Comey and Letitia James Cases Tossed. Mark Kelly Investigated.

When prosecutors fail but investigations keep coming, it’s not justice, it’s an ongoing message.

There’s a simple way to understand this moment: Look at who the system punishes, and who it protects. If you follow that pattern, everything happening right now makes sense.

This week, two big stories hit within hours of each other:

A federal judge didn’t just toss the cases; she voided every action Lindsey Halligan took as an illegally appointed U.S. attorney. That means the indictments against James Comey and Letitia James weren’t simply weak; they were legally nonexistent. And because the ruling focused on Lindsey Halligan’s illegitimate appointment rather than the underlying allegations, the administration has already signaled it may try again. But even that is murky: legal experts disagree on whether the rushed, now-voided Comey indictment triggers the Department of Justice’s (DOJ) six-month window to refile. The cases didn’t fall apart because the evidence exonerated anyone; they fell apart because the prosecutor herself wasn’t legally allowed to bring them. But don’t worry, Pam Bondi says Halligan is "an excellent U.S. attorney." This is a fascinating take on someone the court ruled wasn’t legally allowed to be a U.S. attorney at all. Sure. And I’m an excellent astrophysicist.

Meanwhile, the Pentagon opened an investigation into Senator Mark Kelly of Arizona for allegedly encouraging "disobedience" inside the military.

These aren’t isolated headlines. Together, they draw a picture the public needs to see clearly, because it reveals something about the health of our institutions, the pressure points within the government, and the direction this country is heading if we don’t pay attention.

Let’s break this down plainly.

When the law becomes a messaging tool, you stop getting justice and start getting theater.

The Comey and Letitia James cases were never really about proving wrongdoing. They were about sending a message to people who refuse to bend the knee. Drag them through legal quicksand. Plant the headline. Smear the reputation. Let the case sit long enough for supporters to raise money off it. And then, months later, shrug when the court throws it out. The moment’s over. The damage is done. If anything, this outcome spared the DOJ from a far more damning ruling, one that could have explicitly labeled these prosecutions as political retribution.

It’s not justice. It’s not accountability. It’s intimidation with a filing number.

Anyone who has spent time inside government, especially in national security, has seen this tactic up close. It’s the legal equivalent of someone tapping the badge on their chest and saying, “You sure you want to do that?”

Let’s pause here, because this one deserves attention.

The Defense Department, and yes, I’m calling it that, because plenty of people inside the Pentagon openly mock the "Department of War" rebrand, is now investigating a sitting U.S. senator, and not just any senator:

Mark Kelly. Former Navy combat pilot. Astronaut. Husband of Gabby Giffords. A man who has dedicated his life to service.

And in a sign of just how unserious this ‘serious investigation’ really is, the Pentagon announced it the way teenagers announce breakups, via a social media post.

The accusation? That his public remarks somehow crossed an invisible line and amounted to "encouraging disobedience." A serious, and conveniently vague, charge. Almost as vague as the Pentagon’s “further official comments will be limited, to preserve the integrity of the proceedings” post. Translation, in Trump-era bureaucracy: give us a minute while we figure out the story we want to tell.

It’s the kind of accusation that hangs heavy in military culture, because trust and discipline are the foundation of the entire system.

But the context matters: Kelly criticized reckless military decisions and warned service members to uphold their oath to the Constitution, not any individual. That’s not insubordination. That’s civics.

Investigating someone like him sends a very different signal. Dissent will be punished. Even principled dissent. Even from those who wore the uniform. This isn’t about national security. This is about control.

And if you’ve ever worked with the military, you know how fast fear can move through the ranks when these investigations start flying. People get quiet. Career officers look over their shoulders. Junior leaders start asking, “Is this safe to say?”

That’s how norms erode, not with a bang, but with a warning shot.

And this fits a pattern I wrote about on Saturday: the administration is preparing a rule that would gut federal whistleblower protections. Tens of thousands of senior civil servants, the very people most likely to spot fraud, abuse, or illegal activity, would lose safeguards against retaliation. In other words, the people who know where the bodies are buried would be easier to silence or fire.

The through-line here is pressure—invisible, quiet, and corrosive.

Pressure on prosecutors. Pressure on investigators. Pressure on military officers. Pressure on people whose job is to uphold the rules, not rewrite them overnight.

This is what happens when the system stops protecting its truth-tellers and starts targeting its protectors.

I’ve seen this from the inside—in classified briefings, in Situation Room debates, and in those hallway conversations public servants whisper because they’re scared of sounding naïve:

“Does the leadership actually want the facts?”
“Are we going to get punished for being honest?”
“Do we just stay out of it?”

I faced those questions myself in Trump 1.0.

When those questions start creeping in, the system is already in trouble. Not because it’s collapsing, but because people are starting to pull back. Democracies don’t fall all at once. They thin out. They become quieter. They stop pushing back. They stop asking hard questions because the cost suddenly feels too high. That’s the danger we’re in right now, not a dramatic crisis, but a slow, steady draining of courage from the institutions that need it most.

What this means for public management is the part no one puts in a headline.

Let’s talk about the actual machinery of government, something I’ve spent most of my adult life in. Public institutions run on credibility. Not slogans. Not press releases. Credibility. Credibility comes from a simple, unglamorous principle: The rules apply the same way to everyone.

But right now?

• Critics are being hauled into court.

• Loyalists are being shielded.

• A respected senator is being investigated for defending constitutional norms.

• Civil servants are watching it all and wondering whether “doing the right thing” is still the safe option.

When you shake credibility long enough, agencies hollow out. People stop raising concerns. They stop innovating. They stop making bold decisions. They stop telling the truth up the chain because they’re afraid of what happens if the truth is inconvenient. A hesitating government is a vulnerable government. Not because it’s weak, but because it loses the one strength that makes democracies resilient: the integrity of the people inside it.

So what’s the bigger takeaway here?

It’s not that the system is doomed. It’s that the system is under pressure, from directions most Americans never see, in legal filings, internal memos, investigations, and whispered warnings inside agencies.

And here’s the part that really matters:

• Law is only as strong as the people who enforce it without fear or favor.

• The military is only as trustworthy as the officers who feel safe to speak honestly.

• Government is only as resilient as the truth-tellers we refuse to abandon.

Right now, those people need backup. They need the public to pay attention. They need citizens who understand what’s at stake, even if the headlines don’t explain it. Because you don’t lose a democracy when the tanks roll, you lose it when the truth-tellers look around, realize no one is coming to help them, and decide to walk away quietly.

If I’ve learned anything from my time in national security, it’s this:

Strong countries aren’t the ones with the biggest weapons or the loudest leaders. They’re the ones where the rule-followers are braver than the rule-breakers. Where truth is a duty, not a gamble. Where public service is honored, not threatened.

The guardians are under pressure. How we respond, how loudly we speak, how clearly we see what’s happening, will determine whether they can keep standing.

And whether the system we inherited still has enough integrity left to pass down to the next generation.

More soon,

Olivia