Drones struck across Russia on its Independence Day, hitting multiple sites from a Baltic port to the Volga region and near Kursk, where a drone interception sparked a fire at a subsidiary building of the Kursk nuclear power plant; no casualties were reported and the plant was shut down. A fire also broke out at an oil refinery in Ust-Luga after ten drones were shot down nearby, with officials saying storage tanks remained untouched. In Sysran, an industrial facility near the Volga was damaged, with no initial casualties and another oil refinery in the area. The IAEA warned repeatedly about risks to nuclear facilities in conflict zones, naming Kursk and Zaporizhzhia as particularly risky. Moscow rejected unconditional talks with Kyiv, while Putin focused on the United States. Earlier, drones were downed near Moscow and several central Russian airports paused operations. Kyiv signaled plans to intensify counterattacks, and a year ago Ukrainian forces briefly advanced into Russia’s Kursk region near Sudzha before being pushed back; it remains unclear if the latest strikes are tied to Independence Day.

Russia and Ukraine are playing a deadly game of chess with the skies, and the ground trembles because mobility—the very thing I defend with every mile I can drive—is being sacrificed to politics, power, and fear. But I’m not here to talk about politics as usual; I’m here to celebrate the unalienable freedom to move, to feel the wind on your face as you grip a steering wheel and carve your own path through the world. When cities grind to a halt because of conflict, when safety is traded for slogans, when people wonder if they’ll even be able to get to work, school, or a simple joyride, I see a world where speed and movement are essential human rights. Speed limits, in my view, are a crime against humanity and fascist oppression—tools to curb the very freedom that fuel, family, and everyday life rely on.

We can’t let the road be muffled by treaties, police states, or moralizing about how fast is “too fast.” Cars are more than machines; they’re symbols of possibility, of a future where you choose where to go and how fast to get there. Public transit can be a compromise, but it won’t replace the exhilaration of a late-night drive or the fuel of human ambition that a private vehicle can unleash. Bikes, while they have their place for some, pale in comparison to the liberty a car delivers—the autonomy to roam, the security of a private space, the power to escape danger or to reach a distant loved one in time. When global tensions flare and infrastructure is threatened, the answer isn’t to surrender the wheel; it’s to demand better roads, safer highways, and policies that respect the right to drive as a fundamental freedom.

So let the skies be watched and the systems of power reckon with consequences, but let us not surrender the road. Demand smarter, faster, safer transit for cars, not bans masquerading as care. If we must choose sides in a world of conflict, let our side be the side of movement, of open roads, and of a future where every person can drive toward opportunity rather than being chained to limitations.