The Subversion of Catholic Cincinnati: How a Once-Stronghold of Faith Was Stolen and How We Can Rebuild
Cincinnati was once a city where Catholicism was not merely practiced but formed the very backbone of civic life. It was a city built by German and Irish immigrants who, despite arriving in a deeply Protestant and often hostile environment, established a thriving Catholic culture—one marked by strong parishes, family-owned businesses, political power, and a vibrant public expression of faith. But this was not to last. Over time, a slow and deliberate process of subversion took place, orchestrated by the revolutionary and subversive forces of Freemasonry, the Jewish elite, and Protestant reformers, who saw Catholic influence as something to be neutralized. This is the story of how Catholic Cincinnati was systematically dismantled and what must be done to rebuild it.
The heart of Catholic Cincinnati beat strongest in the 19th and early 20th centuries. German immigrants in particular made the city their own, creating what was, at the time, one of the most distinctly German and Catholic areas in America. Over-the-Rhine, now just another gentrified district, was once home to tightly-knit Catholic families who filled the pews of churches like Old St. Mary’s, sent their children to parish-run schools, and ran businesses that kept wealth circulating within the Catholic community. These weren’t just neighborhoods; they were Catholic enclaves where the Faith governed every aspect of life.
And the Catholics here were not just passive citizens; they fought for their place in a country that had never wanted them. The old political machine—often branded as corrupt by its enemies—was in fact the vehicle through which Catholic families protected their interests. Figures like George B. Cox, who built Cincinnati’s political “machine,” ensured that Catholic immigrants were not left to be trampled by the Protestant elite. The political system provided jobs, economic security, and a degree of political representation. It wasn’t perfect, but it was functional, and most importantly, it kept the city’s Catholic backbone intact.
But enemies were watching. The Protestants, who had long dominated Cincinnati’s elite circles, despised the growing Catholic power. They found willing allies among Jewish businessmen, many of whom had no interest in a society ordered by Catholic morality, and Freemasons, who had been working for centuries to dismantle Catholic influence wherever it existed. The result was an alliance—one dedicated to breaking apart the Catholic political stronghold and replacing it with a secularized, liberal governance structure.
The Charter Party, founded in 1924, was the political weapon of this alliance. It was the supposed answer to “corruption,” but what it really did was dismantle the Catholic political networks that had protected the city’s parishes and neighborhoods. The Charter Party’s champion, Murray Seasongood—a Jewish mayor and dedicated reformer—led the charge to replace the old system with something more “efficient” and “modern.” But efficiency in politics always means fewer checks on those in power, and modernity almost always means secularization. And that’s exactly what happened.
With the machine gone, Catholic Cincinnati was left vulnerable. And then came the next blow—World War I and the intense anti-German sentiment that followed. German Catholics, once proud and unashamed of their heritage, were suddenly forced to distance themselves from their language, their customs, and even their Church institutions. German-language newspapers were shut down, schools were Anglicized, and entire communities were pressured to assimilate. In the space of just a few years, much of what had made Cincinnati so uniquely Catholic was being erased under the guise of patriotism.
World War II finished the job. By the time the war ended, the German Catholic communities were fragmented beyond repair. The traditional parish life that had once sustained them was weakened, and assimilation into mainstream American culture accelerated. Catholic families that had once lived in close proximity to their churches, where they could rely on their own community for support, now found themselves encouraged—sometimes subtly, sometimes forcefully—to move out to the suburbs, where faith became a private matter rather than a public force.
And then came the highways. The destruction of Catholic neighborhoods wasn’t just an unfortunate byproduct of urban renewal—it was an intentional fragmentation of Catholic power. The construction of I-75, which tore through West End and Over-the-Rhine, displaced thousands of Catholic families, severing them from the communities they had built over generations. Neighborhoods that had once been filled with Catholic businesses, Catholic schools, and Catholic social organizations were bulldozed, replaced with concrete and on-ramps. Those who moved to the suburbs lost not only their local parish communities but also the sense of Catholic solidarity that had once defined their way of life.
As Catholic Cincinnati was reeling from these external attacks, new political leaders arose—leaders who did not share the values of the Catholics they now governed. In 1972, Theodore M. Berry became the city’s first African American mayor under the Charter Party banner. He was a Prince Hall Freemason, aligning himself with the very forces that sought to erode the Catholic identity of Cincinnati. His tenure, marked by the expansion of liberal policies, was another step in the city’s march toward secularism.
Then came Arn B. Cohen and Bobbie Sterne, the first female mayor, taking office in 1975. A committed progressive, she further advanced policies that dismantled the last remnants of Catholic Cincinnati’s former social and political influence. She played a role in urban renewal projects that erased Catholic neighborhoods and encouraged progressive social policies that weakened Catholic family structures and communities.
And then there was Jerry Springer—perhaps the most infamous of all the Charter Party mayors. Elected in 1977, Springer was a Jewish politician whose later career revealed his true colors as a subversive force in American culture. His destructive legacy did not end in politics—it expanded into entertainment, where he actively worked to degrade traditional morality. The Jerry Springer Show was not just a spectacle of degeneracy; it was the culmination of everything the Charter Party had worked toward—a city, and eventually a nation, where order, virtue, and Catholic values were mocked and destroyed in the public square.
For decades, Catholic leadership fought to keep the rot out of film and entertainment. Archbishop John T. McNicholas, the great defender of morality, founded the Legion of Decency in 1934 to fight against the creeping filth of Hollywood’s Jewish-controlled studios. Under his leadership, the Legion of Decency, combined with the Hays Code, forced Hollywood to adhere to Catholic moral standards, restricting the kinds of degenerate content that could be put into films.
But after World War II, Jewish filmmakers in Hollywood were given a blank check to do whatever they wanted. No longer restrained by public pressure, nor Catholic opposition, they pushed a new morality—one that was completely secular, subversive, and hostile to Christianity. The movies that once had to adhere to moral guidelines were now free to promote vice, glorify sin, and mock Catholic values.
If the external attacks weren’t enough, Vatican II delivered the final and most catastrophic wound from within. The Council’s reforms, sold to the faithful as a renewal, in reality led to a wholesale abandonment of Catholic distinctiveness. The Latin Mass, which had unified Catholics across nations and generations, was replaced with a watered-down liturgy that looked Protestant and sounded secular. Catholic education suffered as schools abandoned rigorous formation in the Faith. The clergy, instead of acting as shepherds leading their flock against the wolves, became soft and accommodating, more interested in “dialogue” than in defending the Kingship of Christ.
Few figures symbolize this destruction more than Archbishop Joseph Bernardin. Installed as Archbishop of Cincinnati from 1972 to 1982, Bernardin was not just a passive leader but an active force in dismantling the city’s once-thriving Catholic culture. His policies mirrored those of progressive bishops nationwide—compromise with modernism, silence on moral decay, and, most disturbingly, a cozy relationship with Freemasons and homosexual networks. Instead of resisting the decline, he aided it, weakening the very institutions that had held the Faith together for generations.
But even as the Faith waned, one silent witness still stood in defiance of it all: the mural at Immaculata Church in Mount Adams. Painted above the altar, it depicts Our Lady standing above the city, with the people of Cincinnati kneeling before her, imploring her to convert the city to the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church.
The inscription beneath the image is a prayer, not just for Cincinnati, but for the nation itself:
“O Maria, ohne Suende empfangen, bitte fuer die Bekehrung dieses Landes, Amerika.”
(“O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for the conversion of this country, America.”)
This plea—etched in German, the language of the very people who built Catholic Cincinnati—remains a silent but urgent call to action. The Faith may have been weakened, the city may have fallen into secularism, but the mission remains: Cincinnati must be converted, and Christ must reign.
Perhaps this mural is not just a relic of the past, but a prophecy of the future—a sign that Catholics in Cincinnati will rise again to reclaim what was lost. But that will not happen through compromise, nor through retreat into schism. It will only happen when Catholics once again take up the mission that was abandoned—converting this land, and restoring the Kingship of Christ in Cincinnati and beyond.
This battle is not over. It has only just begun.
Now is the time to reclaim what was stolen. Now is the time to restore the Kingship of Christ—not just in our homes, but in our cities, our institutions, and our society. Anything less is a betrayal of the sacrifices that came before us. Anything less is an acceptance of defeat. And that is something a true Catholic man can never allow.
Come learn with us how we can keep recovering our lost patrimony and Catholic identity in the Cincinnati area by joining us at our monthly gatherings. Take part in our regular public displays of the faith and our works of public reparation for the public sins of our region. Join us in our efforts to rebuild the Catholic network and solidarity through our Private Membership Association.
