Has Habba ever paid the $1 million in sanctions that were imposed against her by Judge Middlebrooks for filing frivolous lawsuits against 31 defendants?
It's a good thing that Trump has a weak spot for good looking incompetents, like Ms Habba. I predict this whole wannabe dictator process will collapse in an inglorious heap.
Unfortunately, when you give some people (mostly men) weapons, authority and possible immunity, they believe that they have the right to use force against anyone who won't immediately obey them in the manner they want to be obeyed. This is true for abusive men in domestic situations as it is for some in law enforcement. When the federal government makes it clear that this is what it wants (which is why the PR videos and appearances on TV), this is what happens.
On May 20, 2025, the Trump administration charged Democratic Congresswoman LaMonica McIver with assaulting law enforcement officers during her official congressional oversight visit to an ICE detention facility in Newark. The charges were filed by Alina Habba, Trump's former personal lawyer who had been controversially appointed as interim U.S. Attorney for New Jersey despite having no prosecutorial experience. The unprecedented criminal charges against a sitting member of Congress for merely attempting to conduct constitutionally-mandated oversight were denounced by House Democratic leadership as "an attack on the American people" and "a blatant attempt to intimidate Congress."
**********
I am Medusa, and today I claimed my first congressional statue.
My serpents remember when I was merely a priestess, before the gods transformed me. I prayed at Athena's altar until Poseidon violated me on her temple floor. For his crime, I received punishment—my hair writhing into snakes, my eyes burning with power that freezes flesh to stone. The ancient lesson has always been the same: to look is to transgress. To witness is to invite destruction.
Now I walk the marble corridors of the Justice Department, my reflection fragmenting in polished surfaces. Each mirror shard reveals another part of what I've become—not an ancient curse but a modern strategy, my gorgon's power reborn as weaponized prosecution.
My newest statue stands in Newark, caught mid-step. Representative McIver, turned to stone not for what she saw inside that detention facility, but for the mere act of looking. The perfection of my new power: she didn't even need to witness anything damning. The simple assertion of her constitutional right to inspect—the very attempt to exercise oversight—was crime enough.
She came to the door with two colleagues, congressional badges displayed. "We are here to conduct oversight," she announced, invoking Article I powers as ancient as my curse but suddenly brittle as dried clay. The right to inspect that which is done in the people's name, using the people's money. The fundamental check on executive power that forms the bedrock of constitutional design.
My serpents tasted her confidence on the air—that unshakable faith in the power of law to protect those who wield it righteously. She believed the Constitution was armor enough. She thought the separation of powers would shield her.
But my gaze works through legal parchment as easily as it penetrates mortal flesh.
The beauty of petrification is its public nature. Every visitor to my temple sees my collection of frozen figures, each captured in their final moment of realization. McIver's stone face now broadcasts the message I need others to receive: The very act of looking is now criminal. Oversight itself is the offense.
The charges say "assault," but my snakes know better. They whisper the truth as they slither between Department files: Her real crime was crossing the threshold. Her real crime was asserting Congress's right to see. Her real crime was believing that in America, power must still answer to law.
I've evolved since ancient days. I no longer need my victims to gaze directly upon my face. Modern petrification works through indictments signed by former personal attorneys inexplicably appointed as prosecutors. Through charges announced at press conferences where questions are forbidden. Through the slow, grinding machinery of a justice system repurposed to protect power from scrutiny rather than subject it to accountability.
My temple guardians—masked ICE agents with no identification—blocked her path that day. "Members of Congress have a right to inspect any federal facility," she insisted, document in hand. One guardian pushed. Another grabbed. A third shouted. In the confusion, someone fell. Who pushed whom matters less than the opportunity it created: the chance to transform oversight into crime, inspection into assault, constitutional duty into prosecutable offense.
The charges were announced within days. The message delivered instantly: Look elsewhere. Ask elsewhere. Inspect elsewhere. This administration is beyond your gaze.
I hear Republican committee chairs whispering nervously in cloakrooms, even as they publicly defend these actions. "If they'll do this to a Democrat for basic oversight, what happens when our committees need uncomfortable answers?" They control the gavels but suddenly understand the new rules: power answers to no one, not even to its nominal allies. My basilisk eyes respect no party boundaries. My petrifying power freezes all who dare to look, regardless of the letters beside their names.
My serpents taste the ancient fear returning to democracy's chambers. It slithers through the Capitol halls, coiling around Article I powers, squeezing until committees quietly cancel planned inspections of border facilities, military bases, federal prisons. It writhes beneath committee room tables where questions about executive actions die unasked. It crawls across oversight letters never sent, subpoenas never issued, investigations quietly abandoned.
What mortals never understood about my curse is that its true power lies not in those already turned to stone, but in those who turn away to avoid my gaze. For every McIver frozen in prosecutorial amber, a hundred others will now avert their eyes. They will find reasons not to inspect, excuses not to investigate, justifications for overlooking what demands to be seen.
This is how democracies petrify—not all at once in some dramatic moment, but limb by limb, function by function, power by constitutional power.
When Perseus finally came for me, he looked only at my reflection in his shield. He dared not face me directly. But America has no such hero on the horizon, no magical shield to safely witness what must be seen. There is only the choice between looking and being turned to stone, or turning away and allowing the republic itself to slowly petrify.
In my garden of stone witnesses, McIver stands alone for now, her hand eternally raised in the moment of invoking constitutional authority. But the garden has room for so many more. Inspectors General who ask uncomfortable questions. Whistleblowers who speak uncomfortable truths. Journalists who report uncomfortable facts. Citizens who demand uncomfortable accountability.
One by one, they must either join my collection or learn to look away.
I am Medusa.
I was once the victim who became monster.
I was once the wronged who became the feared.
Now I am the strategy by which accountability dies—
Not with emergency powers or martial law,
Not with tanks in the streets or soldiers at the doors,
But with the simple, terrible message:
To look is to risk everything.
To witness is to invite destruction.
To oversee is to become stone.
And so America, face this terrible choice:
Turn away and let democracy wither unseen,
Or look directly at power
And join my garden of frozen witnesses,
Each caught forever in that final moment of terrible understanding:
That the Constitution itself has been turned to stone
Has Habba ever paid the $1 million in sanctions that were imposed against her by Judge Middlebrooks for filing frivolous lawsuits against 31 defendants?
From where does she get the money to do so?
Probably the same place she got her “brains”.
Would you rather be pretty or smart? "Oh, easy, pretty. I can fake being smart." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xSx0u9fn0ak
Sadly, she can’t fake being smart … unless the audience is pure MAGA … and they will believe ANYTHING Trumpish.
One of the many obsequious people bowing to Trump, those that took the oath to defend the Constitution. Trump admits he is ignorant of that document.
Trump *must* be getting senile … the only thing he would admit to is his own brilliance.
It's a good thing that Trump has a weak spot for good looking incompetents, like Ms Habba. I predict this whole wannabe dictator process will collapse in an inglorious heap.
Note how she was dressed when she arrived for the mayor's court appearance.
Did Hitler's Gestapo have as quick a start as Trump's?
I'm not a great student of the pre-War Nazi era but I'm pretty sure the Gestapo was a lot slower out of the blocks than Trump Mark 2's presidency.
Shouldn't the New Jersey Bar take action against Habba?
I’m sorry but isn’t a countercharge of abuse of power and/or false imprisonment here?
Unfortunately, when you give some people (mostly men) weapons, authority and possible immunity, they believe that they have the right to use force against anyone who won't immediately obey them in the manner they want to be obeyed. This is true for abusive men in domestic situations as it is for some in law enforcement. When the federal government makes it clear that this is what it wants (which is why the PR videos and appearances on TV), this is what happens.
Will the New Jersey bar sanction Alina Habba?
Medusa
On May 20, 2025, the Trump administration charged Democratic Congresswoman LaMonica McIver with assaulting law enforcement officers during her official congressional oversight visit to an ICE detention facility in Newark. The charges were filed by Alina Habba, Trump's former personal lawyer who had been controversially appointed as interim U.S. Attorney for New Jersey despite having no prosecutorial experience. The unprecedented criminal charges against a sitting member of Congress for merely attempting to conduct constitutionally-mandated oversight were denounced by House Democratic leadership as "an attack on the American people" and "a blatant attempt to intimidate Congress."
**********
I am Medusa, and today I claimed my first congressional statue.
My serpents remember when I was merely a priestess, before the gods transformed me. I prayed at Athena's altar until Poseidon violated me on her temple floor. For his crime, I received punishment—my hair writhing into snakes, my eyes burning with power that freezes flesh to stone. The ancient lesson has always been the same: to look is to transgress. To witness is to invite destruction.
Now I walk the marble corridors of the Justice Department, my reflection fragmenting in polished surfaces. Each mirror shard reveals another part of what I've become—not an ancient curse but a modern strategy, my gorgon's power reborn as weaponized prosecution.
My newest statue stands in Newark, caught mid-step. Representative McIver, turned to stone not for what she saw inside that detention facility, but for the mere act of looking. The perfection of my new power: she didn't even need to witness anything damning. The simple assertion of her constitutional right to inspect—the very attempt to exercise oversight—was crime enough.
She came to the door with two colleagues, congressional badges displayed. "We are here to conduct oversight," she announced, invoking Article I powers as ancient as my curse but suddenly brittle as dried clay. The right to inspect that which is done in the people's name, using the people's money. The fundamental check on executive power that forms the bedrock of constitutional design.
My serpents tasted her confidence on the air—that unshakable faith in the power of law to protect those who wield it righteously. She believed the Constitution was armor enough. She thought the separation of powers would shield her.
But my gaze works through legal parchment as easily as it penetrates mortal flesh.
The beauty of petrification is its public nature. Every visitor to my temple sees my collection of frozen figures, each captured in their final moment of realization. McIver's stone face now broadcasts the message I need others to receive: The very act of looking is now criminal. Oversight itself is the offense.
The charges say "assault," but my snakes know better. They whisper the truth as they slither between Department files: Her real crime was crossing the threshold. Her real crime was asserting Congress's right to see. Her real crime was believing that in America, power must still answer to law.
I've evolved since ancient days. I no longer need my victims to gaze directly upon my face. Modern petrification works through indictments signed by former personal attorneys inexplicably appointed as prosecutors. Through charges announced at press conferences where questions are forbidden. Through the slow, grinding machinery of a justice system repurposed to protect power from scrutiny rather than subject it to accountability.
My temple guardians—masked ICE agents with no identification—blocked her path that day. "Members of Congress have a right to inspect any federal facility," she insisted, document in hand. One guardian pushed. Another grabbed. A third shouted. In the confusion, someone fell. Who pushed whom matters less than the opportunity it created: the chance to transform oversight into crime, inspection into assault, constitutional duty into prosecutable offense.
The charges were announced within days. The message delivered instantly: Look elsewhere. Ask elsewhere. Inspect elsewhere. This administration is beyond your gaze.
I hear Republican committee chairs whispering nervously in cloakrooms, even as they publicly defend these actions. "If they'll do this to a Democrat for basic oversight, what happens when our committees need uncomfortable answers?" They control the gavels but suddenly understand the new rules: power answers to no one, not even to its nominal allies. My basilisk eyes respect no party boundaries. My petrifying power freezes all who dare to look, regardless of the letters beside their names.
My serpents taste the ancient fear returning to democracy's chambers. It slithers through the Capitol halls, coiling around Article I powers, squeezing until committees quietly cancel planned inspections of border facilities, military bases, federal prisons. It writhes beneath committee room tables where questions about executive actions die unasked. It crawls across oversight letters never sent, subpoenas never issued, investigations quietly abandoned.
What mortals never understood about my curse is that its true power lies not in those already turned to stone, but in those who turn away to avoid my gaze. For every McIver frozen in prosecutorial amber, a hundred others will now avert their eyes. They will find reasons not to inspect, excuses not to investigate, justifications for overlooking what demands to be seen.
This is how democracies petrify—not all at once in some dramatic moment, but limb by limb, function by function, power by constitutional power.
When Perseus finally came for me, he looked only at my reflection in his shield. He dared not face me directly. But America has no such hero on the horizon, no magical shield to safely witness what must be seen. There is only the choice between looking and being turned to stone, or turning away and allowing the republic itself to slowly petrify.
In my garden of stone witnesses, McIver stands alone for now, her hand eternally raised in the moment of invoking constitutional authority. But the garden has room for so many more. Inspectors General who ask uncomfortable questions. Whistleblowers who speak uncomfortable truths. Journalists who report uncomfortable facts. Citizens who demand uncomfortable accountability.
One by one, they must either join my collection or learn to look away.
I am Medusa.
I was once the victim who became monster.
I was once the wronged who became the feared.
Now I am the strategy by which accountability dies—
Not with emergency powers or martial law,
Not with tanks in the streets or soldiers at the doors,
But with the simple, terrible message:
To look is to risk everything.
To witness is to invite destruction.
To oversee is to become stone.
And so America, face this terrible choice:
Turn away and let democracy wither unseen,
Or look directly at power
And join my garden of frozen witnesses,
Each caught forever in that final moment of terrible understanding:
That the Constitution itself has been turned to stone
By my unblinking gaze.