Dear Secretary Bessent,

I do not enjoy being this angry.

I do not wake up hoping another government official will sit in front of a camera and remind ordinary Americans just how far away from ordinary life some people in power have drifted.

I would rather write about meditation, family, food, community, books, recipes, grief, healing, or literally anything that does not require me to stare into the latest circus act and ask, once again:

Do these people hear themselves?

But here we are.

And this time, sir, it was you.

It started early.

Asked about Opportunity Zones, you could have simply answered the question. Instead, you made sure to remind the room that “every Democrat voted against Opportunity Zones.”

There it was.

The reflex.

The dodge.

The little partisan elbow before the answer had even settled into the chair.

And no, that was not the worst thing you said. It was just the first sign of what was coming.

Because later, when Senator Maggie Hassan asked whether President Trump thinks about the financial situation of the American people, you had an opportunity to answer plainly.

You could have said yes.

You could have said you discuss costs with him regularly.

You could have said the administration understands that Americans are frustrated, strained, and tired.

Instead, when Senator Hassan quoted Trump directly, saying, “I don’t think about Americans’ financial situation. I don’t think about anybody,” you reached for the most exhausted escape hatch in modern politics.

You said it was taken out of context.

Of course you did.

Someone says something in public, into a microphone, on camera, where the whole country can hear it, and when people react, we are told the problem is that we listened incorrectly.

No.

The problem is not that we heard it.

The problem is that he said it.

And then came the grocery store moment.

Senator Hassan asked about gas, groceries, utilities, healthcare, and the basic costs of American life. The things people do not experience as abstract economic categories, but as weekly decisions. Monthly stress. Late-night math. Receipts shoved into purses, pockets, glove compartments, kitchen drawers.

You responded by saying groceries are going down.

Then you said, “food prices, or as many people like to call them, groceries.”

Sir.

They are groceries.

That is not a quirky nickname.

That is not some charming phrase the public invented because we cannot understand the refined language of economic reporting.

They are groceries.

They were groceries when our grandparents bought them. They were groceries when our parents bought them. They were groceries when I bought them last week. They will be groceries next week when millions of Americans walk through automatic doors, grab a cart, and begin calculating their lives one aisle at a time.

Can I afford this?

Can this wait?

Do we need the name brand?

Can I stretch this until payday?

Is this enough for lunches?

Will this cover dinner twice?

That is not “food at home” to us.

That is groceries.

The word was not the issue by itself.

The distance was.

That little phrase landed the way it did because it sounded like a man translating normal life from a country he does not visit.

Not ignorance.

Insulation.

The kind that grows thick and stale in rooms where the windows are never opened.

That is the condition.

Not that you are unintelligent. Not that you cannot read data. Not that you do not understand markets, indicators, reports, projections, or whatever else gets passed around in rooms most Americans will never enter.

The problem is that you seem insulated from the lived experience those numbers are supposed to describe.

And insulation changes people.

It muffles sound.

It dulls impact.

It turns hardship into a chart.

It turns groceries into “food at home.”

It turns $200 in gasoline costs into something that can be brushed aside, as if $200 is not real money to real people.

For many Americans, $200 is not a rounding error.

It is a utility bill.

It is medication.

It is part of a car payment.

It is groceries.

There is that word again.

It keeps showing up because ordinary life keeps requiring it.

Then, when Senator Hassan pressed you on costs, you reached for Biden.

Again.

Of course.

Because apparently every question about this administration’s promises can be rerouted through the previous one.

If prices fall, you want credit.

If markets rise, you want credit.

If the data looks good, you want credit.

But if Americans say they are still struggling, suddenly the conversation belongs to Biden.

No.

We are not talking about Biden.

We are talking about now.

We are talking about the administration currently in power.

We are talking about the promises made to lower costs.

We are talking about the people who were told relief was coming and are still standing in grocery stores wondering why the cart costs so much before it is even full.

That is not a partisan fantasy.

That is Tuesday.

That is rent week.

That is the gas pump.

That is the electric bill.

That is the prescription counter.

That is the quiet humiliation of putting something back because the total got away from you.

And while Americans are doing that math, your administration is somehow still finding room for vanity.

A ballroom.

A military parade.

An arch.

A proposed $250 bill with Donald Trump’s face on it.

I am not sure there is a better symbol for this entire political era than ordinary Americans being told to calm down about costs while powerful men dream up new ways to put one man’s image on the country itself.

It is grotesque.

Not because ceremony never matters.

Not because history never matters.

Not because national spaces never matter.

But because timing matters.

Tone matters.

Priorities matter.

And when people are struggling to afford basic life, a government obsessed with spectacle should expect anger from the people being asked to fund, witness, or endure it.

You told Senator Hassan she was incorrect.

You said there was no cost to the American people.

You said the decorative part of the ballroom was privately funded.

You said the work outside your office was about national security.

And maybe there are budget lines and explanations and technical distinctions you would like us all to study before forming an opinion.

Fine.

But here is the larger truth:

People know when they are being governed.

And they know when they are being performed at.

This administration performs constantly.

It performs concern.

It performs patriotism.

It performs loyalty.

But ordinary Americans are not living inside a performance.

We are living inside bills.

We are living inside prices.

We are living inside paychecks that disappear too quickly.

We are living inside grocery aisles where the numbers do not care what anyone said on television.

That is why your answer bothered me so much.

It was not merely the statistic.

It was not merely the phrasing.

It was the insulation.

The sense that if you could just say the numbers with enough confidence, people might stop believing their own receipts.

But we know what things cost.

We know because we buy them.

We know what groceries are because we still buy groceries.

We know what gas costs because we still pump gas.

We know what utilities cost because we still open the bills.

We know what healthcare costs because we still delay appointments, compare prescriptions, stretch refills, and hope nothing breaks.

We are not confused.

We are not spoiled.

We are not too dumb to understand the economy.

We are the economy you keep talking about.

And if the people in power cannot feel that anymore, then maybe they should stop confusing insulation with wisdom.

Because there is a difference between seeing the country from above and understanding the country from within.

You may have the reports.

You may have the title.

You may have the office.

You may have the microphone.

But ordinary Americans have the receipts.

And right now, the receipts are louder than you.

Sincerely,

An American who still buys them