A Note from Daniel

I’m asking for your support—Here's what independent journalism really takes

Hello friends,

I wanted to get some things off my mind that I’ve been thinking about for a while now. It’s a conversation I’ve been putting off, honestly, because asking for money feels awkward—even when it’s to support work I believe in deeply. But we’re at a moment where I think it’s important to be direct with you about what it takes to do this kind of journalism, why it matters, and how you can help keep it going.

First, let me say thank you. Whether you’ve been reading my work for a long time or just stumbled across it recently, I’m grateful you’re here. This space we’ve built together, this community of people who care about truth, justice, and understanding what’s really happening in our country, means everything to me.

Honestly, I never imagined I’d be doing this work. I didn’t grow up dreaming of becoming a journalist. I’m a gay man in my late 30s who spent years figuring out who I was, what I cared about, and how I could make a difference. Somewhere along the way, I realized I had a huge social media platform, a way with words, and access to stories that weren’t being told by the mainstream media. And once I understood that, I couldn’t ignore the responsibility that came with it.

So here I am, reporting on the issues in America, diving deep into immigrant justice issues, holding powerful people accountable, and trying to give voice to communities and perspectives that get overlooked or deliberately silenced. I write longform analysis because I believe context matters. I do accountability journalism because I believe democracy depends on it. And I cover the stories that mainstream outlets either ignore or get spectacularly wrong because I believe the truth is worth fighting for.

That’s what I want to talk to you about today: what it actually takes to do this work in 2026, why independent journalism has become more critical than ever, and how you can be part of sustaining it.

The Media Landscape We’re Living In

Let me be blunt: mainstream media is in crisis, and not just financially. It’s been compromised in ways that should terrify anyone who cares about democracy.

We’re watching major news organizations get swallowed up by billionaires with agendas that have nothing to do with truth-telling and everything to do with power consolidation. Look at what happened with Bari Weiss at CBS News! An absolute disaster for editorial independence and free speech that exposed just how vulnerable these institutions have become to ideological capture and corporate interference. When billionaire tycoons can reshape newsrooms to serve their agendas, when editorial decisions get made in boardrooms rather than by journalists, we lose something essential.

But it gets worse. We’re now living in a country where state officials feel emboldened to go after journalists directly. Kristi Noem’s DHS targeted four black journalists in Minnesota for arrest this week. Let that sink in for a moment. The Trump administration is attempting to criminalize journalism, to hardcore intimidate and silence reporters (particularly black journalists) for doing their jobs. This isn’t happening in some far away authoritarian state. This is happening here, right now, in America.

And those are just the high-profile examples. Independent journalists like me face constant legal threats, political intimidation, and relentless online harassment. I’ve had my work misrepresented, my identity attacked, and my motives questioned by people who would rather discredit the messenger than engage with the message. It’s exhausting. It’s sometimes frightening. But it’s also clarifying, because you only get that kind of pushback when you’re saying something powerful people don’t want heard.

Then there’s the platform instability. Social media algorithms change on a whim, disappearing your reach overnight. Demonetization happens without explanation or appeal. The tools that independent journalists relied on to build audiences and sustain their work are increasingly controlled by corporations that have zero investment in democracy or truth. They’re invested in engagement, in controversy, in whatever keeps people scrolling—not in the kind of careful, nuanced reporting that helps people actually understand the world.

All of this creates enormous financial pressure to chase clicks instead of doing meaningful work. The incentive structure pushes toward hot takes, outrage bait, and shallow coverage of whatever’s trending. It rewards speed over accuracy, provocation over insight, confirmation bias over complexity.

And that’s exactly why independent journalism matters more now than maybe any time in my lifetime.

Why This Work Is More Necessary Than Ever

We’re living through an era of profound polarization and weaponized misinformation. People are drowning in content but starving for context. They’re overwhelmed by competing narratives and struggling to figure out what’s actually true.

This is dangerous. Democracy doesn’t function when citizens can’t access reliable information. It doesn’t survive when people lose faith in the possibility of shared truth. And it certainly doesn’t thrive when journalism becomes just another partisan battleground where everyone’s trying to win rather than trying to understand.

That’s the space independent journalism fills, or at least, that’s the space it can fill when it’s done right.

When I spend weeks reporting on immigrant justice issues, I’m not trying to confirm what you already believe or inflame your existing anger. I’m trying to help you understand how the system actually works, who’s affected, what the real stakes are, and what the various positions and perspectives involve. When I go deep into longform analysis of Progressive issues, I’m making the case that these topics deserve more than soundbites. They deserve depth, nuance, and the kind of careful attention that helps us think more clearly about complex problems.

When I do accountability journalism, I’m operating from the conviction that power should be questioned, that institutions should be transparent, and that those who make decisions affecting millions of lives should have to answer for those decisions in the way democracy requires: with evidence, with fairness, and with persistence.

This work gives voice to people and communities who are too often treated as abstractions in political debates: the immigrants whose lives are upended by the Trump regime and ICE, LGBTQ folks navigating hostile political environments, working people getting crushed by economic systems that are overwhelmingly stacked in favor the already wealthy. I’m part of some of these communities myself, which gives me both insight and responsibility.

And here’s what I’ve learned from doing this work: people are hungry for journalism they can trust. They want reporting that takes them seriously, that doesn’t talk down to them, that gives them the information and context they need to form their own informed opinions. They want to be part of a community that values truth and is willing to wrestle with difficult questions together.

That’s what we’re building here. That’s what you’re part of when you read and share this work. And that’s what I’m asking you to help sustain.

What This Actually Takes

I want to pull back the curtain a bit and help you understand what goes into producing the kind of work I do. Not because I’m looking for sympathy, but because I think transparency matters—and because understanding the labor and costs involved helps explain why independent journalism needs support.

Let’s start with a single in-depth article. By the time you read it, I’ve typically spent days or even weeks on it. That means:

Research: Reading academic papers and databases, policy documents, news reports, and primary sources. Following citation trails. Building context so I understand not just what’s happening, but why it’s happening and what it connects to. This isn’t skimming headlines. It’s deep reading, note-taking, and synthesis.

Interviews: Reaching out to sources, scheduling conversations, conducting interviews (often multiple rounds), and then transcribing and reviewing everything to ensure accuracy. Good interviews take time to set up and require building trust. You can’t rush that process.

Fact checking: Every claim, every statistic, every quote gets verified. I double-check my own work because credibility is everything, and one mistake can undermine months of careful reporting. This is meticulous, unglamorous work, but it’s essential.

Writing and editing: Crafting stories that are clear, engaging, and fair. Revising to tighten arguments, clarify points, and remove anything that’s sloppy or misleading. Good writing looks effortless but takes enormous effort.

That’s just the editorial process. Then there are the practical costs:

Financial expenses: These include, but are certainly not limited to:
Travel expenses. Public records requests (which often come with fees). Subscriptions to newspapers, databases, and research tools. Legal review for sensitive stories. Document management systems. All of this adds up, and it all comes out of pocket when you’re a one man show.

The Costs I Hope I Never Have To Face (But Need to Prepare For)

There’s another category of expenses I need to talk about, one that feels almost surreal to discuss as an American journalist in 2026. But given what we’ve already seen—the arrest of four black journalists in Minnesota, the legal intimidation campaigns, the escalating rhetoric against anyone who dares to speak out against the Trump regime—I’d be naive not to acknowledge these risks and the potential costs that come with them.

If conditions continue deteriorating, if the targeting of journalists escalates the way many of us fear it might, I could face expenses (or worse) that would be devastating without community support:

Legal defense: If I’m targeted with baseless charges the way those Minnesota journalists were, defending myself could easily cost tens of thousands of dollars. Even frivolous lawsuits designed purely to intimidate and drain resources (what’s known as SLAPP suits) require legal representation I can’t afford on my own. Every journalist doing accountability work right now is aware that one targeted legal action could end their career and personally bankrupt them.

Emergency relocation: If I receive credible threats that make staying in my current location unsafe, the time might come where I need to relocate quickly. That means breaking a lease, moving costs, security deposits, and potentially months of emergency housing expenses while figuring out where it’s safe to live and work. For LGBTQ individuals like me, this calculation is especially fraught; we’re already disproportionately targeted for harassment, and certain parts of the country have become genuinely hostile environments.

Digital security and operational security: As targeting intensifies, basic security measures become essential expenses rather than optional precautions. Encrypted communications tools, VPN services, secure document storage, cybersecurity and potentially even physical security measures. These costs add up quickly, especially when you’re operating independently without corporate sponsorship and support.

Lost income during legal battles: If I’m arrested or tied up in legal proceedings, I can’t work. Court appearances, depositions, meetings with attorneys—all of this would take time away from reporting and writing. And unlike journalists at major outlets who might have legal teams and guaranteed ongoing salaries during these ordeals, independent journalists face the double whammy of mounting legal costs while their income disappears entirely.

Worst case scenarios: I don’t want to be melodramatic, but we need to be honest about what authoritarian escalation could mean. If I were to be detained, I’ll need bail money. If I’m injured while covering protests or targeted by political violence, I would incur medical expenses—potentially catastrophic ones, since independent journalists can rarely afford comprehensive health insurance. If the worst happens and I need to leave the country for my safety, that requires resources I simply don’t have.

I’m not saying these things to scare you or to suggest that supporting my work is some kind of emergency fund (though having reader support would absolutely make these scenarios more survivable). I’m saying them because transparency means being honest about the full spectrum of risks that come with speaking truth to power in this moment.

Every time I publish something critical of the Trump regime, every time I expose injustice or hold them accountable, I’m making a calculation about acceptable risk. Reader support doesn’t eliminate those risks (nothing can), but it does mean I’m not facing them completely alone. It means that if the worst happens, there’s a community that values this work enough to help me survive it and continue.

The authoritarians who target journalists are counting on us being isolated and vulnerable. They’re counting on the financial precarity of independent media to be a weapon they can use against us. They want us scared enough to self-censor, poor enough to be destroyed by a single legal action, and alone enough that when they come for us, nobody notices or cares.

Supporting independent journalism is an act of resistance against that strategy. It’s a way of saying that we won’t let them silence the voices they find inconvenient. It’s solidarity made practical.

I hope I never need legal defense funds or emergency bail money. I hope these remain nightmare scenarios that never materialize. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about them every time I hit publish on a piece that challenges the regime. Your support makes those risks feel a little bit more bearable, not because it eliminates the danger, but because it means I’m not in this fight alone.

Opportunity costs: Here’s the hard truth: every hour I spend on deep reporting is an hour I’m not earning a stable salary. I could have a comfortable job with benefits, predictable income, and far less stress. Instead, I’m doing work that’s often controversial, sometimes risky, and always uncertain financially. I make that choice because I believe in what I’m doing and I believe in the project of democracy for the American people, but it’s a choice that has real consequences for my financial security.

Emotional and professional risks: Covering the sensitive topics I do means dealing with constant harassment, threats, and attempts to discredit or intimidate me. It means accepting that some people will hate me for telling truths they find uncomfortable. In 2026, it quite literally means you could be next to find yourself at 3 AM with masked Federal agents at your front door to arrest you for speaking truth to power. It means navigating the stress of working without institutional backing while trying to maintain the same standards of accuracy and fairness that major newsrooms claim to uphold (but increasingly fail to meet).

I’m not complaining. I chose this. But I want you to understand what independent journalism actually requires, because when you support this work, you’re not just paying for content—you’re making it possible for someone to do journalism that wouldn’t otherwise exist.

You’re supporting the kind of reporting that takes time instead of chasing virality. You’re enabling accountability work that the Trump regime would rather not see published. You’re helping sustain a voice in the media landscape that centers Progressive values, elevates marginalized communities, and refuses to treat democracy as a spectator sport.

The Impact We’re Making Together

Readers have told me that my articles have helped them understand complex issues they’ve been confused about. They share my work with friends and family members, using it to bridge political divides or challenge misinformation. They sometimes cite my reporting in their own advocacy work, in community organizing, in conversations with elected officials.

Sometimes the impact is about information: providing facts and context that help people make more informed decisions. Sometimes it’s about perspective, offering a framework for understanding why things are happening the way they are. And sometimes it’s simply about validation; helping people feel less alone in caring about truth and justice in a political environment that often feels overwhelming.

I’ve watched readers use my immigrant justice reporting to better understand policy debates and advocate more effectively for the immigrant community and abolishing ICE. I’ve seen my accountability journalism cited in public forums, adding pressure on officials who need to be held responsible for their decisions. I’ve had LGBTQ readers tell me that my work gives them hope and helps them feel seen in a media landscape that too often treats queer lives as political abstractions rather than human realities.

This is what independent journalism makes possible. It creates informed citizens. It holds power accountable. It preserves democratic values by insisting that truth matters, that evidence matters, and that we can disagree about politics while still agreeing to operate from a shared factual foundation.

In an era when the Trump regime is testing how far they can go—when they’re arresting journalists, when they’re flooding the zone with misinformation, when billionaires in the pocket of the administration are buying up media and creating massive media conglomerate monopolies—this kind of journalism isn’t a luxury. It’s a necessity.

How You Can Help

So here’s my ask: if this work matters to you, if you value independent, Progressive journalism that you can trust, consider subscribing to my Substack.

I know money is tight for a lot of people. I know you’re already being asked to support a hundred different worthy causes, all of which are vital and important. I’m not here to guilt-trip you or suggest that everything falls apart without your individual contribution.

But here’s what’s also true: this work only continues if enough people decide it’s worth supporting. And you can support independent journalism like mine for less than the cost of a latte a month.

That’s it. That’s what it takes to help sustain the kind of reporting that refuses to chase clicks, that takes the time to get things right, that centers truth over tribalism and depth over distraction.

When you subscribe, you’re doing more than supporting me personally (though that matters, and I’m grateful). You’re casting a vote for the kind of media landscape you want to see. You’re saying that journalism should be accountable to readers, not to billionaires or corporate advertisers. You’re investing in a vision of media that serves democracy instead of undermining it.

And if a paid subscription isn’t possible right now, that’s completely okay. You can still help by reading, by sharing articles that resonate with you, by engaging thoughtfully in the comments, and by being part of this community. That matters too. All of it contributes to building the kind of informed, engaged readership that makes independent journalism viable.

Thank You

Whether you are able to swing a paid subscription or not, thank you for reading. Thank you for caring about truth in an era of misinformation. Thank you for valuing depth in a culture of shallow takes. Thank you for being part of a community that believes democracy depends on citizens who are willing to stay informed, ask hard questions, and hold power accountable.

This work exists because of you. Because you read it, because you care about it, because you engage with it. I don’t take that for granted. Every person who spends time with my writing, who thinks critically about the perspectives I’ve expressed, who uses it to better understand our complex world—you’re the reason I do this.

I’m going to keep doing this for as long as I can. And if you decide to support this work financially, you’ll be helping ensure I can keep doing it well, with the time, resources, and independence it requires.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for believing that journalism can and should be a force for truth, for justice, and for democracy.

With Great Gratitude,