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Compute and Creaturehood

Data Centers Have Neighbors

CBRE

Compute will find a home. The only live civic question is whether the neighbors are treated as creatures or as throughput.

I have never believed a tool decides a people. I said that when the argument went to orbit. I will say it again with the argument on the ground.

The demand for compute is not a zoning category. It is load. It will clear. It will clear on a brownfield with its own generation, on a river that still has surplus power, behind a posted payment in lieu of taxes, in the next county that wants the millage, or, years from now, on a satellite that rejects heat into vacuum. That is not a theory of progress. It is a description of demand that already has a purchase order behind it.

What remains open is the measure. Creaturehood is the measure. Particular people, in a particular place, owed a ledger and a vote. A town is not a queue position. A child is not a latency budget. A family on a delivery charge is not an externality in a capacity auction. The cloud already holds the hospital chart and the 911 ticket. Pretending those racks are optional is a fantasy about logging off. Pretending a two-hundred-megawatt training hall is “just the cloud,” and therefore entitled to secrecy and a socialized bill, is the opposite fantasy: that persons and places exist to feed a race.

A few hundred inauthentic accounts tried to write the second story over the first. They did not invent the fight. The answer is not to treat every opponent as a dupe and every campus as a public good. The answer is a hearing that can tell those two projects apart in public.

I am not a futurist. I said so in August when SpaceX put compute in the filing and not only in the feed. Orbit may take some training load. It will not take this decade’s interconnection queue. It will not take the backup folder on your phone. It will not take the duty to a place you can walk. The hearing is still the event.

You already live by this building

Start with the thing the flyer refuses to name.

Cloud backup is a data center. So is the card swipe, Apple Pay, Gmail, the electronic chart at the hospital, the computer-aided dispatch that sends a unit to a wreck, and a large share of the peering that still touches Ashburn. These are not metaphors. They are rented or owned racks in buildings that look like warehouses. Most of them already have permits. Most of them already sit on a tax roll somebody is not discussing at the microphone.

Pew’s 2026 count belongs at the front of this argument. Thirty-eight percent of Americans live within five miles of at least one operating data center. Another four percent live that close to one that is planned. Nine in ten halls sit within five miles of another hall, so “near one” usually means near a cluster. Researchers at NYU Tandon, writing in Nature Cities, mapped more than four thousand facilities and found 97.5 percent inside a metropolitan or micropolitan area. The cloud is not a desert novelty. It already lives in the metro.

That fact breaks the alien-factory frame. It does not finish the argument. Pew also found that living near a hall does not change the opinion. People within five miles worry about bills and land and water at roughly the same rates as people who do not. Proximity is not persuasion. “You already use this” is a necessary correction. It is not a permit.

Hold the distinction or you will do the industry’s work. The colo that has hummed behind the office park since the fiber years is a data center. A new twenty-five-megawatt-plus training campus with a fresh substation is also a data center. Using the first to entitle the second is a trick. Using the second to ban the first is the other trick. The hearing is about this interconnection, this parcel, this tariff.

Creaturehood includes dependence. You already live by tools you did not forge. Bread is like that. Weather is like that. A finite being who pretends otherwise is not more free. He is only less honest. Gratitude for the rack that holds a medical record is not surrender to the next pad on the feeder.

The noise was not the instrument

In August, X removed a cluster of inauthentic accounts that had been wrapping this fight in a drawing and a hashtag. The set was small, on the order of two hundred handles inside a much larger sweep. OpenAI had already described a related “Data Center Bandwagon” pattern: generic names, stock avatars, a capacity-auction line, cartoons of a cigar and a dark house. That is the palette.

Within this farm, we found 200 accounts posting in a manner that could manipulate a legitimate debate about American AI and energy policy.

These posts contained claims that AI data centers are driving up household electricity prices and straining the grid. Others included AI-generated cartoons that depicted data-center operators enriching themselves at the public’s expense.

We remain committed to maintaining an open and authentic platform where people debate topics of public interest. We take seriously any attempts to undermine the integrity of the global town square and suspend accounts that violate our Authenticity policy.

Here is what those accounts were not. They were not the origin of the opposition. Trustees were already hearing about substations and wells. Trades were already counting hours. Regulators in the PJM footprint were already publishing capacity prices that had risen eleven-fold. Gallup still finds large majorities against a new hall next door. Shapiro walked from a Berwick ribbon to an executive order because Archbald packed a room, not because a content farm told him to. Abbott ordered an audit of a swollen ERCOT queue because Texas can add load faster than it can prove the load is real.

A few hundred inauthentic handles did not invent that record. They flattened it. They tried to make every proposal, in every market, on every tariff, look like the same drawing. That is noise on top of a signal. The signal is the project file.

Treat the farm as the source of the fight and you insult the supervisor who has a feeder study in his folder. Treat the farm as nothing and you donate the vocabulary to whoever will use it. Name the shop once. Then get back to the tariff. I will not spend this column on Beijing. I will not pretend a hashtag moved a union business manager. Foreign amplification is not mind control. It is contamination. It makes an honest cost-allocation argument sound like a line from a mill, which is useful to people who want no hearing at all.

If opposition were only imported, the remedy would be a takedown and a fast track. That is the developer’s prayer, and it is false. If opposition were only a morality play about AI, the remedy would be a moratorium and a dark house on the flyer. That is the cartoon’s prayer, and it is also false. Local sunlight on a contract is how you separate a real objection from a drawing.

Quincy is an outcome, not a mood

The myth says a data center arrives and the lights dim and the town dies. Quincy, Washington, is a twenty-year falsification of that sentence under specific conditions. The conditions are the argument.

In 2006 Microsoft bought seventy-five acres of bean field on the edge of a Columbia Basin farm town of about 5,300 people and put up a company-owned hall for Bing and Hotmail. The draw was Grant County PUD hydropower, cheap and firm, leftover from Grand Coulee and the irrigation project that already made the desert grow apples and potatoes. Yahoo, Sabey, Vantage, NTT, CyrusOne, and others followed. Twenty years later Quincy holds on the order of thirty campuses in a town of a little more than 8,000. One industry count has called it the eleventh-largest data-center market in the country, which is an absurd sentence until you look at the levy.

Washington’s Department of Revenue workgroup put numbers on the books. Before the halls, Grant County’s top ten taxpayers were assessed at about $313 million and paid about $4.2 million. In 2025 those top ten were assessed at $6.14 billion and paid about $54 million. Seven of the ten are data centers. Six of those seven sit in Quincy. The city’s own levy rate went from $3.12 per $1,000 of assessed value in 2006 to about $0.88 in 2025, a cut of roughly seventy percent, because new industrial value carries the load. Other taxpayers pay less per thousand even as the city spends more.

City-side cash followed. Quincy’s overall revenues, including water and sewer, went from about $6 million in 2006 to about $47 million in 2024. Tax collections roughly doubled from 2018 to 2024. Data centers now pay on the order of fifty-seven to sixty-five percent of the property-tax take. That money built a high school in the $108 million to $120 million range, a hospital, a library, a city hall, police and fire stations, sidewalks, sewer, and a wastewater plant. Mayor Paul Worley has said that when he first sat on council the town was twenty-five years behind on streets. It is not anymore.

Poverty fell. Census figures commonly cited run from 29.4 percent in 2012 to 13.1 percent in 2023. CNN used 6.2 percent for 2024. Direct data-center employment sits around 900. Agriculture still employs more people, on the order of 1,700 in one recent tally. Earlier school-year reporting still found four in five students eligible for free lunch. The honest sentence is that the town got a second floor. It did not get a new class structure.

Now the fact that answers the cartoon. Residential power in Grant County remains among the cheapest in the country, on the order of six cents a kilowatt-hour, about half the Washington average and a third of the United States average. Over twenty years the average residential bill went from about $70 to about $106, which the district attributes mostly to inflation and which ran below the inflation rate. Last year’s increase: 3.5 percent for residential customers, 9.1 to 9.5 percent for large industrial customers. Data centers take about 37 percent of PUD generation and about 8 percent of city water. Microsoft helped pay for a $30 million reuse plant. Large users pay rates above the cost to serve them. That is the opposite of socializing a shortfall onto households.

The constraint showed up on schedule. Grant PUD’s transmission into Quincy is tapped. Halls have taken on the order of 269 megawatts against a 300-megawatt line. They will want more later. New construction in town has slowed. The fight has moved to a thirty-two-mile transmission corridor and to East Wenatchee and Malaga, where orchard land is the issue. That is not a refutation of the twenty-year record. It is what a successful cluster looks like when the surplus that created it is used up.

Four conditions made the fiscal result possible. The halls sat inside the city limits, so assessed value hit Quincy’s levy. The power was already there as leftover firm hydro. A second check besides hope showed up on the roll. And the town had time. Quincy is a twenty-year story. A township that wants the 2026 version in eighteen months is buying a construction boom and calling it a tax base.

Copy the buildings onto a constrained regional grid without the tariff and without the city line and you do not get Quincy. You get the drawing.

Cousins, briefly

Quincy is the cleanest small-town version. It is not a unicorn.

Prineville, Oregon, maps onto a mill town that had been on its knees. Timber collapse and the Great Recession pushed unemployment toward 20 percent. Meta took an enterprise-zone deal around 2010. Apple followed. Data centers now employ about 700 people in a city of roughly 12,000 and account for most of the jobs added since 2008. Crook County average wages rose from about $35,000 to more than $70,000. Franchise fees on the power those halls pull through town rose from about $430,000 a year to nearly $11 million. Streets, a police station, a water system, pension debt paid down. The asterisk is the abatement. Local jurisdictions still excuse more than $100 million a year in property tax. Meta’s first holiday is about to roll off. The city manager has said property-tax revenue could roughly double when it does, and that he would not sign the same front-loaded deal today. Prineville lived on fees and construction. The millage harvest comes later.

The Dalles took Google after the aluminum smelter died, on the same Columbia hydro logic. Boardman and Morrow County are taking Amazon on farm and food-processing land: about 900 full-time data-center jobs, construction wages over $111,000 against farm-and-processor wages near $67,000. These are Quincy before the high school is finished. The hours are here. The political split is already here.

Loudoun County, Virginia, is the suburban compounding version. Data Center Alley, Ashburn and Sterling, the densest cluster on earth. The tax on the computers inside the buildings is heading toward $1.3 billion, on the order of 40 percent of county revenue. The real-property rate has been cut for a decade. New schools, roads, libraries. Supervisors now argue about addiction to the revenue versus noise, views, and Dominion’s interconnection backlog. Prince William is Loudoun ten years earlier, with a louder fight. Henrico took a different cut of the same Virginia tool. In 2024 the board appropriated $60 million in previously unbudgeted data-center revenue into an Affordable Housing Trust Fund rather than folding it into the general fund. By August 2026 the county had put $38.9 million out the door, closed 87 buyers, and approved more than 470 additional homes. Eric Leabough, the housing director, said other localities poured server tax into the base budget. Henrico named a fund and a beneficiary class before the next campus vote.

New Albany, Ohio, wrote the floor instead of inheriting hydro. The city’s rule is blunt. An abatement requires minimum revenue generation per square foot. After a ramp-up, if the project misses the floor, the owner writes an additional payment in lieu of taxes. For data centers the city will count income tax and other sources. The Google hub agreement in the Franklin County review packet set floors of $750,000, then $1.5 million, then $1.8 million, stepping with extra square footage. In tax year 2023 the project hit $1.5 million on the nose and needed a $312,027 PILOT to get there. The shortfall is a lien that runs with the land under Ohio law. That is not a press packet. That is a contract that can survive a sale.

The fiscal result is an arrangement. Miss the jurisdiction, the tariff, or the years, and you get a rendering.

Two grids

“Who pays” is not a slogan. It is a market design.

Texas, on purpose

Senate Bill 6, signed in June 2025, created a large-load regime inside ERCOT for customers of 75 megawatts or more. The statute tells the Public Utility Commission to write interconnection standards “in a manner designed to support business development in this state while minimizing the potential for stranded infrastructure costs and maintaining system reliability.” New large loads must “contribute to the recovery of the interconnecting electric utility’s costs to interconnect.” That is the sentence.

The statute also requires site control, disclosure of substantially similar interconnection requests elsewhere in Texas, a flat study fee of at least $100,000, and reporting of on-site backup that can cover at least half of on-site demand. In an emergency, after market tools are exhausted, ERCOT can order that generation on or the load off. Utilities must have a protocol to curtail transmission-voltage large loads during firm load shed, before houses. Co-location of a new large load behind an existing generator needs study and commission approval. If the pairing leaves a shared line carrying at least 25 percent less than expected, the parties eat the stranded cost so retail stays whole.

The implementing draft, 16 TAC § 25.194, puts numbers on the gate. Study fees of $100,000 or $300,000 depending on size. Financial security of $50,000 per megawatt of requested peak at the intermediate agreement. Thirty days after the study to sign an interconnection agreement or lose the slot. One hundred percent of direct interconnection costs on the load. A 200-megawatt hall posting $50,000 per megawatt is a $10 million letter of credit before the study is finished. That is an anti-speculation tool. It is also why the governor’s August 2026 queue audit belongs in the same paragraph. BloombergNEF put roughly 474 gigawatts of pending large-load requests in the ERCOT queue, about 90 percent of them data centers, and warned that a long pause could strand projects on the order of $15 billion. The statute and the audit share an impulse. Make the load real before you build the wires.

CenterPoint’s August 11 release is the TDU version of Quincy’s levy story, and you must print it as a forecast. The company projected more than $5 billion in customer savings over ten years if up to 14 gigawatts of eligible large load interconnects and shoulders more of the fixed infrastructure charge. Greater Houston, the company says, already posts the lowest infrastructure charges of any Texas investor-owned wires utility. The governor ordered the queue audit eight days before that release. If the audit kills a slice of the 14 gigawatts, the $5 billion shrinks with it.

What actually moved on a Houston residential bill in mid-August is smaller and separate. On August 15, CenterPoint’s volumetric delivery charge fell from $0.051461 per kilowatt-hour to $0.049811. At 1,000 kilowatt-hours that is about $1.65 a month, about $20 a year. Delivery is roughly 30 percent of a Houston bill. The rest is the retail energy price you shop. Large-load savings, if they arrive, land on the regulated wires half. Print $5 billion and $20 in the same breath. Put the words “decade” and “if” between them.

In ERCOT a 75-megawatt customer can be made to post site control, a six-figure study check, tens of thousands of dollars per megawatt of security, and the full cost of the lateral. The same customer can be curtailed before a house in a firm-shed event. That is local-adjacent policy written at the Capitol and the commission, not at city hall. It is also the closest statutory cousin this country has to the principle that a large load should carry what it triggers.

PJM, already on the bill

A supervisor in a Pennsylvania township does not set the capacity price.

PJM’s Base Residual Auction cleared at $28.92 per megawatt-day for 2024/2025. Then $269.92. Then $329.17. Then $333.44. Then $325.00 for 2028/2029. That is an eleven-fold jump in four years, then a plateau under a price cap Pennsylvania’s governor negotiated with the grid operator and later extended. Without the cap, the last auction would have been substantially more expensive.

Joseph Bowring’s shop, Monitoring Analytics, is PJM’s independent market monitor. On the record, existing plus forecast data-center load, by itself, added $9.33 billion to 2025/2026 capacity-auction revenues, a 174 percent increase, on the order of 63 percent of that year’s capacity bill. Across four auctions, data-center-related capacity charges come to $29.4 billion of $63.6 billion, or 46 percent. The latest auction alone: $6.3 billion of $16.4 billion, or 38 percent. A large share of that in at least one cut was forecast halls, not energized ones. In the first half of 2026, wholesale cost in PJM rose on the order of 46 to 50 percent. The capacity component roughly tripled. The monitor attributes about $11 per megawatt-hour, some 9 to 10 percent of wholesale, to data-center load in the capacity construct alone, before energy and transmission effects. Bowring’s conclusion on the 2025/2026 through 2027/2028 auctions is that the results were not competitive, “primarily as a result of the inclusion of forecast demand for data centers.” His recommended fix is to take forecast data-center load out of the base auction and make the halls bring new generation.

Capacity is a non-bypassable adder on retail bills across thirteen states and the District. A township that votes no on a pad does not take that adder off a PECO or PPL statement.

Governor Josh Shapiro’s Executive Order 2026-05, signed August 18, is a real shift and a limited one. Fourteen months after he stood in Berwick and called Amazon’s $20 billion pledge the largest private-sector investment in Pennsylvania history, he pulled data centers off the Permit Fast Track program he had used as a recruiting tool. Developers who want a tolerable state process sign a consent order locking in his GRID requirements. Local approvals come before the Department of Environmental Protection issues permits. State agencies may not hide behind nondisclosure agreements. The equipment tax exemption depends on GRID. Decline the consent order and DEP will not even start the clock. That is a two-track squeeze for anything over 25 megawatts. It is not a moratorium. The piece that would change who pays the capacity problem still has to go through the Public Utility Commission. A governor can lean on DEP and Revenue. He cannot rewrite an RTO auction by executive order.

In ERCOT the large load can be forced to post and to shed first. In PJM the forecast of that load has already been socialized. Local control here is real for land use and water. It is not real for the capacity line until the construct changes. Say that out loud or “the community decides” becomes a false promise.

The fork

A supervisor does not face “data centers.” He faces two animals that the language keeps collapsing.

The first is a speculative pad. No tenant. No site control worth the name. An abatement announced the night before the vote. Assessed value sitting one parcel outside the line the town can levy. No posted collateral for the upgrade. Water described as “manageable.” Jobs described as “thousands” without a date. That animal writes the cartoon for anyone who will draw it.

The second is a hall on industrial land or a brownfield, inside the taxing jurisdiction, with generation on site or under contract, a payment floor that runs with the land, gallons and decibels in numbers, and two headcounts on the same page: the peak crew and the badges that remain after commissioning. That animal is Quincy’s cousin. Rejecting it because a flyer used the same palette as the first animal is how a town exports the millage and keeps the rhetoric.

Construction hours are real. Building trades have doubled hours in hot corridors. A one-gigawatt campus can take 4,000 people at peak pour. Meta’s America’s Workforce Academy put real people on a plane to Indianapolis, paid the hotel, and handed a four-week fiber course and a contractor job to a first class of about fifty-five. Some of those graduates are already leaving for sites in Aurora and Cheyenne. North America’s Building Trades Unions signed a national memorandum with the same company in August. That is access to a dispatch hall. It is not a project labor agreement on every campus, and the open-shop side of the industry is still in the building.

Sell both numbers or do not sell jobs. Four thousand people at pour is not four thousand people in 2032. A four-week credential is a ticket onto a site. It is not a journeyman card and it is not a levy cut. Work that blesses someone else is a creaturely good. A press release that treats persons as interchangeable with a peak-crew slide is not.

Five documents before first reading

If transparency is a mood, this column is a sermon. Make it paper.

A city or county that wants the Quincy outcome, or wants a clean no, should put five files on the website before the first hearing, not after the incentive vote.

One. Who pays the feeder. Interconnection costs, network upgrades, and any capacity or transmission rider: named payer, dollar estimate, and whether residential rates can move. Grant PUD’s last split, 3.5 percent residential and 9.1 percent industrial, is the exhibit. PJM socializing a forecast shortfall is the anti-exhibit. Senate Bill 6 is the home statute. If the developer will not post collateral for the upgrade, that is the news, not the rendering.

Two. Where the assessed value sits. Inside city limits or in an unincorporated pocket the town cannot levy. Quincy works because the halls are on the city’s roll. A campus one parcel outside the line is a county story the city does not cash.

Three. The abatement, in years and dollars, printed next to what the land would have produced as a warehouse or a plant. If the deal is a PILOT, print the schedule. New Albany’s rule is the model. The hall must beat the alternative use or it writes a check. The shortfall is a lien, not a promise.

Four. Water and noise as numbers. Gallons per day, source, discharge, closed-loop or not. Ordinance limits on generators and decibels at the property line. “We will be good neighbors” is not a number.

Five. Construction hours versus operations headcount, on the same page. Peak crew and duration. Permanent badges after commissioning. If a mayor sells jobs, he can sell both figures.

No public-side nondisclosure agreements. The one clause of Shapiro’s order that belongs in a conservative column without apology is the ban on hiding the terms. Secret deals are how the cartoon writes itself. A clerk who posts PDFs makes the drawing expensive to run. A mayor who announces community benefits the night before the vote donates the vocabulary to whoever will use it.

Washington’s Utilities and Transportation Commission is writing a large-load policy statement on docket UE-260162 after a bill died in Olympia. That statement will bind investor-owned utilities. It will not bind Grant PUD. Do not write as if Olympia already did what Texas did. It did not.

What a town can decide, and what it cannot

A township can decide zoning, the special exception, the site plan, hours of construction, buffering, the noise ordinance, and a local water permit. It can decide whether the pad sits inside the municipal line. It can decide whether to grant a local abatement, a TIF, or a PILOT, and what floor payment rides with the land. It can decide whether the clerk posts the file before first reading.

A township cannot decide the PJM capacity construct, the treatment of unbuilt halls in a peak-load forecast, or the price cap a governor negotiated with an RTO. It cannot decide ERCOT wholesale energy. In Texas it cannot decide a transmission-and-distribution delivery tariff. Those filings go to the Public Utility Commission. CenterPoint’s $5 billion and Houston’s $20 are commission math. A city cannot restore a state sales-tax exemption the legislature waived. Henrico can dedicate the personal-property take it does receive. It cannot invent a tax the General Assembly erased.

A Texas city does not set the wires charge. A Washington town does not set a public utility district’s industrial tariff. Quincy’s six-cent residential rate is the PUD commission’s. Quincy’s levy is the city’s. Honesty about that border is localism. Blurring it is a mailer.

Local government should decide the pad, the water, the millage deal, and the sunlight on the contract. It should not be told it can vote away a regional capacity rider or a wholesale energy price. Creaturehood includes limits on power, including the supervisor’s.

The measure

I have written about creaturehood as the condition of being a created, particular, placed, filial, limited being, not a self-authored unit and not raw material for a system. A father learns that in a hospital corridor. A neighborhood learns it when the language on the street changes faster than the schools can tell the truth. A country learns it when it starts treating children as a forum for adult experiments. I will not reopen those essays here. I will not check them at the door either.

A data-center fight that never mentions a person is talking about infrastructure as if no one inherits it. Children inherit the rate, the view, the tax base that builds the school, and the culture that either tells them they are creatures or tells them they are users. If the only stories on offer are a race with China and a blackout cartoon, you have already handed them a world in which persons are instruments.

Compute does not repair that confusion. A posted contract does not repair it either. Sunlight is only how you refuse to add a secret reconstruction of the place on top of the confusion. The same civilization that cannot say what a child is will not be careful with a town. That is not an argument for a moratorium. Created beings use tools. They also refuse to be used as tools. That is the whole ethic.

Work that blesses someone else belongs in this column because a journeyman is a body with a name and a card, not “workforce.” A four-week academy that puts a custodian on a plane is a mercy if the story is true and the job exists. It is a slight if a company sells it as the rebirth of a town. Scale is a moral fact. Persons are not interchangeable with a headcount.

Orbit remains what I said it was in August: a refusal to treat decisive capacity as permanently deferred, and still only a tool. A constellation is not a citizenship. Creaturehood is terrestrial in the ordinary sense. This soil. This school board. This porch. Patriotism, as I have meant it, was never an abstraction. It was a street in east Plano and the decision not to apologize for loving it. This fight is the same porch looking at a pad.

If a paragraph in this subject can run with no person in it, no child, no ratepayer, no tradesman, no clerk posting a file, the paragraph is already serving the wrong master.

Agency

I closed the orbital essay on a refusal. The future arriving now is not a guarantee of any particular outcome. It is the refusal to treat the decisive capabilities as permanently deferred. Whether that refusal produces durable advantage or merely expensive spectacle remains a matter of agency, engineering, and will. The tool does not decide that. We do.

The same close holds on the ground.

Compute will be housed. Demand relocates when a town says no. It also relocates when a state hides the terms and calls the hiding “economic development.” A public utility district town, a Texas wires customer, and a Pennsylvania township will either own a piece of the tax base or own only the rhetoric. The tool does not pick.

A council that hides the arrangement is not resisting a content farm. It is doing the farm’s work. It keeps the fight on a drawing instead of a tariff. Post the numbers. Vote in public. Let the load go where the contract can survive daylight.

Creaturehood is the name of the beings who still have to live there after the ribbon. They are owed a ledger. They are owed a vote. They are not owed a fantasy that the racks can be wished out of the world, and they are not owed a pad that treats them as throughput. Load will clear. The only live civic question is whether it clears as if neighbors were creatures.

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James K. Bishop

James K. Bishop is a conservative writer and raconteur hailing from Texas, known for his incisive and often provocative takes on political and cultural issues. With a staunch commitment to originalist constitutional principles, he emphasizes limited government, individual liberties, and traditional American values. Active on X under the handle @James_K_Bishop, he frequently engages his audience with sharp critiques of progressive policies, media narratives, and overreaches by the federal government. His style is direct, often laced with humor and wit, which resonates strongly with his conservative followers.