Why I Do This Work

The news cycle has finally slowed—briefly—and in that stillness, I want to do something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.

Tell you who I am. Not just the person you see on your screen, breaking down headlines or going live to explain the story beneath the story. But the person behind all of it.

You’ve given me your time, your trust, and in many cases, your support. That means something. And if you’re going to stand with me in this mission to build a media movement that challenges power and speaks truth, then you deserve to know why I care so deeply about this work.

If you believe in this kind of honest, unfiltered, people-first journalism—there’s something you can do right now: subscribe. Your support isn’t just appreciated. It’s essential. This platform exists because of people like you, not corporate backers. Each subscription fuels the reporting, the analysis, the relentless fact-checking—and helps make independent media stronger than ever.

From the very beginning, I promised transparency. So here it is.

From Boca Raton to the Courtroom

I was born in Boca Raton, Florida—once a quiet town, now a sprawling hub connecting Miami to West Palm Beach. My parents immigrated to the U.S. chasing the dream so many before them had chased: opportunity, safety, a better life for their children.

We didn’t come from much. I was the first in my family to graduate college. The first to go to law school. I didn’t have connections or legacy paths. I had curiosity, drive, and a father who didn’t know how to explain the legal system—but knew how to turn on Court TV.

That was the summer of 2012. I was 13. The Casey Anthony trial had just begun. My dad sat with me for the opening statements, but I stayed—for 32 straight days. I watched every witness, every cross-examination. And while the trial was about Casey, I couldn’t stop thinking about Caylee. A child without a voice. A victim of injustice. And something clicked for me: I wanted to advocate for those who couldn’t advocate for themselves.

At 14, I enrolled in college through Florida Atlantic University’s dual enrollment program. I interned with the Palm Beach County State Attorney’s Office and later with the Broward County Public Defender’s Office. I saw both sides of the criminal justice system up close—and I saw how it often failed the people it was supposed to protect.

I watched poor defendants go before judges without adequate legal representation. I watched prosecutors pile on charges, knowing their opponents didn’t have the time or resources to fight back. I saw people take plea deals not because they were guilty—but because they were scared. Scared of losing their jobs, their families, their futures. Because they couldn’t afford to defend themselves.

It didn’t feel like justice. It felt like survival.

So at 18, I went to law school—one of the youngest in the country to do it. I chose George Washington University in D.C. because I wanted to be close to power. I thought maybe, just maybe, if I got inside the system, I could change it from within.

I clerked for a federal judge. I worked at big firms, small firms, places that handled billion-dollar cases and places that fought for housing rights. But in all those rooms, I kept seeing the same pattern: the people who most needed help were the ones most often left behind.

Learning It the Hard Way

And it wasn’t just in courtrooms.

I saw it in classrooms, too. While visiting a friend who worked with students in inner-city Miami schools, I watched kids show up hungry, exhausted, overlooked. Brilliant minds sitting in broken desks, being taught from outdated textbooks, by underpaid and overworked teachers. These are kids who could be future surgeons, engineers, judges. But they were being failed by a system that didn’t see them.

At the same time, I was trying to build a career in law and journalism—and live.

I didn’t always have health insurance for periods of my late teens and early twenties. It wasn’t because I didn’t want it. I just did not think to get it. And then one day, I had a health scare.

That moment shook me. Because here I was—a law student, preparing to work in one of the most powerful cities in the world—and I feared being able to afford basic medical care. If I couldn’t, what did that say about the millions of people with even fewer resources?

The system wasn’t just flawed. It was broken. And I knew I couldn’t just exist within it anymore. I had to speak against it.

Then the World Changed

In February 2022, Russia prepared to invade Ukraine. For most, it was a foreign policy story. For me, it was family. I had relatives in Ukraine. People I loved. And the coverage in U.S. media felt… off. Sanitized. Stripped of urgency.

So I did the only thing I could think to do—I picked up my phone, opened TikTok, and started talking.

I explained what was happening on the ground. I translated official reports, connected historical context, and pushed back on misinformation. Ten times a day. Fifteen. Sometimes twenty. Within a week, I had a million followers.

Not because I had a flashy studio. Not because I had backing. But because people were desperate for clarity. For truth.

Over the next two years, I kept going—on and off—while still practicing law. But by mid-2024, I knew I had to commit fully. I wasn’t just talking to juries anymore. I was talking to millions. And that kind of advocacy felt just as urgent as anything I’d ever done in a courtroom.

The Fight Ahead

The mainstream media shrugs at stories like mine.

Why? Because they’re not marketable. Because they threaten the structures that keep ad dollars flowing and access doors open. Because a media built on power will always turn away from anything that challenges it.

So they chase spectacle. They run cover. They look the other way.

But not here.

Here, we follow the facts—even when they’re uncomfortable. Especially then. We name names. We connect dots. We explain the world in a way that empowers you—not some corporate stakeholder.

Your subscription isn’t a tip. It’s fuel. It’s how this work continues. It’s how we build something that can outlast the clickbait cycle. It’s how we push back against the narrative machine that profits from distraction.

Why I’m Doing This

I’m not trying to reinvent journalism. I’m trying to bring it back.

Back to when it served the public—not the powerful. Back to when reporters were trusted not because they were famous, but because they were relentless. Back to a time when the mission was truth, not virality.

A modern-day Cronkite era—reborn through pixels and platforms.

If you believe in that—if you believe in this—now is the time to act.

Don’t wait until the next war, or scandal, or system collapse. Don’t wait until it’s too late to care.

Subscribe. Share. Stay loud.

Because if we don’t tell the truth, they’ll rewrite it.

And I’m not letting that happen on my watch.