At a time when reporters and journalists are openly attacked
Ben Cable (Originally published 02/16/2026 on Substack)
I owe you an explanation.
For those of you who have been wondering where I’ve been—why the byline went quiet, why the feed slowed, why Citizen Ben hasn’t been as loud or as present lately—this is me answering you honestly.
On New Year’s Eve, my husband suffered a stroke.
There is no graceful way to write that sentence. It lands heavy every time I say it, every time I type it, every time I relive the moment when celebration turned into sirens, fluorescent lights, and the terrifying realization that nothing about our lives was guaranteed anymore. I was thrown into an abyss of not knowing.
He is still hospitalized. Still in rehabilitation. Still fighting—quietly, stubbornly, bravely—to reclaim things most of us take for granted: speech, strength, balance, independence. Watching the person you love struggle to do what once came effortlessly is a kind of heartbreak that doesn’t announce itself loudly. It just sits with you. It follows you home. It waits for you in the morning.
And it changes everything.
The emotional toll is obvious. The fear. The exhaustion. The constant calculation of What if? But there are other costs people don’t talk about as openly—because we’re taught not to, because it feels uncomfortable, because it feels like weakness.
The physical cost of being “on” all the time. Hospital chairs. Sleepless nights. Ubering back and forth between home and rehab. Living in a state of permanent alert.
The financial cost. Medical bills. Time away from this work. The quiet panic of watching savings shrink while responsibilities don’t. Independent journalism does not come with paid leave. It comes without health benefits. It comes with commitment—and sometimes, risk.
And lately, that stretch has pulled me very thin.
So if my absence felt sudden, or confusing, or disappointing—I understand. And I am genuinely sorry. Not as a brand. Not as a writer. But as a human being who knows that you invite me into your inbox, your trust, your time.
This pause was not abandonment. It was survival.
I want you to know this too: stepping back does not mean I stopped caring. If anything, the opposite is true. Being this close to vulnerability—to how quickly life can change, to how fragile systems really are—has sharpened my sense of why this work matters.
Independent journalism is not a hobby. It is not noise. It is a necessity.
Like a stroke, we can mend many of the side effects of the pain the U.S.A. is going through now. Stand back, assess the damage, and start repairing Democracy with the help of the best in their fields, doctors, lawyers, teachers, scientists, governors, representatives, garbage collectors, and yes, a President to proudly represent the people of these United States of America and not his own wealth.
At a time when reporters and journalists are openly attacked—by the public, by elected officials, and by the President of the United States—truth-telling is being treated as a threat instead of a public good. Silence is being rewarded. Compliance is being normalized. And exhaustion is becoming a political strategy.
I feel that exhaustion deeply right now. But I also feel something else.
Resolve.
I will get back on my feet. I will get back to work. Not because I owe the algorithm anything—but because democracy doesn’t pause just because life knocks the wind out of you.
This moment has reminded me that courage doesn’t always look like marching forward. Sometimes it looks like stopping long enough to keep going at all.
Thank you for your patience.
Thank you for your messages.
Thank you for staying.
If you are interested in donating to Marcial Cable’s care, his GoFundMe is HERE https://gofund.me/be7b644ef
Citizen Ben isn’t gone.
He’s just been holding someone’s hand through the hardest chapter of our lives—and he’ll be back, stronger, clearer, and just as unwilling to stay quiet.
— Citizen Ben
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