I grew up in Rhode Island.
Small towns, real winters, Christmas traditions that actually meant something.
When I moved to California in 2000, I didn’t expect to find anything that reminded me of home. But every Christmas season, my wife and I would visit Ocean Park Boulevard in Santa Monica, that stretch overlooking the ocean, because back then, it still carried a little magic.
They set up these beautiful seasonal displays.
Nativity scenes, glowing angels, lights, all sponsored by local churches, the fire department, the police.
Nothing political.
Nothing meant to provoke.
Just a simple, peaceful tradition you could walk through with your family while the air smelled like the ocean and the holidays at the same time.
It reminded me of being a kid back east.
It reminded me of what Christmas used to feel like.
It was something I could share with my wife, and eventually, my children.
And then the fringe groups showed up.
The professional complainers.
The people who don’t build anything but love tearing down whatever still brings joy to others.
They demanded “equal representation,” and under the big umbrella of free speech, they bought up their own plots, filling them with anti-religion, anti-Christmas, anti-anything-that-brings-light messaging.
That was the beginning of the end.
Because once you allow people who despise community to shape community spaces, everything slowly collapses.
Fast-forward to now:
Look at Santa Monica.
Look at California.
Tent cities.
Human waste on sidewalks.
Encampments stretching for miles.
A government that calls it compassion while residents tiptoe around needles and trash like it’s the new normal.
And it’s not just here anymore.
You’re seeing the same pattern in places like Germany, activists spraying black smoke into the air, screaming through megaphones, disrupting Christmas markets while families try to enjoy the lights.
Same type of people.
Same toxic energy.
Same mission to destroy anything simple and human.
This was never about religion.
It’s not even about Christmas.
It’s about the erosion of simple joys, the small traditions, the small comforts, the small reminders that we belong to something bigger than our complaints.
Some people build.
Some people vandalize.
And for the last twenty years, the vandals have been loud, organized, and relentless.
Maybe it’s time we stop letting fringe voices pretend they represent the majority.
Maybe it’s time we stop giving the microphone to people who produce absolutely nothing, just destruction.
Maybe it’s time the majority remembers its voice.
c 2025 Chu The Cud
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Chu The Cud 