The Immediate Liberation of Tina Peters: A Plain Reckoning

I OPENED MY EMAIL after posting my thanks to President Trump for pardoning Tina Peters.  Demons howled.  Tim Johnson wrote, “She's not pardoned you f--king moron. Do you not understand how the law works you idiot? Seriously consider suicide.”

Oh, the mail I get. 

Tim, this episode is for you.

My mind races to the cold plains of Colorado, the kind of cold that bit like a promise unkept. Tina Peters sits in prison, a woman who had touched the forbidden files of an election gone wrong. I imagine sparse Christmas decorations in the Warden’s office, while overweight prison guards clock in for their shift. Tina had copied the records, preserved the truth of votes shifted in the night like shadows fleeing light. For that, the state had chained her, called it crime. But truth is no crime. It is the bone of the Republic.

Donald Trump knows this. He once posted “He who saves his Country does not violate any Law.” He pardoned Tina on December 11, 2025—a full and free pardon for offenses against the United States, signed formal on the fifth, before her attorney Peter Ticktin's desperate letter landed on the sixth, pleading for mercy in what critics call a lost cause.

I confess that even I have defended the President’s inaction on a pardon, not seeing a clear legal path.  Colorado, that rogue center-post of the Union, spat on Trump’s pardon. State crimes, they said.  When asked whether Tina will be released by the State of Colorado, AG Phil Weiser declares, “No, there’s no legal authority for any federal government action to take a prisoner who’s in state custody.” If you are plugged into the matrix, there is no path.  Elections are safe and secure. Biden got 81 million votes.  Our country has not been usurped by traitors.  The snake news repeats the feed over and over.

But when you unplug, see the slime, a different picture emerges.

The problem is resolved by revisiting the civil rights movement. Men and women with a different skin color, denied the fullness of their humanity, unable to go to the same schools as whites. Racist governors cried states’ rights and defiance of federal law. Civil rights icons emerged.

Fast forward to the day, and we have the ultimate civil rights icon in the making, though no one seems to grasp it yet.  Tina Peters fought for all Americans, none of them treated equally under the law because the black boxes fractionalized the vote. We all became less than human. Presidents before stood up to tyrants masquerading under the guise of state's rights and separation of power. black men and women liberated through a show of force after the Insurrection Act was declared.

If you have followed me at all, then you know that I believe Trump told us he left office in April of 2020, in shadow, invoking Continuity of Government under Presidential Policy Directive 40.  Trump speaking at the RNC with bandaged ear—points to the famous immigration chart—stating, “That was my last week in office.” 

The quiet law that bids the government endure, devolving powers to the faithful when the center cracks. No fanfare. No Congress needed at first. Just the President's word, secret as a loaded rifle in the night. This was war, hidden but real. Not the thunder of Gettysburg, but the soft coup of rigged tallies and silenced witnesses. Antifa's designation as a terrorist organization had shown the way, where anarchists and their funders have been traced to Venezuelan narcs, another designated terrorist organization, both tied to Smartmatic machines.  They contain the slavemaster’s code, toppling countries without a single shot fired. All laid bare like guts on a table.

An important nexus point?  Eric Coomer, the Dominion whisperer with his Antifa ink, lurked as one of the Smartmatic architects, his hands deep in the fraud's dark weave, while Peters paid the price for pulling the thread. Now she, the clerk who cracked the code through sheer courage, rotted for her virtue: exposing the treason Coomer and his kind had wrought. Trump had vowed it plain: truckloads of evidence coming, proof of the steal in heaps, ammunition enough to bury the lie. "We have all the ammunition," he said, eyes hard as flint. "You'll see it come out."

Just days later, on the fifteenth, Trump stood at the podium and laid it bare: “The governor of Colorado is a weak and pathetic man who was run by Tren de Aragua. Criminals from Venezuela took over sections of Colorado, and he was afraid to do anything. But he puts Tina in jail for nine years because she caught people cheating.”

That same day, he signed the order classifying fentanyl a weapon of mass destruction—no bomb killed like it, 200,000 to 300,000 dead a year. Cartels waged chemical war, the executive stroke turning poison to WMD, opening military doors against the flood.

Do you see the threads coming together?

Tina is a hostage to illegitimate usurpers, aiders and abettors, with captured courts playing the delay game as her body and mind withers. Plugged into the matrix, Tina must wait. Unplugged from the lie, Tina can be rescued.

The plan is simple.

Liberate first.

Play lawyer second.

Men of action have done so before.

And that’s the topic for today. 

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The Immediate Liberation of Tina Peters: A Plain Reckoning

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Step one: Trump acknowledges the shadow continuity of government, live since April 1, 2020.  That fool's day marked the fracture, the signal in the chart Trump waved after the Butler shot grazed him. Continuity of Government under PPD-40 hums on until the mission of saving the Republic is accomplished.  Bunkers at Cheyenne Mountain remain alert, Space Force continues to scan servers from Serbia to Caracas. No need to stir it anew. Just a quiet memo to the Joint Chiefs, calling forth any dormant commands to loyal generals. This cracked the vaults—Presidential Emergency Action Documents, the veiled scripts for unbroken rule in crisis. With continuity of government enduring, Trump, our Republic, holds a wartime edge, though bent under the weight of its own shadows.

Woven tight with continuity of government secrecy, the Insurrection Act stands ready—10 U.S.C. §§ 251-255, that blunt tool from Washington's time, known to the public like a rifle in plain sight. No hidden signals here; a proclamation could rally the people, make the move clear as day. Trump could blend them: continuity of government for the unseen hand, guiding from the depths, while the Act brought troops to the surface, federalizing the Guard without a governor's nod. This dual strike pierces obstacles—Posse Comitatus yielding under the Act's weight, public eyes seeing justice march, not lurk. We know that the Posse Comitatus Act, 18 U.S.C. § 1385 serves as a bar on troops policing civilians. Trump had spoken of the Insurrection Act often, the fire in his voice a match to dry grass. At Quantico before military brass, he said “George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Grover Cleveland, George Bush, and others all use the armed forces to keep domestic order in peace.”

Trump laid the conditions bare: if people died while judges or mayors held up the law, he could act.  Tina is dying in a cell while lawlessness abounds.  Policing civilians is one thing.  What about policing the police?  Deposing prison guards, or a warden?  What does history say about a conflict between a commander-in-chief and a governor offering defiance? 

President Dwight D. Eisenhower at Little Rock in 1957. Arkansas Governor Orval Faubus called out his state's National Guard to bar nine Black students—the Little Rock Nine—from entering Central High School, defying the Supreme Court's Brown v. Board of Education ruling that ended school segregation. Eisenhower federalized the Arkansas Guard, removing it from Faubus' control, and sent 1,000 paratroopers from the 101st Airborne Division. Federal troops escorted the students past hostile crowds and local police who had failed to maintain order, directly overriding state resistance.

So too at the University of Mississippi in 1962: President John F. Kennedy deployed over 30,000 troops after Mississippi Governor Ross Barnett used state police and highway patrol to block Black student James Meredith from enrolling, defying federal court orders. Federal forces confronted rioters supported by state officials, two dead in the clash, but Meredith registered.

And at the University of Alabama in 1963: Governor George Wallace personally stood in the schoolhouse door, backed by Alabama state troopers, to prevent two Black students, Vivian Malone and James Hood, from registering. Kennedy federalized the Alabama National Guard, which escorted the students past Wallace and his troopers, forcing compliance without major violence.

Atlanta Federal Penitentiary riot in 1987: President Ronald Reagan invoked the Insurrection Act for Cuban detainees holding hostages; troops prepared but not deployed, the threat alone bending the chaos.

Step two: The extraction. If Trump has the courage, he calls the Colorado Army National Guard to Title 10, 5,000 strong from the 5th Brigade. They roll at dawn, Strykers humming on I-70, MPs in riot gear. No court in Denver could stop it. The Act suspends Posse Comitatus like a lock picked clean.

The Practical Snag: State police barricades, perhaps a governor's frantic call to arms. The solution? State police aren’t made for such a conflict.  But if necessary, honor the rules of engagement, non-lethal—tear gas, flashbangs, the fortitude of men who know right from rot. Echo Ulysses S. Grant in 1871, suspending habeas in Carolina counties, arresting Klansmen by the hundred. Federal troops dragged them from beds, trials swift under martial shadow. No bloodbath. Just the weight of the Union.

Joint Task Force, 500 MPs first—quiet approach to the prison gates. Warden notified at 0600: Federal custody transfer, per Insurrection proclamation. If resisted, the Guard seals the yard, helicopters overhead from the 100th Aviation Regiment. Peters walked out at 0630, into a Black Hawk bound for Buckley Space Force Base. No shots. Clean.  Fast. Where the brave move before the storm breaks.

The Legal Hurdle? Colorado's suit in federal court, screaming federalism, dual sovereignty under the 10th Amendment. States own their crimes, they cry—pardon power stops at the border, per Ex parte Grossman, 1925.

The answer? Military tribunal under the Military Commissions Act, 10 U.S.C. §§ 948a-950w. For unlawful enemy combatants—here, state officials as digital belligerents in a color revolution.  Polis, Weiser, Griswold, Coomer, and Venezuelan indictments under the foreign terrorist organization label—Cartel de los Soles, Tren de Aragua, ghost votes from Smartmatic's lair. Peters' evidence, that unprecedented dump from Mesa County, proved it. The Act lets JAG officers—600 nationwide, 20 in D.C.—run sealed courts at bases like Fort Carson. Admit classified DNI reports.  No delays from captured judges. The enemy’s counter strategy? A Habeas flood from ACLU lawyers, screaming Milligan—civil courts open, no martial law. You see Ex parte Milligan, 1866 says tribunals are void where judges sit.

The Solution? The Assimilative Crimes Act, 18 U.S.C. § 13, folds state offenses into federal code on martial ground. With Insurrection live, the prison becomes a federal enclave. Trump’s plenary power under Article II, Section 2—unlimited but for impeachment. The case Schick v. Reed, 1974: No conditions, no bounds. Ford freed Nixon preemptively; Carter amnestied the draft dodgers. Trump frees the truth-tellers.

Historical brace: After Lincoln’s assassination, President Andrew Johnson's Reconstruction amnesties, 1865-1868, blanketed the South in mercy, but only after federal troops held the line. I’m not in the mood for mercy, just a firing squad and a lot of bullets.  Check in with me in 5 to 10.

And then there’s the practical bind. Expect a public firestorm, blue governors howling tyranny. Trump speaks at Quantico, as he did months ago: "I am the 45th, 46th, 47th." The shadow war revealed, April Fool's no jest. The people see: not coup, but cure.   At Fort Carson and a dozen other bases, under canvas and floodlight, the judges in black robes of justice. State DA, the judge who sentenced Peters—indicted for seditious conspiracy, 18 U.S.C. § 2384.

Guilty.

Peters testifies free, her voice the Republic's.

Obstacles lingered, ghosts in the wind. Federalism's wall, the 10th Amendment reserving state powers. That could be answered by the Supremacy Clause, Article VI—federal law trumps, especially in war.

Civil relief would follow, voiding the false judgments built on lies. Settlements like Freeman and Moss against Giuliani—$148 million bled from a man who spoke truth—could shatter if tribunals proved the fraud.  Victims like Rudy Giuliani, Sidney Powell, Mike Lindell, Joe Oltmann, and the Hoft brothers—Joe and Jim, the Gateway Pundit men—stood for the light, their suits reopened, countersuits for malicious prosecution. The five truth-holders I just mentioned—Giuliani with his mayor's grit, Powell the lawyer who dared, Lindell the pillow man unbowed, Oltmann the tech CEO turned podcaster who heard the whispers, the Hofts printing the forbidden—would lead the charge, their burdens lifted, the Republic mended in their wake.

Let it be Christmas Eve when Tina Peters walks free. Let her step into the snow a gift to her and to all patriots who held the line. She is worth the saving. The radical left will scream and spiral, their hissy fit loud as winter wind. But it will be stomped quick, clean as a boot on ice. All that bars her now is Trump forgetting he is the Commander-in-Chief, listening to the fearful little men who whisper caution. It is time he leaves the shadows, speaks the truth plain: we have been at war since that April fool's day in 2020. The Republic waits for the brave to act.

Mr. President, if you see this.  This analysis was dreamed up by an unemployed professor and former prosecutor in his garage.  No resources other than the mind God gave me.  You still have cowards in the DOJ and FBI with small minds.  For you and the country I love, sign me up.  I’ll serve for free.