An Awakening of Allegiance: Fraud, Culture, and the Question of Who America Is

“One law shall be to him that is homeborn, and unto the stranger that sojourneth among you.” Exodus 12:49 (KJV)

We went to the moon. I believe we went to the moon. Fraud is fraud is fraud. And as we enter 2026, fraud (real, alleged, denied, and obscured) has become one of the defining issues dominating the national conversation.

Since just before Christmas, American media feeds have been saturated with allegations of widespread fraud tied to publicly funded programs. Much of this attention has been driven by Nick Shirley, a YouTube podcaster who traveled to Minnesota and publicly documented what he claims is systemic abuse of taxpayer-funded services within certain Somali American–run organizations.

Many Somali refugees arrived in the U.S. after the 1993 Battle of Mogadishu, when a failed U.S. mission and subsequent withdrawal left Somalia in prolonged instability, prompting large-scale displacement. They were afforded opportunity here, as they should have been. However, for years, allegations have persisted regarding fraud in sectors such as childcare services, transportation programs, and non-emergency healthcare, particularly programs intended to serve the elderly, the disabled, and autistic children. Past investigations have uncovered misconduct in some cases, yet critics argue that oversight failures remain unresolved.

What troubles many Americans is not simply the existence of allegations, but the perception that accountability has been uneven. Questions have been raised about political leadership in Minnesota and whether elected officials have sufficiently addressed these concerns. That unease intensified during the last presidential election cycle, when Minnesota's governor rose to national prominence as a vice-presidential running mate. The idea that unresolved questions surrounding the use of public funds could coexist with national political ambition unsettled many people.

Additional scrutiny has also been directed toward other prominent Minnesota political figures. The perception of corruption alone has deepened public distrust.

This forces a broader question: what has been the real impact of immigration policy in America, not in theory, but in practice? What does it mean for citizens who are expected to follow the rules while watching enforcement appear selective?

For me, this isn't abstract. It's personal. It's about what this country owes its people, particularly ADOS, and whether justice, accountability, and fairness still matter.

I hear what many Americans are feeling right now: fear, confusion, and a growing sense that national identity and civic norms are being challenged while ordinary citizens are told they are not allowed to question it. That is a legitimate civic concern, even when it is dismissed as something darker.

The Flag in Boston

What's happening right now is unsettling.

In Boston, one of the birthplaces of the American Revolution, there were reports of a Somali flag being raised in a public space where the American flag had traditionally flown. Whether symbolic or temporary, the image itself is jarring. Nations are built on shared symbols, and flags matter. They represent sovereignty, unity, and allegiance.

America understands the language of liberation. We fought a revolution to free ourselves from colonial rule. We recognize the right of peoples to self-determination. But that struggle happened here, on this land, under this Constitution. When a foreign national flag is elevated in an American city, it raises an unavoidable question: what exactly is being claimed?

Is it cultural pride? Political protest? Or something closer to territorial symbolism?

That uncertainty is what alarms people.

Criticism of these moments is often shut down immediately, labeled racist or xenophobic, rather than debated on civic grounds. Yet asking whether public institutions and public spaces should prioritize American national identity is not racism. It is a basic question of citizenship and allegiance.

The same dynamic appears in Minnesota. When outsiders raise questions about accountability, they are often dismissed rather than engaged on the merits of evidence. That response has only deepened mistrust.

What makes this moment volatile is the perception that standards are not applied equally. Americans are told that emphasizing national identity is dangerous, while expressions of foreign nationalism inside U.S. borders are defended as cultural expression. That contradiction fuels division.

This is not about denying anyone dignity or opportunity. Refugees came here fleeing instability, and America opened its doors. But citizenship is not only about what a country gives. It is also about loyalty, responsibility, and shared civic norms.

At what point does tolerance become the erosion of national cohesion?

And why are citizens made to feel un-American for defending American symbols, laws, and accountability?

The ADOS Perspective

This concern intersects with something deeper for me as an ADOS American.

I recently began reading about the Iran-Contra scandal and its downstream effects on Black communities, particularly in California. What struck me was not just the policy failure itself, but how deeply it shaped our lives without our understanding it at the time.

Growing up during the crack cocaine era, we were living inside a crisis engineered far beyond our neighborhoods. Looking back, I can't help but wonder how different our communities might be today if those drugs had not been allowed to flood them so deliberately.

Culture played a role in normalizing the damage. The music and movies many of us grew up on, particularly the rise of gangsta rap, did not merely reflect reality; they reinforced it. Decades later, the same themes persist. Violence, drug dealing, and criminality are still glorified, and young Black boys continue to absorb these messages as identity rather than warning. The YSL trial in Atlanta is a modern example of how culture, drugs, and real-world consequences collide, often devastatingly.

At the same time, other immigrant groups entered this country and, in many cases, leveraged Black American struggle, imagery, and history to advance socially and politically while foundational Black Americans remained marginalized. Our story is often used. Our needs are often ignored.

As 2026 begins, allegations of fraud involving publicly funded programs in immigrant-dense communities across multiple states have dominated headlines. These stories reinforce a perception among many ADOS Americans: accountability appears flexible when political power and voting blocs are involved.

There is a growing sense that Black Americans are treated as a guaranteed constituency, assumed loyalty with no obligation to deliver results, while newer communities are actively courted, protected, and symbolically elevated. That imbalance breeds resentment not because of race, but because of unequal political valuation.

For ADOS communities, this feels familiar. We endured generations of surveillance, over-policing, under-investment, and cultural degradation. Our institutions were dismantled. Our neighborhoods were flooded with drugs. Our families were destabilized, with little urgency for repair.

Against that backdrop, symbolic gestures like raising foreign flags in historic American cities feel less like inclusion and more like erasure. Not because immigrants should not express pride, but because foundational Black Americans rarely receive equal public recognition for our sacrifices.

Boston does not owe its existence to any single modern immigrant group. To suggest otherwise feeds the sense that ADOS contributions are being overwritten while we are told to remain silent.

The Awakening America Needs

America is not just an idea. It is a nation built through struggle, labor, conflict, and time. There are Americans, Black and White, whose lineage stretches back centuries on this soil. For ADOS Americans, that lineage begins in 1619 and runs through enslavement, segregation, and survival. For long-established White Americans, it runs through settlement, revolution, and nation-building. Different histories. Same land. Same inheritance.

History is tragic and final. Native Americans were displaced. Borders were drawn through power, as they have been everywhere on earth. No one alive today bears personal guilt for centuries-old events, but everyone alive today bears responsibility for the present.

Foundational Americans, ADOS and long-established White Americans, have more in common than they are encouraged to admit. They are divided while power quietly shifts away from both.

This awakening is not about hatred. It is about civic allegiance. American civic identity must come before foreign nationalism. Public institutions should reflect loyalty to America first.

But unity requires honesty.

White Americans must abandon racism, not symbolically, but genuinely. Racism corrodes trust and weakens the nation.

Black Americans must confront internal destruction. We cannot destroy our own communities, glorify dysfunction, and still expect power. Rights without responsibility produce dependence, not sovereignty.

Power comes from cohesion, ownership, discipline, and self-respect.

A nation that refuses to define itself will be defined by others.

A people that refuses to awaken will lose its future, not through invasion, but through neglect.

It is time to open our eyes.

It is time to wake up.