Important Saturday Message This is why I started doing this work Aaron Parnas Jun 1 Tonight I’m feeling nostalgic. I was going through some old photos and came across one that stopped me in my tracks: a picture of 12-year-old me, eyes locked on the TV, watching the Casey Anthony trial. It might sound strange, but that was the first time I remember truly understanding the power of advocacy. Back then, I told my dad I wanted to be a lawyer. I didn’t really know what that meant, but he sat with me for the opening statements and encouraged me to watch the rest. And I did—every single moment. That trial lit something in me, and if you're reading this, maybe it's because you’ve felt something similar—like the pull toward purpose. If that resonates with you, I hope you’ll consider subscribing to this work. It’s how I keep telling these stories. That moment planted a seed. I couldn’t stop thinking about the people who couldn’t speak for themselves, about the little girl at the center of that case, Caylee Anthony. I knew—deep down—that I wanted to fight for people like her. That was the spark. So I ran with it. I started college when I was 14. Law school at 18. I fast-tracked everything because I had a purpose. I wanted to speak truth to power, to advocate when no one else would. Today, I’m not standing in a courtroom. I’m not cross-examining witnesses or delivering closing arguments. But make no mistake—I’m still advocating. Just on a different battlefield: the internet, the press, and the public square. I’m telling the stories the media won’t. Not because they aren’t true. But because they’re inconvenient. Let’s cut through the noise: the mainstream media doesn’t want me here. Not because I’ve lied. Not because I’ve twisted facts. But because I refuse to play by their rules. I don’t take marching orders from network executives. I don’t tailor my reporting to corporate advertisers. I’m not here to say what’s safe. I’m here to say what’s true. And that’s a problem—for them. They want me gone. Silenced. Drowned out by the same polished punditry and choreographed talking points that dominate cable news. They think I’ll burn out. That I can’t survive without a billionaire backer or a rooftop D.C. office. But here’s the truth: I don’t need them. I have this platform, my independence, and you. If you’re tired of journalism that caters to sponsors instead of citizens… if you’re tired of stories curated for clickbait instead of clarity… if you still believe in the idea that the press should serve the people and not the powerful—this is your space. This is what we’re building. Together. Because while the D.C. news cycle obsesses over Biden’s gaffes and palace intrigue, they’re missing the real story: Donald Trump and his allies are laying the groundwork to sideline the Supreme Court, strip away First Amendment protections, and turn the executive branch into a personal weapon. They’re not hiding it. They’re broadcasting it. And yet, the media shrugs. Why? Because that narrative isn’t profitable. It isn’t polished. It threatens the status quo. So instead, they chase spectacle. They run cover. They look the other way. Not here. Here, we follow the facts—even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when it’s dangerous. Especially then. But I can’t do it alone. I don’t have a multimillion-dollar deal with a pharmaceutical giant. I don’t have a hedge fund-funded newsroom. What I have is you—and your willingness to support independent journalism that refuses to bend. Your subscription isn’t a tip. It’s fuel. It’s how this work continues. It’s how we push back against the narrative machine and carve out a space for truth. I’m not trying to reinvent the wheel. I’m trying to bring back something we lost: honest, unflinching journalism that values the public over the powerful. A modern-day version of the Cronkite era—where the news wasn’t about clicks, but clarity. If you believe in that, now is the time to act. Don’t wait until the next scandal is too big to ignore. Don’t wait until it’s too late to fight back. Subscribe. Share. Stay loud. Because if we don’t tell the truth, they’ll rewrite it. — Aaron