 2028.

For years, Democrats and much of the political class assumed millennials would be a permanently progressive bloc. Instead, the GOP is witnessing something more complex, and much more consequential. Millennials are increasingly acting as a bridge generation: old enough to remember pre-social media politics and the post-9/11 consensus, yet young enough to understand digital mobilization, decentralized grassroots activism and the cultural shifts shaping Gen Z.

That bridge now extends forward.

Gen Z voters — particularly young men, but increasingly young women focused on economic mobility and institutional trust — are not drifting toward conservatism by accident. They came of age during pandemic lockdowns, historic inflation and record housing costs. Their political consciousness formed amid debates over free speech, meritocracy and the proper role of government in everyday life. For many, the Republican message of economic growth, secure borders and national confidence resonates less as ideology and more as practicality.

The coalition that carried President Trump back into power two years ago reflected that generational complexity. It was not simply a replay of past Republican victories. It was a once-in-a-generation alignment of working-class voters across racial lines, small-business owners squeezed by inflation, parents alarmed by the direction of education policy, and younger Americans disillusioned with elite institutions.

Critics often describe that coalition as personality-driven, but that misreads what actually happened. While Trump remains a central figure, the underlying drivers were economic anxiety, border security concerns, energy independence, and a broader frustration with bureaucratic and cultural overreach. Younger voters who gravitated rightward did so because they perceived stagnation — not because they were nostalgic for the past.

That coalition will face its next test in 2026. History suggests the party in power often loses ground in midterm elections. For example, Barack Obama lost more than 60 House seats in 2010, only to win reelection two years later. Similarly, Trump lost the House in 2018, yet expanded his vote total in 2024. Midterms are typically referendums on the political climate of the moment; presidential elections are broader judgments about direction and leadership. A midterm setback, should one occur, does not dictate the outcome of 2028.

In fact, the more consequential test lies ahead.

The next presidential election will not simply be a routine succession. It will be the moment when the Republican Party either cements the coalition that returned Trump to the White House or proves it was a singular political event. It will determine whether the GOP can convert populist momentum into a durable, generational governing majority.

The generational transition we are witnessing now offers an opportunity. As veteran lawmakers retire, rising figures — many of them millennials — are stepping forward with different instincts. They are digital natives. They understand how policy debates unfold in real time online. They grasp that tone and accessibility matter as much as ideology. But they also recognize that authenticity beats cosmetic “rebranding.”

Right-leaning young voters are not asking for a diluted platform. They are asking for clarity and competence. Affordability sits at the top of the list: housing prices that have outpaced wages, inflation that strained entry-level earners and student debt burdens that delay family formation. Border security and rule of law remain foundational concerns. Energy production is no longer viewed as an environmental question but as a cost-of-living issue. Meritocracy and free expression are cultural flashpoints, but they are also deeply personal to a generation navigating competitive job markets and ideological workplaces.

For millennials and Gen Z alike, stability is not abstract — it is economic, social and national.

Strategically, the path forward requires discipline. The party in power must balance the challenge of governing effectively while also mobilizing effectively. It must translate populist energy into legislative results that lower costs and expand opportunity. It must elevate leaders who can articulate conservative principles in language that resonates beyond partisan echo chambers. And it must avoid internal fragmentation that would squander a rare alignment of working-class and upwardly mobile voters.

Every political era eventually yields to a new one. The post-Reagan Republican Party was shaped by baby boomers who defined debates over taxes, defense and the size of government. The next chapter will be written by those who grew up amid globalization, social media and economic disruption. If millennials serve as the bridge between those eras, Gen Z may well become the engine.

If Republicans steward this coalition with discipline, tangible results and generational confidence, 2028 will not simply cement a legacy. It will mark the moment a new Republican majority moved from possibility to permanence.

Peter Giunta is a millennial voter and Republican strategist based in New York. He has appeared on Fox News and writes about the issues driving Republican voters from the youth perspective.