George Washington: 2025 In 2025, he is just "George", a young man of 33, tall...

George Washington: 2025

In 2025, he is just “George”, a young man of 33, tall, broad-shouldered, calm-eyed. A veteran of two tours in the Middle East, a commissioned officer, and now a private citizen. He comes from land and discipline: the descendant of ranchers and engineers, raised on duty, clarity, and the responsibility of stewardship.

After high school, George enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps. It wasn’t the easiest path, but it was the only one that made sense to a man like him. The Marines still upheld honor, discipline, and leadership by earned respect. He had no patience for bureaucratic BS or ideological games. He wanted the hardest fight, the clearest mission, the tightest brotherhood. He found it there.

After two combat tours, he returned to a modest estate left by his late father, an old farm in rural Virginia that he renovated with his own hands. He married, fathered two sons, and began to build something meaningful on the land. But like the country he fought for, he found his peace corrupted.

He watched as the cities descended into anarchy masked as compassion. Beloved institutions disintegrated, and politicians played theatre while borders fell to waves of cartel-backed crossings. He saw schools pushing ideology over literacy, obedience over inquiry.

He saw his fellow soldiers, men of honor, turned into political pawns. Some were thrown into endless meat grinders, sacrificed for an empire that saw them as disposable. Others were purged during COVID for refusing to force-vaccinate their own men, officers who held the line because they believed the order was illegal, unethical, and unconstitutional. They were not thanked, they were discarded. Worse still, many were court-martialed, threatened with prison, stripped of rank and pensions. Men who had given their best years in service were treated as criminals for holding to their conscience. It was a betrayal of the very idea of duty.

George was no ideologue. He believed in discipline and duty, personal, familial, and civic. After leaving the Marines, he remained a citizen-soldier, just as the original Washington had. He stayed in contact with his local militia, unofficial, but organized. A network of men who trained together, prepared together, and pledged to defend their community if the day ever came. Not vigilantes. Not revolutionaries. Just men who remembered their duty.

Both the left and the right hated this. The left called it dangerous extremism. The right called it unprofessional and undisciplined. What they truly feared was the one thing they could not control: men who would defend their land and their people without needing permission.

At home he watched as the republic withered beneath false compassion and engineered chaos. Rule of law decayed into farce. Activist judges discarded constitutional limits and imposed ideological decrees from the bench. Institutions were reduced to performing humiliation rituals, scripted performances that concealed the theft of sovereignty, order, and meaning from his people.

He turned to the political sphere, looking for allies. The Republicans, once the party of limited government and rule of law, now pandered to populists and billionaires alike, carving out exceptions for their friends while preaching justice to the rest. The Democrats, once the party of working men, now knelt before race cults and global technocrats. And the Libertarians? A punchline. A cargo cult of adolescent individualism dressed up in economic jargon, oblivious to the weight of duty, hierarchy, and civilization. They mistook license for liberty and selfishness for sovereignty.

None of them addressed the deeper crisis: that much of the political class no longer served America at all. Too many held dual loyalties, citizens of one nation, stewards of another. Or even worse, men and women with no loyalties at all! Some boasted openly of their allegiance to foreign states. Others whispered their fealty through legislation tailored for foreign interests, pharmaceutical conglomerates, or global tech monopolies. The institutions of power had become vessels for international agendas, administered by careerists who owed nothing to the people whose lives they governed.

He found himself politically homeless, surrounded by factions that mocked duty and discarded the foundations of nationhood.

Where was the party of virtue? Of law that bound both ruler and ruled? Of borders, contracts, and peace through strength? Where was the party that said: “You may speak freely, worship freely, defend your family, own your land, and in return, you must serve, labor, contribute, obey the same law as all others”?

Where was the party that spoke for his people, his kin, his heritage, his ancestors who built the nation, tamed the frontier, and bled for every square inch of it? George was a heritage American if ever there was one. And he saw clearly: no party represented his people. None would even dare to say their name.

George began to write. To speak. To gather his peers. He spoke of Natural Law, not of mysticism or abstraction, but of testable, ancient truths: reciprocity, sovereignty, duty. He rejected universal enfranchisement without service. He proposed a citizen’s franchise earned through contribution, not granted by mere birth. He demanded border enforcement as the very definition of polity. He advocated the end of foreign entanglements and foreign aid until America healed its own house.

The left called him names: fascist, racist, white supremacist, xenophobe, transphobe, bigot, because he defended borders, heritage, earned citizenship, natural law, and the protection of children from ideological experimentation. He rejected the political sexualization of youth and the normalization of inverted moral orders. For that, they despised him.

The right called him rigid, authoritarian, unelectable, a purist, because he refused to pay their political game. They accused him of being anti-Semitic for rejecting Israel First foreign policy, called him isolationist for refusing endless wars, and even whispered conspiracy theorist for pointing out the influence of foreign lobbies in domestic politics.

This name-calling was not a misunderstanding. It was hatred, directed not only at George, but at the millions of Americans who still shared his principles. They hated his convictions because those convictions reminded them of their own betrayal. And they hated his people, heritage Americans, because those people had not yet submitted. Both official parties despised him, not just because he refused to pander, compromise truth, or bow to moneyed interests, but because his very presence made them appear illegitimate, cowardly, and small. Yet none could refute his logic. None could show how it was unjust to demand that every man bear equal burden for equal voice.

Like his namesake, he would have gladly remained a private man, devoted to his land, his family, and his duty. But those around him saw the truth: if he did not lead, worse men would. Not just over the state, but over every institution and every child’s future. When the call came, he answered, not for ambition or glory, but because the alternative was collapse. He demanded order. And for this, they feared him.

George stood at a podium one cold autumn evening, outside Richmond, to a crowd of 3,000. Not left. Not right. Just tired Americans. Tired of lies. Tired of debt. Tired of watching their ancestors’ sacrifices sold off by cowards.

He ended with a question:

“How many of you feel unrepresented? Not just unheard, but deliberately deceived, manipulated, betrayed?”

Hands rose.

“How many of you believe in borders, in law, in contribution before reward, in the right to your property, your speech, your faith, and also in your duty to defend them?”

More hands.

He nodded. “Then perhaps you’re not alone. Perhaps, like me, you believe no party serves you. Perhaps it’s time to stop asking which party to support, and start asking what it would mean to build anew, from first principles.”

A silence fell. A heavy silence. Then cheers. And something deeper: resolve.

George Washington, reborn in 2025, did not seek a throne. He sought a people worthy of liberty again.

What This Is

This is not just a story. It’s a thought experiment: a simulation of what might happen if George Washington, the first President of the United States, commander of the Continental Army, a man of duty, discipline, and honor, were born again in modern America. Imagine him born in the 1990s, a member of Generation Y, raised in the fading shadow of a post-industrial republic, serving in America’s foreign wars, and returning home to a nation morally and institutionally unrecognizable to its founders.

Too many Americans today misunderstand the founding fathers. They’ve been sanitized, flattened, or worse, misrepresented by ideologues seeking to bend the past to present agendas. But George Washington was no progressive, no libertine, and certainly no globalist. He was a classical liberal in the original sense: a man who believed in natural rights, reciprocal obligations, rule of law, meritocracy, civic responsibility, and earned status, not entitlements, not mobs, and not empire.

He and his contemporaries believed in liberty, but not license. In equality before the law, not equality of outcome. In borders. In contracts. In defense of one’s own people first. They assumed a homogenous, duty-bound citizenry, not a fractured empire of competing factions incentivized by political patronage.

Were these beliefs voiced today? They would be smeared as extremist. They would fall so far outside the Overton window that no political party would touch them. Yet these were the very principles upon which The United States of America was founded.

That’s the crisis. A country founded on classical liberal ideals now treats those ideals as dangerous. This isn’t merely a political problem, something that can be voted away, it is a metaphysical one and an issue of national survival. For a nation that forbids discussion of its founding truths cannot long survive.

What follows from this realization is up to us.

The question now is: where is our generation’s George Washington?

Somewhere among us are men with the same sense of duty, clarity, and courage. Men who feel the same weight pressing on their conscience. Men who wish they could live quiet private lives but know that luxury is fast disappearing for them.

This story is written for such men. Not to entertain, but to awaken. To remind them that they are needed. That silence is betrayal. That retreat is surrender. And that the future of their people rests on whether they will rise, and whether those around them will recognize the moment and give them the strength and support to lead.

The world does not need more pundits or protestors. It needs leaders. Builders. Fathers. Warriors. Men of duty.

But it also needs something else: those around them to rise with them.

The men who stood with the original George Washington did not merely support him at the ballot box, they marched beside him in the mud, in the snow, in the face of cannon fire. They pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor. Perhaps we are not asked to do so today, not yet. But we must be willing. Because the men who rise to lead cannot do it alone. They need those around them to see them, to strengthen them, to make their leadership possible. Without such support, even the best of men are left to fall silent, or worse, to be crushed by the cowardice of the crowd.

If this story speaks to you, then maybe it was meant for you.

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