I Believe

Act 1. Andrew CarnegieIt’s 1892. Homestead, Pennsylvania.Andrew Carnegie pays his steelworkers an average of $1.68 a day. About $56 in today’s money. Twelve-hour shifts. Six days a week.The workers and their families shared rooms that smelled like smoke and steel dust. The beds were never cold because workers on different shifts all used them. They ate bread, onions, sometimes meat. The lucky ones had shoes that fit. Nutrition, sanitation, and health were poor. Workplace injuries were common.Meanwhile, Carnegie’s personal annual income in 1892 was approximately $25 million. That’s $830 million in today’s dollars. Per year.Here’s a simple question: Why didn’t he just pay the workers more?Not out of charity or kindness. Just pay them enough that they didn’t have to send their children to work at age ten. Pay them enough that they could afford doctors when they got injured. Pay them enough that their widows didn’t end up in poorhouses.Carnegie’s answer, laid out in his 1889 essay The Gospel of Wealth, was surprisingly direct. He argued that giving workers higher wages would be wasteful. Most workers lacked the judgment to use extra money wisely. They’d spend it on alcohol, gambling, and frivolous consumption. He wrote, “It were better for mankind that the millions of the rich were thrown into the sea than spent to encourage the slothful, the drunken, the unworthy.”Better, Carnegie said, to keep wages low, accumulate wealth, and then give it away strategically. To libraries or universities. Institutions that would uplift the deserving poor, not reward the undeserving.Were his workers not deserving? But in the case of Carnegie, it was also something deeper. A theory about the nature of giving. About the difference between waste and virtue.Let’s test the logic.In 1892, Carnegie Steel employed about 40,000 workers across all operations. If Carnegie had taken just $5 million of his $25 million annual income and distributed it evenly among those workers, each one would have received an extra $125 per year, about $4300 today.That’s not life-changing money. But it’s enough to buy winter coats for your kids. Enough to see a doctor instead of dying from an infected cut. Enough to not send your twelve-year-old to work in the mill.But Carnegie didn’t do that.Instead, over his lifetime, he gave away $350 million to build libraries, concert halls, and universities. He gave 2,811 libraries to communities. So here’s the next question: Why did he consider the second option virtuous, but the first wasteful?A worker who needs $2 a day to feed his family needs it whether you hand it to him on Friday or donate it to a library that his grandchildren might use.We all need heat in the house and food on the table. The need doesn’t change. Only the giver’s relationship to it does.There’s an old idea, older than Carnegie, older than America, that we owe two kinds of debts. Give to Ceasar what is Ceasar’s, and to God what is God’s. First, our debt to Ceasar. This debt is civic. What we owe to the state, to the community, to the infrastructure that makes our lives possible. Roads, courts, defense, clean water. We pool our resources to build what none of us can build alone.The other debt is moral. What we owe to each other as human beings. Compassion, dignity, the recognition that suffering is real and we have some responsibility to ease it.The civic debt is the price of civilization. We choose to escape chaos. We pay taxes because without a functioning state, there is no property to protect, no contracts to enforce, no prosperity to enjoy.The moral debt is civic friendship, the sense that we share a common life and therefore share some responsibility for each other’s welfare. Our neighbors. Communities. Churches. For most of human history, these debts lived in separate accounts.We paid taxes to keep the state running. We gave alms to benefit those around us in our communities.One was mandatory. One was voluntary. One was civic duty. One was personal virtue. They didn’t compete with each other.But then something changed.By the late 1800s, charity wasn’t just feeding a beggar on the street corner anymore. It was building hospitals. Funding schools. Running orphanages. Feeding entire cities during economic panics.And government wasn’t just maintaining roads anymore. A series of economic depressions and rapid industrial revolution brought a dramatic increase in individual and community needs. People started to ask: What if the state could do what charity does, but bigger, more reliably, for everyone? Suddenly, the two debts started to overlap. State duty, and civic duty, blended together. Blending the two brought philosophical questions. If the government funds hospitals through taxes, do we still need to donate to hospitals?If the state provides old-age pensions, does that make personal charity for the elderly obsolete?If the government takes care of the poor through mandatory taxes, does that rob us of the opportunity to be virtuous?There’s an argument that an act is only morally praiseworthy if it’s done freely, out of genuine choice, not out of compulsion. That we should voluntarily give in secret. By that logic, paying taxes to fund welfare isn’t a moral act. It’s just compliance.But choosing to donate to a soup kitchen is virtue. Proof of your moral character.Carnegie never framed it in philosophical terms, but his entire worldview rested on keeping those two debts separate.The civic debt, what we owe the state, should be minimal. Low taxes, limited government, just enough to keep order and protect property.The moral debt, what we owe our fellow man, should be voluntary, personal, strategic. We give when and how we see fit. And most importantly: the moral debt is where virtue lives.But there’s a problem with this framework: it only works if we assume that our wealth is our own to begin with.What if our wealth is civic obligation? What if the wages we don’t pay, the safety equipment we don’t buy, the unions we crush, weren’t private business decisions? What if they are civic failures?Then our philanthropy isn’t generosity. We are just hurting our neighbors in the name of virtue. Americans donate about $500 billion to charity every year. That’s 2% of GDP.Meanwhile, we spend about $3.7 trillion on what we call government social programs. These are programs like Social Security, Medicaid, SNAP, and housing assistance. That’s roughly 12% of GDP.Americans prefer smaller government and lower taxes, but at the same time support programs like Social Security and Medicare. So the tension isn’t really about whether government should help people, but about how we want to frame that help, and whether we get credit for it. It’s not because charity is more efficient. Government programs have competitive or lower costs than private charities. Medicare’s administrative costs are competitive or better than private health insurance overhead at 12-18%.It’s not because charity reaches more people. SNAP alone feeds 42 million Americans. Feeding America’s charity network serves about 50 million people annually, including 12 million children and 7 million seniors. One program doesn’t dwarf the other.So is charity better? Some are convinced that only voluntary giving counts as virtue. Paying taxes, even if that money feeds hungry children, is obligation. Donating to a food bank is morality.Same outcome. Different emotional accounting.There’s research on this from blood donation systems. When you compare voluntary donation to paid systems, people value their donated blood more highly.The gift matters because it is a gift. Payment turns a moral act into a transaction.We do the same thing with charity versus taxes. Taxes feel like payment for services. Charity feels like a gift. And we reserve our sense of virtue for the gift.When Carnegie built his libraries, he put his name on them.Not only because he was vain. He sought to demonstrate personal virtue. To show that he, Andrew Carnegie, chose to help. Nobody builds a library with their tax dollars and gets a plaque.June 1892. Carnegie’s workers go on strike. They’re not asking for charity. They’re asking for wages. Enough to live on, enough to not watch their children work twelve-hour shifts in a steel mill.Carnegie refused.We celebrate Carnegie for philanthropy. But paying fair wages wasn’t charity. It was obligation. It’s what he owed workers for their labor. But he thought his workers would just waste their money. He wanted to give, on his terms, in his time, to causes he deemed worthy. Carnegie told himself his wealth was earned purely through genius. His philanthropy let him keep believing that lie. July 6th. Henry Clay Frick, Carnegie’s right-hand man, brought in 300 armed Pinkertons. The battle lasted fourteen hours. Ten men died.He breaks the strike. Destroys the union.And twenty-seven years later, Andrew Carnegie died having given away $350 million to libraries, universities, and concert halls.We remember Carnegie, the philanthropist. We forget Carnegie, the draconian union-buster.Carnegie proved at Homestead that charity alone doesn’t work.When helping people is voluntary, some people simply don’t get help.Carnegie chose libraries over living wages. He chose concert halls over safety equipment. He chose universities over unions.He decided who deserved help, and his workers didn’t make the list. Charity only works when people feel generous, and Carnegie didn’t feel generous toward the men who made him rich.So forty years later, when the Great Depression hit and the soup lines stretched around the block, America made a different choice.We pivoted. If charity fails when it’s voluntary, maybe helping our neighbors needs to be mandatory.Act 2. The New DealIt’s October 28, 1929. The stock market crashes. By mid‑November the market surrendered half its value. It took twenty-five years and twenty-five days, an entire generation, to recover. Only on November 23, 1954, did the Dow Jones Industrial Average climb bac

Act 1. The First Food StampScene One: May, 1939. The Machinist and the SurplusOn the morning of May 16, 1939, Ralston Thayer stood first in line at Rochester, New York’s old post office. He was thirty-five years old. A machinist. A veteran of the Great War. He had been out of work for nearly a year. Newspaper reporters crowded around him. Photographers jockeyed for position. Thayer was making history, and they wanted a piece of the action. He walked up to the cashier window and handed over four dollars from his latest unemployment check. The clerk gave him four dollars in orange stamps and two dollars in blue stamps, free. The orange stamps could buy any food. The blue stamps could only buy whatever the Agriculture Department declared surplus. Eggs nobody wanted. Butter that wasn’t selling. The stuff farmers couldn’t move because nobody could afford to buy it. Grocers could exchange the food stamps of both colors at the bank for real dollars. The banks would then redeem the stamps with the US Treasury. Ralston Thayer became the first food stamp recipient in American history.Throughout that day, thousands of Rochester residents did as Thayer had done. They handed over cash and got back more purchasing power than they’d walked in with. That afternoon, they flooded the grocery stores with their crisp new booklets of orange and blue stamps. The grocers couldn’t believe their luck. By December, they were ecstatic. The government had sold more than a million dollars’ worth of orange stamps in Rochester alone. That meant hundreds of thousands in free blue stamps pumped directly into hundreds of grocery stores. It was a welfare program for retailers and banks as much as for families. But the question nobody asked in 1939 was why: Why was Ralston Thayer hungry?It wasn’t because there wasn’t enough food. American farms were producing too much food. The government was purchasing massive amounts of crops, transporting them, storing them, distributing them. The surplus was so large they didn’t know what to do with it. The grocery stores were full. The problem wasn’t scarcity.The problem was that the economic system had stopped working. The Depression had destroyed demand. Thayer had worked as a machinist his entire adult life. He had fought in France. He had skills, experience, discipline. Then the Depression hit, and the work vanished. Not because he was lazy. Not because he lacked ability. The entire circular flow of the economy had frozen solid.Three problems. Farm surpluses nobody could sell. Grocery stores with weak sales. Hungry citizens with seventeen percent unemployment.So the government created a solution. Tax citizens. Use that money to buy surplus crops from farmers. Give stamps to the needy. Let grocery stores profit from the influx of purchasing power. Then, banks could exchange the food stamps of both colors at the Treasury for real dollars. Supporters estimated the program would increase grocery sales by two hundred fifty million dollars a year. The grocers loved it. The banks loved it. The farmers loved it. Congress loved it. The surplus problem was solved.It was a brilliant emergency response. And it was temporary. Everyone knew it was temporary.The first Food Stamp Program lasted four years. From 1939 to 1943, it reached millions of Americans in half the country. Four million people at its peak.Then it ended. Not because Congress acted to end it. Because the conditions that created it disappeared. By 1943, America’s response to World War II had created full employment. Wages rose. People could afford food again.Many vilify President Franklin D. Roosevelt for his social programs. After all, he began food stamps in 1939. But President Franklin D. Roosevelt also ended them in 1943. Not because they didn’t work, and not by executive order. They ended because his administration made them no longer necessary. The economy had recovered. People had work. That work paid enough to buy food. The emergency was over. FDR restored the ancient principle that by the sweat of your face, you shall eat bread. This is the decisive point relevant to today. Ending food stamps is possible when people have jobs that pay enough to buy food. When workers could earn living wages, food stamps weren’t necessary. The government didn’t need to redistribute property through taxation because workers’ labor produced property. They could eat from the sweat of their brow. When we mix our labor with the dirt, what we create becomes ours. The Constitution protects this. Work and eat. Your labor produces your sustenance. It is the most basic property right in human civilization. Scene Two: 1961–1964. The ReturnBut then the food stamp program came back.President Kennedy revived the program in 1961. On May 29, Mr. and Mrs. Alderson Muncy of Paynesville, West Virginia, became the first recipients. They bought ninety-five dollars in food stamps for their fifteen-person household. Their first purchase was a can of pork and beans.Why did food stamps come back? Kennedy had campaigned in West Virginia and Appalachia. He was appalled by what he saw. Children in poverty. Families living on surplus lard and corn meal. But those families weren’t living on lard and corn meal because there was a famine. This wasn’t the Depression. The national economy was growing. Unemployment was falling. The problem wasn’t that the entire economic system had collapsed. The problem was that prosperity wasn’t reaching everyone. Entire regions had been left behind.President Johnson signed the Food Stamp Act of 1964 and declared it would be one of the most valuable weapons for the war on poverty. Johnson’s choice of the word ‘war’ is interesting. War is the continuation of politics with other means. Everything in war is simple, but even the simplest thing is difficult. A simple goal. Eliminate poverty. The challenge is setting conditions for success when you know that success will be fleeting. Victory is temporary. People adapt. Conditions change. So you set limited, measurable, achievable objectives. You define what winning looks like. You establish the conditions that will allow you to declare victory and go home.FDR understood this. His food stamp program had a clear objective: keep people from starving during an economic collapse. The conditions for success were equally clear: full employment and rising wages. When America met those conditions, the program ended. Mission accomplished.Johnson declared a war on poverty but never defined victory. No conditions for winning. No way to know when the war could end. We have never tried to figure it out.If we don’t set conditions for success, temporary relief becomes permanent. If we don’t define victory, emergency becomes normal. If we don’t make and achieve limited objectives, war becomes endless.That’s what happened to Johnson’s war on poverty.Scene Three: Today’s Constitutional FailureMore than sixty years later, we call the food stamp program SNAP. SNAP reaches forty-one million people nationwide. Ten times the peak participation of the original program. Half of American children will rely on food assistance at some point during childhood.Ralston Thayer needed food stamps because unemployment hit seventeen percent and the Depression destroyed the economy. What’s our excuse now?The problem in 1939 was no work. The problem now is work that does not pay.Ralston Thayer could not find a job. Today’s SNAP recipients have jobs. They work forty hours a week. They stock shelves at Walmart. They flip burgers at McDonald’s. They go to work, they sweat, they come home exhausted. But they can’t afford to buy food.A 2020 government report found that 70% of SNAP recipients worked full-time. The government still redistributes property through taxation. Grocery stores still profit. But now corporations benefit from cheap labor subsidized by taxpayers instead of unemployment checks.Businesses are not the villain here. They are doing exactly what businesses are supposed to do. Maximize profits within the rules Congress sets. The problem is the rules Congress set. Let’s follow the money. Businesses pay wages competitive enough to attract workers. Workers apply for SNAP. Taxpayers fund the benefits and support business wages. Workers spend SNAP benefits at businesses.This is not business corruption. This is the system working exactly as Congress designed it. Congress created the conditions where paying low wages and relying on SNAP makes perfect business sense. Any rational business would do the same.This is not a market failure. This is a constitutional failure.When a man works and cannot eat from the sweat of their brow, someone is stealing his property. The question is who.Act 2: The Government’s DutyThe answer begins with an agreement made before there were governments.Even before Adam and Eve, hands blistered from work, and children’s bellies ached for food that depended on that work. When we work, we are entitled to the bread we create. The oldest law of life itself. Older than the Ten Commandments by maybe fifty thousand years. This human condition is the foundation of all property rights. You own yourself. You own your labor. When you mix your labor with the world, what you create belongs to you. The American Founders built this philosophy into the Constitution.The Fifth Amendment says government cannot take your property without due process of law. The Fourteenth Amendment extends this protection against the states. But … what is property?Most people think property means things. Your house. Your car. Your land. The Founders saw it more deeply. James Madison, more responsible for the US Constitution than any other, wrote that a person has property in their opinions, in their religious beliefs, in the safety of their person. And most importantly, they have property in their labor.Your labor is yours. The wages you earn through that labor are your property. This is not a metaphor. It’s constitutional law. When you work, you are exercisin

A president offers to buy beef from a country we just bailed out. Argentina. American ranchers call it betrayal. Economists say it won’t lower prices. Everyone calls it stupid.But that same country just sold seven million tons of soybeans to China instead of us. And three-quarters of their beef exports go to China. And we just gave them twenty billion dollars. And their president is our president’s ideological ally.Maybe it’s not about beef. Maybe it’s about China.But the ranchers still get hurt. The consumers still don’t see lower prices. And we don’t know if Argentina will actually pivot away from China, or just take our money and keep selling to Beijing. Maybe we weaken China’s food supply. Or maybe we just weaken our own ranchers.So…Should American cattle ranchers sacrifice for China?Act 1. Nixon and the Beef Freeze: When Politics Meets MarketsMarch 29, 1973.President Richard Nixon had a problem.Actually, he had several problems. The Senate had just voted 77-0 to investigate Watergate. The cover-up was unraveling. John Dean was about to flip. Dean knew he was going to be the scapegoat in the scandal and chose to cooperate with investigators to save himself. But today, right now, the problem was beef.Beef prices were up 20% in three months. Housewives organized boycotts. One woman in Chicago told reporters she was pricing hamburger like filet mignon. Another said her family had switched to beans and rice.Fifty million people joined them. The largest consumer protest in American history.The evening news showed empty shopping carts and angry voters. Walter Cronkite was covering it. Which meant everyone was seeing it.Nixon’s economists told him to let the market work, and it would self-correct. George Shultz at Treasury. Herbert Stein at the Council of Economic Advisers. They said this was a supply problem. Bad weather. Reduced corn harvest. Feed costs up. Drought in the Southwest meant fewer cattle. Higher prices would drive the market to adjust and incentivize production. Give it time.But Nixon wasn’t interested in time. He was interested in the evening news.He’d already broken with Republican orthodoxy in 1971. Imposed wage and price controls. First peacetime controls in American history. Froze wages. Froze prices. Took the dollar off gold. His Treasury Secretary, John Connally, had sold him on it. 5% inflation doesn’t produce great election results. The controls had worked politically. Nixon won 49 states.But by early 1973, the controls were creating problems everywhere. Shortages here. Surpluses there. The price system was breaking down. Nixon didn’t care. Controls were decisive. Presidential. You announce something and prices stop going up. At least for a while. At least long enough.On March 29, Nixon made his decision.He would freeze beef prices. No more increases. Prices were locked at current levels. Which were already at record highs. The freeze would last indefinitely.Shultz and Stein thought it was madness. You can’t freeze one price in a market economy. Everything is connected. Freeze beef and you’ll create chaos.Nixon announced it anyway.The Ranchers RespondThe cattlemen understood the economics immediately.If beef prices were frozen but feed costs kept rising, you lost money every day you fed a steer. The math was simple. The response was simpler.Stop selling cattle.“Ranchers stopped shipping their cattle to the market, farmers drowned their chickens, and consumers emptied the shelves of supermarkets.”Within days, cattle auctions reported volume dropping. Thirty percent. Then forty. Then fifty. Ranchers held cattle off the market. Some waited. Others started culling herds. Selling breeding stock they’d normally keep. Getting out entirely.The packers had fewer cattle to process. They ran plants below capacity. Sent workers home. The cattle they did get, they couldn’t make money on. Frozen prices. Rising costs.Then came the shortages.Empty Meat CasesBy mid-April, grocery stores across the country had no beef.The beef that existed was lower quality. More hamburger. Less steak. Ranchers were liquidating herds instead of finishing premium cattle. Some stores limited purchases. Two pounds per customer. Others had empty display cases.Nixon had promised to solve high beef prices. Instead, he’d created beef shortages.The evening news showed housewives staring at empty meat counters. Before, they could buy beef, even if it was expensive. After the controls, there was no beef to buy at any price.The black market appeared fast. Ranchers who’d held cattle sold directly to restaurants. To butcher shops willing to pay above the frozen price. Cash transactions. Off the books. The official market was frozen. The actual market found a way.Restaurants got squeezed the worst. They couldn’t raise menu prices because of the controls. But their costs kept rising as they competed for scarce beef. Some switched to chicken. Others reduced portions. A few high-end steakhouses closed.Washington ReactsThe American National Cattlemen’s Association flooded Washington with members. Their argument was simple. They called Nixon’s approach “The Wreck.” The freeze was destroying the industry. Ranchers were losing money every day. If it continued, there would be massive liquidation. Breeding stock slaughtered. Herds dispersed. Ranchers bankrupt. Years to rebuild.The National Farmers Union backed them. Farm-state Senators backed them, Republican and Democrat alike.Senate Agriculture Committee Chairman Herman Talmadge of Georgia called it the most short-sighted agricultural policy since Smoot-Hawley.The data supported them. Cattle slaughter was up 15% as ranchers liquidated. But beef production was falling. Ranchers were slaughtering younger, lighter animals instead of finishing them. More cattle killed. Less beef produced.Nixon’s political calculus was failing. The freeze was supposed to show action. Instead, it showed incompetence. Empty meat cases were worse than high prices.The ReversalSeptember 12, 1973. Five months after the freeze.Nixon lifted it.He didn’t call it a reversal. The announcement said the freeze had “served its purpose.” That “market conditions now warrant” flexible pricing.Everyone knew what happened. The policy failed.Beef prices immediately shot up. Higher than before the freeze. Pent-up demand. Disrupted supply chains. Liquidated herds reduced future supply.By year’s end, beef prices were 30% higher than when the freeze began.The freeze hadn’t stopped inflation. It deferred it and made it worse.The Long DamageBut the real damage took years to show.Cattle don’t turn on and off. A cow has one calf a year. That calf takes time to mature. If you’re building your herd, you keep the female calves so they can grow up and have calves of their own. Half your calves don’t go to market.When ranchers liquidated in 1973, they sold breeding stock. Fewer calves in 1974. Fewer yearlings in 1975. Fewer finished cattle in 1976.The hole in the pipeline lasted into the late 1970s. Prices stayed volatile. The cattle industry lost trust in government. They didn’t have much to lose.When Carter’s Agriculture Secretary tried cattle programs in 1977, ranchers told Washington to stay out.What Nixon Was Playing ForNixon froze beef prices for one reason: Political theater. He wanted the evening news to show him taking action on inflation. He wanted housewives to see a president who cared about grocery prices. He wanted voters to stop being angry.There was no strategy beyond that. No long-term economic plan. No foreign policy objective. No national security consideration.Just make the political problem go away before the next election.It didn’t work. Not even politically. The shortages were worse than the high prices. The reversal looked weak. The long-term damage was real.The LessonMarkets work, or they don’t. Agriculture markets are mature and connected.You can’t freeze one price without creating chaos everywhere else. You can’t solve a supply problem by controlling prices. You can’t make political time match cattle cycle time.Nixon sacrificed the cattle industry for short-term politics. He ended up with empty meat cases, angry ranchers, and a disrupted market that took years to fix.Fast Forward to 2025President Trump is proposing to use beef imports to lower prices. American ranchers are furious. Economists say it won’t work. People are calling it Nixon all over again.But there’s a difference.Nixon had no strategic objective beyond the next news cycle. What if Trump does? What if this isn’t about beef prices at all? What if it’s about China?Argentina just sold seven million tons of soybeans to China instead of us. China buys three-quarters of Argentine beef. We just gave Argentina twenty billion dollars. Their president is our ideological ally.What if the beef import offer is really about pulling Argentina out of China’s orbit? What if we’re trying to become their agricultural market so they don’t need Beijing? What if this is an attempt at strategic positioning disguised as price policy?Then it’s different than Nixon’s play. It’s something else.But American ranchers still get hurt, because cattle profits need to be high to rebuild herds. Consumers don’t see lower prices. And we don’t know if Argentina will pivot to America or just take our money and keep selling to China.Nixon sacrificed the rancher for politics and got nothing.Trump might be sacrificing the rancher for strategy. But what if the strategy doesn’t work? What if Argentina takes the bailout, accepts the beef deal, and keeps selling to Beijing anyway?Then we’ve disrupted our own cattle industry. For nothing. Again.The question stands: Should American cattle ranchers sacrifice for China?And the tougher question beneath it: What if they sacrifice and we still lose?Act 2. US Beef MarketsUS beef prices are at record highs. Steak prices are up 17% year-over-year. Ground beef up 13%. Beef roasts up 14%. USDA projects beef and veal prices will rise 12% in 2025, compared to less t

A successful elk season has come and gone. Elk season isn’t just about the harvest, or packing heavy loads out of the mountains, though those activities are often involved.Elk season is communion. With the mountain, and with each other. It’s a time of remembrance. Checking on kids and wives. Eating and drinking together. You might hunt with someone you see often, or someone you haven’t seen in ten years.Nearly every hunter in the camps I frequent is a veteran. We tell old war stories, curse aging, lament losses. We help each other hunt. We carry heavy loads on our backs for each other. We share food, water, motivation.This year, like most years, military service comes up. Every member is proud to have served. Proud of the combat capability we generated for America.But we also talk about what’s changing. Fewer kids can pass a military physical. Fewer towns send their sons and daughters to serve. The gap between those who defend America and those who benefit from it keeps widening.So this week we’re sharing three stories we talked about in camp this year. Stories about opportunity, about standards, about the investment required to maintain both. No old personal war stories though. To hear those, you have to come to camp. The Story of Audie MurphyJune 1925. Hunt County, Texas. Audie Leon Murphy is born in a sharecropper’s shack outside Kingston. And when I say shack, I mean it had a dirt floor. No electricity. No running water. His father, Pat Murphy, was a sharecropper who worked other men’s land for a cut of the cotton crop. His mother, Josie, bore twelve children. Nine survived infancy.The Depression hits Texas like a hammer. Pat Murphy starts disappearing, for days at first, then weeks. He’s drinking, chasing work that doesn’t exist, abandoning his family in slow motion. Audie is the sixth child, small for his age, but he becomes the provider. At age twelve, he’s dropping out of school to pick cotton. A dollar a day if he’s fast. He hunts rabbits and squirrels with a borrowed rifle to keep his siblings fed. He becomes an excellent shot because he has to be. Every missed shot is a missed meal.Audie is sixteen. His mother dies of complications from malnutrition, exhaustion, and poverty. The family disintegrates. The younger children are farmed out to relatives and an orphanage. Audie and his older brother pick cotton and sleep in barns to survive. Pat Murphy is long gone, fully vanished now. Audie weighs maybe 110 pounds. He looks barely fourteen.December 7, 1941. Audie Murphy decides to enlist. He’s seventeen, has a fifth-grade education, and weighs 112 pounds soaking wet. He tries the Marines first. The recruiter takes one look at this skinny kid with hollow cheeks and laughs him out of the office. “Come back when you’ve grown some, son.”He tries the paratroopers. Rejected. Too small.He tries the Navy. Rejected.His sister helps him falsify his birth certificate to prove he’s eighteen. He tries the Army. June 1942. The recruiter is skeptical, but the Army needs bodies. They take him. Private Audie Murphy. 112 pounds. Five-foot-five. Baby-faced. Assigned to the 15th Infantry Regiment, 3rd Infantry Division.They ship him to North Africa in 1943. Then Sicily. Then Italy. The kid can shoot! Everyone notices immediately. He’s calm under fire in a way that unnerves the older soldiers. No hesitation. At Anzio, he kills two Italian officers attempting to escape, drops them both at distance with a carbine. His platoon sergeant gets wounded. Murphy takes over, leads the men through German positions, takes prisoners. He’s nineteen years old.Southern France, 1944. The 3rd Division lands at Saint-Tropez, pushes north. Murphy’s collecting medals now. Bronze Star, then another. Silver Star. His superiors keep promoting him. Corporal. Sergeant. Staff Sergeant. He’s still barely old enough to vote. His friends keep dying. He keeps replacing them, learning their names, watching them die, replacing them again.One night in the Vosges Mountains, Murphy’s best friend, a man named Lattie Tipton, gets killed by German machine gun fire, cut nearly in half. The Germans had been waving a phony white flag of surrender. His death hardens Murphy. By late 1944, Murphy has a Distinguished Service Cross and battlefield commission to Second Lieutenant. The sharecropper’s son from the dirt-floor shack is now an officer. He’s twenty years old and has personally killed approximately 240 enemy soldiers, though he doesn’t brag about it, doesn’t talk about it much at all.January 26, 1945. The Colmar Pocket, Alsace, France. Temperature near zero. Murphy’s company of 128 men gets orders to hold a position near the town of Holtzwihr against a German counterattack. Six Panzer tanks. Over 250 infantry. Murphy has about 40 effective soldiers left; the rest are wounded or dead.The Germans attack. Murphy orders his men to fall back to the woods. He stays forward with his artillery observer to direct fire. A German tank shell hits an American M10 tank destroyer near Murphy’s position. It catches fire, ammunition cooking off. The artillery observer is wounded and runs. Murphy is alone.He climbs onto the burning M10.Understand that the tank destroyer is on fire. Fuel tanks could explode any second. The Germans can see him, one man, silhouetted against burning metal. He grabs the M2 Browning .50 caliber machine gun mounted on the turret. It’s loaded.For the next hour, Audie Murphy stands on a burning tank destroyer and kills Germans.He’s wounded in the leg but ignores it. The radio headset lets him call fire missions to his artillery battery while he’s shooting. German infantry gets within ten yards. He kills them. The Panzers fire at him and miss. He swivels the .50 cal, rakes their supporting infantry, calls in artillery to adjust fire onto the tanks. Rounds are snapping past his head. The tank destroyer is still burning under his feet.Finally, his ammunition gone, Germans retreating, Murphy climbs down. He walks back to his men. Refuses medical attention until he’s reorganized the defensive line. The citation for his Medal of Honor says he killed or wounded approximately 50 German soldiers during that hour. Some historians think it was more.The war ends three months later.Audie Murphy, now Lieutenant Murphy, became the most decorated combat soldier of World War II. Twenty years old, three Purple Hearts, and the Medal of Honor.The Army sends him on a publicity tour. Life Magazine does a spread. In Hollywood, he meets James Cagney, who suggests Murphy try acting. He’s got the face for it, still baby-faced, unthreatening. Universal Pictures offers a contract.Murphy uses his GI Bill benefits to take acting lessons. He’s awkward at first, uncomfortable with the attention. But he works. Makes his first film in 1948. Over the next two decades, he appears in forty-four films, mostly westerns. In 1955, he plays himself in “To Hell and Back,” adapted from his memoir. It becomes Universal’s highest-grossing film until “Jaws” twenty years later.The military gave Audie Murphy what poverty never could. Training, discipline, purpose, opportunity. He buys a house in California. Invests in oil wells and breeding horses. Brings his siblings out of Texas, sets them up, breaks the generational cycle. The sharecropper’s children become middle-class Americans.But Murphy never pretends military service is easy or cost-free.He has nightmares. Sleeps with a loaded pistol under his pillow. His first marriage collapses; his wife says he wakes up screaming and unreachable. He struggles with what we now call PTSD, what they called “battle fatigue” or “shell shock” then. The VA doesn’t know how to treat it. Most veterans don’t talk about it.Murphy talks about it.He testifies before Congress. Uses his celebrity to advocate for veterans with psychological wounds. Pushes for better VA funding, better mental health care, better recognition that war doesn’t end when the shooting stops. He’s open about his own struggles in ways that are radical for the 1950s and ‘60s. A Medal of Honor recipient admitting he’s damaged, that he needs help.May 28, 1971. Murphy is flying from Atlanta to Virginia in a private plane. Bad weather. The plane crashes into Brush Mountain near Roanoke, Virginia. Audie Murphy dies on impact. He’s forty-six years old.They bury him at Arlington National Cemetery with full military honors. His grave: Section 46, Grave 366-11, becomes the second most-visited site at Arlington after President John F. Kennedy’s. People still leave medals, coins, flowers. They leave notes thanking him.From a dirt-floor shack in Hunt County to Arlington. From a dollar a day picking cotton to Captain. From fifth-grade dropout to college courses on the GI Bill. From generational poverty to homeowner, breadwinner, advocate.The military didn’t just give Audie Murphy a paycheck. It gave him a ladder. And he climbed it all the way to the top.Murphy’s story isn’t unique in American history. The military has always been the most reliable ladder out of poverty America offers. Training. Discipline. Purpose. Healthcare. Education benefits. A path to homeownership. A chance to break the cycle.Nearly every veteran has some version of Murphy’s story. Maybe not Medal of Honor level, but the same trajectory: grew up poor, served, came out qualified for something better. The GI Bill. VA home loan. Skills that translate to civilian work. A network of people who’ve supported you along the way.The men around the fire this year talked about this openly. The financial benefits. The medical coverage their families needed. The education they couldn’t have afforded otherwise. The home they were able to buy. None of them are ashamed of it. They earned it. They carried loads, literal and metaphorical, that many Americans will never carry.But there’s a disconnect. We know this ladder works. We are living proof that it works. But back home, many of us see generational poverty, families stuck on social programs for decades,

The Chicken TaxScene. It’s 1962. American farmers have cracked the code.We can raise chickens cheap. Like, really cheap. Industrial-scale factory farms, efficient as hell. We start shipping frozen chickens to Europe by the boatload. German housewives love it. French families love it. Half the price of local chicken. Maybe even tastier!European chicken farmers do not love it. They’re getting destroyed. So, France and West Germany do what countries do when their people scream loud enough. They slap tariffs on American chicken. Problem solved. Lyndon B. Johnson is President. He’s not amused. You slap our chickens? We slap back!In 1963, LBJ announced retaliatory tariffs. 25 percent on potato starch, dextrin, brandy. And … 25 percent on light trucks?The first three make sense. Targeted. Tit for tat. But light trucks? That was aimed at one company: Volkswagen. Their vans and little pickups were selling like crazy in the States. Detroit hated it. Johnson just gave them what they wanted: A 25 percent wall against the competition.Here’s the thing about the Chicken War. It ended fast. Europe backed down on chicken tariffs. Trade negotiations happened. The fight over poultry faded into the history books.But the truck tariff? That one never came down. Sixty-two years later, it’s still the law of the land.First, let’s clear something up. A tariff isn’t some clever penalty on foreign companies. It’s a tax on us. American importers pay it. Then they pass it along to businesses. Then businesses pass it along to you. At the dealership. At the grocery store. That’s what tariffs are. A tax on Americans buying foreign goods.That 25 percent wall around light trucks was supposed to be temporary leverage, but it stuck. It became a hidden tax we’ve been paying for six decades.And with foreign competition locked out, American trucks transformed. They got bigger. Heavier. More luxurious. Way more expensive. The Ford F-150 became the profit machine that drives Detroit. Not because it had to compete on price, but because it didn’t. Roll back the tape for context. An early 1980s F-150 had a base MSRP under six thousand dollars, roughly nineteen to twenty-four thousand in today’s money, depending on the exact model year and adjustment method. Even after inflation, trucks have leapt to a very different price tier. Now, seventy grand for a well-equipped pickup.Why would Ford lower prices when the moat was there? Why would GM? They wouldn’t. That’s not how business works.What started as a spat over frozen chicken became the permanent business model for America’s most popular vehicle.Harvard PhD Economist Milton Friedman would have loved the Chicken Tax story. The social responsibility of a business isn’t charity. It isn’t fairness. It isn’t “doing good.” It’s one thing: increase profits. That’s it. Maximize shareholder value. The sacred duty of a business is to make money.From that view, what Ford and GM did wasn’t shady. It wasn’t corruption. It was textbook. If consumers will pay $70,000 for a truck that costs half that to build, your duty is to keep charging $70,000. Dropping the price voluntarily isn’t noble. It’s malpractice. You’re throwing away profit that shareholders hired you to capture. It might even be wrong for a business to reduce prices. Voluntarily reducing prices reduces profits. And their duty is to maximize profits. Now, you can overturn a tariff in court. You can roll back a policy. You can refund the tax.But you can’t un-ring the bell. You can’t un-teach the consumer what they’re willing to pay. You can’t force a company to charge less when charging more is their duty.The Supreme Court might rule the tariffs unconstitutional. They probably should. The president doesn’t have the authority to enact sweeping tariffs. It’s about whether one man can impose the largest tax hike on the American people since 1993 without Congress. But even if the Court strikes them down, even if importers get refunds, your grocery bill isn’t going back to 2024 prices. Your furniture costs aren’t dropping. The new floor is set.That’s the lesson from the Chicken Tax. Tariffs might be temporary. But once prices go up, they don’t come down. The damage is permanent. It begs the question: What’s the purpose of these taxes?Why Congress, and Not KingsWhy do we tax ourselves at all?For most of human history, we didn’t. Early humans lived in bands of fifty, maybe a hundred. Small enough that everyone knew everyone. Cooperation was personal. You helped me hunt, I shared the meat. You watched my kids, I watched yours. No roads. No armies. No infrastructure. No need for taxes, because everything was face-to-face.Then came agriculture. Cities. Suddenly, humans lived with thousands of strangers. Tens of thousands. Millions. Our brains didn’t evolve for that. We evolved to cooperate with people we know. People we see. People in our tribe.How do you get a million strangers to cooperate? To build roads none of us would build alone? To fund armies that protect people we will never meet? To create systems like courts, schools, and infrastructure that benefit everyone but cost everyone? We told stories. Stories big enough that strangers could believe them together. Nations. Laws. Religions. The story of money we all believe is that a one-hundred-dollar bill is worth more than the cotton paper it’s printed on, that invisible numbers on a piece of plastic are worth anything at all. Taxation is one of those stories. The story says we’re not just strangers, we’re a people. Americans. Because we’re a people, we pool resources. We choose to tax ourselves, to build what none of us could build alone. Interstates, the power grid, the military, the internet.And tariffs? They’re not some foreign penalty. They’re taxes on us. American importers pay them. Then businesses pass them down. And right now, Americans are paying hundreds of billions through these tariffs. By the time the Supreme Court rules, the total bill could top a trillion dollars.When one person can tax us without consent, we no longer believe the story. We’re not citizens anymore. We’re subjects.The American Founders knew this. They’d lived it. James Madison, the architect of the Constitution, said, “Give all power to the many, they will oppress the few. Give all power to the few, they will oppress the many.”The British Crown taxed the colonies. The colonies had no representatives in Parliament. No voice. No vote. Just the bill. Taxation without representation.So when the Founders wrote the Constitution, they made a choice. A radical choice for 1787. They gave the taxing power to the American people’s representatives: Congress. Not the President. Article I, Section 8 declares Congress has the power “to lay and collect Taxes, Duties, Imposts and Excises.”That’s the philosophy of taxation in a republic. We don’t tax because a king demands it. We tax because we agree, through representation, to build something together.The Founders believed in something higher than the Crown. They believed in natural law. Rights granted by God, not kings. Life. Liberty. Property.Benjamin Franklin proposed a motto for the Great Seal of the United States: “Rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God.”That wasn’t a flourish. It was philosophy. If rights come from God or nature, no human has the authority to strip them away. So when a king taxes without consent, it isn’t just unfair, it’s illegitimate. Resisting isn’t rebellion. It’s duty.So, our choice. Citizen or subject. Representation or tyranny. Republic or monarchy.America owes allegiance to no king.Rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God.But the Matter Isn’t Settled…Of course, Congress has delegated some authority to the President over trade. In 1977, they passed the International Emergency Economic Powers Act for times of genuine crises. Freeze terrorist assets. Sanction rogue nations. That kind of thing.But hundreds of billions in new taxes on American importers, passed straight to American families because of trade deficits? Is that a threat to national security?The courts didn’t buy it. Not one. The Court of International Trade ruled the move illegal. Another federal court agreed. Then the Court of Appeals, three judges, unanimous, said the same thing. All concluded the law was written for emergencies, not long-standing trade policy. Letting the President tax unilaterally would rewrite the Constitution.Congress gave itself authority to tax in Article I, Section 8 of the Constitution for a reason. If Congress wanted to give the President authority to impose hundreds of billions in new taxes, they have to say so explicitly. The Emergency Powers Act doesn’t do that. It authorizes responses to specific emergencies. Not permanent, sweeping taxation of the entire economy. Letting presidents declare trade deficits “emergencies” and impose massive tariffs would essentially rewrite the Constitution. It would transfer the taxing power from Congress to the executive branch. We don’t amend the Constitution through executive order and creative reading of a 1977 statute.So the tariffs are illegal. Case closed, right?Hold your horses, cowboy!The administration appealed. The appeals court paused its own ruling. Meaning the tariffs remain in effect while the case goes up to the Supreme Court. The government keeps collecting the tax. You keep paying it. Even though three separate courts have ruled it’s unconstitutional.The Supreme Court agreed to hear the case. Oral arguments are scheduled for November 5, 2025. We’ll have a decision probably by year’s end. Maybe early 2026.In the meantime, the government keeps collecting. Importers keep paying. And we keep paying. By the time the Court rules, the total tab could top a trillion dollars.If the Court strikes them down, the companies that paid the tariffs will get refunds. Ford. Walmart. Target. Amazon. Every business that imported goods and paid the tax. They’ll get their money back. But the consumer? We already paid. And even if the Supreme Cou

The Six-Hour Bomb: When Alexander Hamilton Almost Killed the ConstitutionJune 18, 1787. Philadelphia. The temperature in the Pennsylvania State House had already hit 85 degrees. Fifty-five men in wool coats and powdered wigs sat trapped in a room with the windows nailed shut and doors guarded for secrecy. The delegates chose privacy over performance so they could speak freely. They had been arguing openly for three weeks about how to build a government. Nothing was working.Alexander Hamilton finally stood. Brilliant, abrasive, born a b*****d in the Caribbean. He’d watched the Continental Congress dither while soldiers froze at Valley Forge. He’d seen New York burn while thirteen states bickered over tax policy.He had been quiet, boxed in by his own New York colleagues. Then he said the hard part out loud. “I have well considered the subject,” he began, “and am convinced that no amendment of the confederation can answer the purpose of a good government, so long as state sovereignties do in any shape exist.”In short, there could be no fix to the Articles of Confederation, the governing document that existed before the Constitution. Maybe it was the heat. Or frustration from the gridlock. But Hamilton was done with democracy’s inefficiency. State sovereignty would always gridlock national purpose. He rejected the proposals on the table from Virginia and New Jersey and aimed higher.He spoke for six hours. All day. The room heard a full design for a national government.What Hamilton wanted: A president elected for life. Absolute veto over all state laws. Power to appoint every governor of every state. Senators serving for life. A government that Madison judged to be suspiciously like the monarchy we had just defeated in a prolonged war.Madison noted, “Give all power to the many, they will oppress the few. Give all power to the few, they will oppress the many.” In the end, America would owe allegiance to no king.Hamilton’s model pushed far past what most men in the room would accept. Delegates from Connecticut started whispering to each other. The Virginians exchanged glances. By hour three, some walked out. By hour five, even his allies from New York looked uncomfortable. Benjamin Franklin, 81 years old and sitting near the back, closed his eyes, unclear whether from boredom or horror.No one took it up for a vote. The plan was never seriously considered. His audacity branded him a monarchist to some. The day after, the Convention went back to the real fight over representation. But something had shifted. The center of gravity slid toward Madison’s national vision because Hamilton had stretched the frame.What happened next tells you how the room felt. Hamilton left Philadelphia on June 29. He drifted in and out. He returned briefly in mid-August and early September. Fleeting presence meant little influence.In the end, Hamilton signed anyway. He was the only New Yorker who did. On signing day, he told the other delegates: sign it, even if it’s not perfect. The country needs this.Then he went home and did something remarkable.New York wouldn’t ratify the Constitution. The state legislature hated it. Too much federal power, they said. Too much risk of tyranny. So Hamilton spent seven months writing essays in New York newspapers under the pen name “Publius.” He wrote fifty-one of them. Madison and John Jay wrote the rest.These became The Federalist Papers. The most important commentary on the Constitution ever written.Hamilton’s task was to convince New Yorkers that a strong executive wasn’t a king. That energy in government didn’t mean tyranny. That the Constitution he’d argued against in private was actually the best hope for the republic.He lost the room in Philadelphia. But he won the argument in the newspapers. New York ratified. Barely. By three votes.Hamilton defended a Constitution that rejected his vision because he understood something crucial: a flawed republic beats no republic at all.Read Madison’s notes closely, and you see he understood the logic of the six-hour speech, even though he disagreed. Hamilton believed human passion would wreck any loose confederacy. He feared both gridlocked democracy and entrenched kings. His cure was durability: long terms, firm vetoes, national supremacy over state mischief. He said the British constitution best united strength with security. Now, the decisive matter. America’s founders did not fear a British king. They feared an American one. They feared what would happen when blind ambition gathered enough levers to bend the entire machine. They wrote a Constitution that mixes energy with friction so no single person or group could run away with the Republic. The secrecy and sealed windows were tools to make that compromise possible, not symbols of elitism.Hamilton lost the day, but not the argument. His extreme plan made the moderate path possible. But ideas never really die. His left a permanent temptation on the table: trade our Republic’s checks and balances for speed, trade gridlock for efficiency, trade debate for decisiveness. The room said ‘no’ in 1787. That decision created the Republic of the United States of America.Hamilton lost, but his argument never died. It waits for every moment when efficiency and allegiance sound better than divided power. That moment is now.The Shutdown’s Shadow. When the President’s Memo Becomes a WeaponOctober 1, 2025. Midnight. The lights went out across Washington. The federal government shut down for the first time in six years. Congress couldn’t pass a budget, and now 2.1 million civilian employees brace for days without pay. National parks lock their gates. Passport offices close. Air traffic controllers work without paychecks. Food stamp checks bounce in rural counties.This is the machinery of America, seized. Gridlock isn’t the problem. We have no king. But this shutdown isn’t like others. Back in Washington, Russell Vought, Project 2025 author and now head of the Office of Management and Budget, directed federal agencies to prepare “reduction in force” notices. To fire employees whose programs don’t match “the President’s priorities.”Not illegal programs. Not wasteful ones. Programs the president doesn’t like.It begs the question: Does the power of the purse still reside in Congress, or has it quietly migrated to the White House?Hamilton wanted the president to veto laws. The room in 1787 said no. This week, we’re watching what happens when Congress gives up.The shutdown impacts real people, but the crux of the matter is not the impacted programs. It’s not whether the EPA should exist or the CDC deserves its budget. It’s not even whether these firings save money or waste it.The crux is Hamilton and Madison.Hamilton wanted a king, or close enough. A president who could veto laws or Congressional policies they found distasteful. Not just unconstitutional laws. Not just illegal spending. Policies the executive simply disagreed with.Madison said no. He built a system where Congressional power over spending was sacred. Where the president couldn’t just refuse to execute laws because he thought they were bad policy. Where gridlock wasn’t a bug. It was the entire point.The question in 1787: What happens when the legislature passes something the executive hates? Does the executive get to ignore it? Does one person’s judgment override the people’s representatives?The Convention answered: No. The president executes the laws. Congress controls the purse. If you don’t like what Congress funds, you veto the bill before it becomes law. Once it’s law, you follow it.But what we’re watching now is Hamilton’s vision, 238 years late. A shutdown that becomes a veto. An executive using Congressional paralysis as permission to act. Not just managing the crisis. Reshaping government during it.This isn’t about President Trump. It’s about whether America still believes what Madison wrote in 1787: that ambition must check ambition. That we must divide power to limit power. That even good policy imposed by one person is tyranny.Hamilton lost that argument. But his idea never died. It keeps popping up, waiting for the right moment.Nixon’s Impoundment Crisis: When a President Tried to Be His Own CongressRichard Nixon looked at the federal budget in 1972 and saw waste. Not illegal spending, just programs he thought were stupid. He blamed the Democratic-led party for excess spending. Water treatment plants in Democratic districts. Rural development funds. Clean water grants.Congress had passed these appropriations. Nixon had even signed some of the bills. But he decided: I’m just not going to spend this money.He called it “impoundment.” What it meant: The president can refuse to spend money Congress allocated if he thinks it’s a bad idea.By 1973, Nixon had impounded over eighteen billion dollars, about twenty percent of controllable federal spending. Clean Water Act funds. Highway construction. Housing assistance. Food stamps.When Congress asked why, his answer was simple: These programs are wasteful. I’m protecting the economy.Nixon’s position was that the president has inherent constitutional authority to refuse to spend money he deems unnecessary, regardless of what Congress wants.Congress sued. The Supreme Court unanimously ruled against Nixon in Train v. City of New York. The law said money “shall be allotted,” not “may be” or “at the president’s discretion.” Shall meant shall.The courts said clearly: The president cannot refuse to spend appropriated funds based on policy disagreement.Congress passed the Impoundment Control Act of 1974. The law was simple: The president cannot permanently cancel spending that Congress appropriated. To rescind funds, the president had to ask Congress. Both chambers must approve within forty-five days. If they didn’t, the money must be spent.The president can temporarily delay spending, but must notify Congress. Congress can force immediate release anytime.The law was bipartisan. Senate Republicans joined Democrats. Be

October 17, 1933. New York HarborAlbert Einstein stepped off a passenger ship at the Port of New York, carrying two suitcases and a violin case. He and his wife, Elsa, had fled Nazi Germany. His books were being burned. There was a bounty on his head: one million dollars. He had to flee. The Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, New Jersey, offered him refuge. American universities, including Harvard, Princeton, and Yale, kept Jewish faculty to a minimum under quotas that lingered into the late 1940s. In 1933, Germany barred universities from employing Jewish instructors. But Einstein’s unparalleled scientific reputation made him an exception. By 1940, he became a US citizen. A hunted mind found safety and gave its work to the country that offered it. His was the story of America’s ability to attract extraordinary talent in times of global crisis, benefiting both the individual and the country.Then, a great war… (artillery shells in the distance)Twelve years later, in September 1945, Wernher von Braun arrived at Fort Strong, Boston Harbor, under very different circumstances. He was a prisoner under military control, not a welcome guest.Von Braun had been a key figure in Germany’s rocket program. He surrendered to the US Army in the Alps and denied Nazi allegiance. Through Operation Paperclip, the Army shifted his custody into contract work. In total, we brought over more than sixteen hundred German scientists in similar fashion. America faced a critical shortage of expertise in rocketry, and the Germans were good at rockets. Operation Paperclip prioritized strategic advantage in a rapidly escalating Cold War. We acquired technical skills to compete with the Soviet Union. Yes, Von Braun’s past and role in Germany’s rocket program were controversial. But his expertise helped lay the foundation for America’s space program, including the Apollo missions. Von Braun would lead teams that researched space programs and weapons technology. He later became the director of NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center in Huntsville, Alabama. Our stories highlight two faces of America’s approach to global talent. Einstein’s arrival was a humanitarian and intellectual triumph. We welcomed a persecuted genius. He enriched our scientific landscape.Operation Paperclip, by contrast, was a shortcut. We imported expertise rather than developing it. We chose to prioritize providing for the national defence over the longer work of creating homegrown American rocket scientists.It would not be the last time we brought in talent rather than build it here at home.November 29, 1990. The White HouseIt was the day after Thanksgiving. President George HW Bush was about to sign what seemed like routine paperwork. The Immigration Act of 1990 sailed through Congress with bipartisan support. Democrats held strong majorities in both the House and Senate, but Republicans voted for it too. Senator Ted Kennedy shepherded it. Bush praised it as expanding basic entry rights beyond numbers.Buried in technical language was a new tool. An H-1B visa for temporary workers in specialty occupations. A cap of 65,000. It felt generous for the handful of firms that might need niche skills. The press barely noticed the H-1B provision. Nobody understood we had just created a constitutional time bomb. By 1998, the dot-com boom raged. Tech companies begged for more skilled workers in STEM fields. For the first time, we reached the 65,000 visa cap. Instead of asking why American universities weren’t producing the workers American companies desperately needed, Congress simply raised the cap.Then, we raised the cap again to 115,000. Today, the nominal cap is 65,000 plus 20,000 for US advanced degrees, with exemptions and extensions that let total approvals exceed the cap. It’s the same pattern each time: Companies complain about shortages, and Congress increases the supply of foreign workers. Nobody asked the hard question: Why can’t we train Americans to do these jobs?Thirty-five years later, that same temporary program turned constitutional failure just got a $100,000 price tag. But the underlying problem, the broken infrastructure we need to develop human capability, remains untouched.If this is a temporary measure we’ve already had for 35 years, let’s ask some easy questions. What conditions must we achieve to reach readiness? How will we know we achieved those conditions? How long is too long to keep the program? How much preference is too much? If the goal is a tech-ready American workforce, who decides when we should kill the program?What Ted Kennedy and George Bush created in 1990 wasn’t an immigration program. It was an admission of constitutional failure. A Band-Aid slapped over a bleeding cut. Our inability to fulfill two of our founding promises: to promote the general welfare and establish justice.Our constitutional goals often compete. We sometimes ignore one to prioritize another. But not in this case. In this case, we flat-out ignore two of them at the same time.Call infrastructure what it is: the general welfare. If we expand H-1B, we admit we failed to build the system that produces capability. Justice is the fierce guardian of opportunity. We withhold that protection when we keep Americans born in even our poorest areas from the system.We’re still overlooking our constitutional requirements today. September 25, 2025. Capitol HillSenators Chuck Grassley and Dick Durbin, Republican and Democrat, sent identical letters to America’s biggest companies. Amazon. Apple. Microsoft. Google. JPMorgan Chase. The question was simple: Why are you hiring foreign workers while laying off tens of thousands of Americans?The numbers told the story Congress refused to see for thirty-five years. Amazon alone got approval for more than 14,000 new H-1B hires in fiscal 2025, the most of any company, even as it announced layoffs affecting tens of thousands of American jobs. Microsoft, Meta, Google followed the same pattern: hire foreign, fire domestic.The senators wrote to CEO Andy Jassy…“With all of the homegrown American talent relegated to the sidelines, we find it hard to believe that Amazon cannot find qualified American tech workers to fill these positions.”The median H-1B salary hit $120,000 in 2024, nearly double what the average American worker earns. These aren’t low-skill jobs being outsourced. They are exactly the high-paying careers we promise American students they can achieve through education and training.But here’s the constitutional violation hiding in plain sight: We built a system where companies find it easier to import talent than develop it. Amazon can process 14,000 foreign visa applications, but claims it can’t find qualified Americans. We’ve abandoned the infrastructure that should create American capability and the general welfare in favor of global recruitment.But there’s another question we have to ask. Is there justice for small businesses?These big tech companies can absorb the new $100,000 fee and keep hiring foreign workers. Amazon processed 14,000 H-1B applications. What’s another $1.4 billion to them? Microsoft, Google, and Meta can simply pay the tax and move on.But the startup in your town? The small software company trying to compete with Amazon? The local engineering firm bidding against Deloitte? They can’t afford a $100,000 visa fee. Because we haven’t built our necessary tech infrastructure, they get priced out of skilled talent entirely.When we create a two-tiered system where only the biggest corporations can access global talent, we’re rigging the game against small business owners. The fee doesn’t solve America’s skills shortage. It hands Amazon an even bigger competitive advantage.The Constitution promises to establish justice, not auction it off to the highest bidder. We didn’t fix the pipeline. We priced out the people who could.Eighty years of shortcuts have brought us here. But the Constitution offers a different path.In Case We’re not Picking Up on the Pattern…In 1945, we imported German rocket scientists instead of training Americans. In the late 1990s, we imported H-1B tech workers instead of training Americans. In 2025, we raised H-1B fees instead of training Americans. Rather than decisive efforts to fix our deficiency, we bring in skilled immigrant workers from nations that do a better job of achieving our goals than we have.Each time, we chose the shortcut over the constitutional path. Each time, we treated symptoms instead of causes. Each time, we failed to ask the fundamental question: What would it take to make these visas unnecessary?The answer isn’t complicated. It’s just hard. Lucky for us, America is a great nation with tremendous resources. If we’re serious about reducing H-1B dependency, not just making it more expensive, we need to address the infrastructure failure that created the problem. Three specific steps would transform our approach from Band-Aid to cure:First: Measure H-1B applications per capita.Stop tracking how much money we spend on training programs and start measuring whether they work. H-1B applications are a direct measure of American workforce readiness. When applications drop, we’re succeeding. When they rise, we’re failing. Make this the primary metric for evaluating our education and training infrastructure.Second: Require H-1B companies to participate in local training.Any company filing H-1B applications must demonstrate active participation in developing American talent. Partner with community colleges. Host career days. Present real-world challenges to students. No participation, no visa applications. This aligns private profit with public need. Exactly what the Constitution requires.Third: Eliminate student loan interest for low-income students.The government isn’t a for-profit institution. The nation benefits when its citizens improve their capabilities. Charging interest on federal student loans for low-income students creates a barrier to the technical education we need. Genius

On September 10th, a gunman killed Charlie Kirk in Utah. The event reminds us that no one should die over speech, and that we must wrestle with big questions calmly. You don’t have to love him or hate him. At times, his message resonated with many across America. At times, it divided us. If we say we disagree with his points, we should be able to make the case. If we can’t, his spears carry weight.One of his sharpest questions was this: Does the Civil Rights Act of 1964 violate the Constitution?Let’s sit with that for a moment. If your first thought is, “That law ended Jim Crow. How could it be wrong?” you’re not alone. We wrote the law to strike down a national disgrace. To end segregation. To stop the humiliation of being turned away from a lunch counter, of being told you couldn’t buy a home in a certain neighborhood, of being trapped in second-class status.We intended the Civil Rights Act to end those humiliations. To tear down the walls of segregation. To give every American a fair shot.In that moment, justice demanded action.But justice isn’t just a word. It’s a goal that shapes real lives. It’s the chance for a kid who grows up in a leaky trailer or in project housing to work, to save, and to buy a house in a neighborhood where their children have a good school and a fair shot. From a word on a page to life on the ground. According to the Constitution’s chief authors, justice may be the most important of the six national goals that bind our Republic. But justice isn’t a handout program. Justice is the chance to earn your place. It’s not a promise of results. Because the goals in our preamble, meaning union, liberty, welfare, defence, order, and justice, sometimes compete or clash, we must hold them in balance.In the end, our goal isn’t to win an argument. It’s to get better, together, at pursuing the ideals that bind us.So here’s the question: in the balance between Union, Liberty, and Justice, does the Civil Rights Act of 1964 violate the Constitution?Act One. A Plate of SegregationIn the mid-1960s, Maurice Bessinger’s Piggie Park barbecue ran popular drive-ins and a sit-down sandwich shop around Columbia, South Carolina. The chain routinely denied Black customers full and equal service. Those who were served had to take food at kitchen windows and were not allowed to eat on the premises. After Congress approved the Civil Rights Act of 1964, Title II barred restaurants and other public accommodations from excluding people by race. President Lyndon B. Johnson signed it on July 2, 1964, in a nationally televised ceremony attended by lawmakers and civil-rights leaders, among them Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.Had equality arrived?Not everywhere. Piggie Park didn’t change. On July 3, Anne Newman, a mother and minister’s wife, wanted a sandwich. Instead, she got a full plate of rejection. She and her friends went to Piggie Park for lunch. The waitress came out, saw she and her friends were Black, and turned back inside without taking the order. They went back a month later and were again refused service. The moment sparked a fight for justice. Newman, Sharon Neal, and John Mungin filed a class action suit seeking an injunction to stop the discrimination at the restaurants. This wasn’t a casual “we can agree to disagree” dispute. Bessinger stocked his restaurants with booklets defending racial separation. You could pick up this reading with your barbecue. It drew on the Genesis 11 story of the Tower of Babel to argue that God scattered the nations and meant them to remain separate. Integration, he preached, defied divine order. Some pamphlets even claimed biblical warrant for slavery.At first, the courts split. They wrestled with how far the law reached. The district court agreed that there had been discrimination. They also ruled that drive-ins, where most food was takeout, didn’t have to follow the law. The Fourth Circuit disagreed, saying all Piggie Park locations were public accommodations. Newman v. Piggie Park went to the Supreme Court in 1968. The high court sided with Newman and made it plain: religion is no excuse for segregation in a public restaurant. The justices called Piggie Park’s claim “patently frivolous.”Piggie Park wasn’t about handouts or special favors. It was about human dignity. The right to walk into a public restaurant and be served like anyone else. Believe what you want. But if you open your doors to the public, you serve the public.So…did the Civil Rights Act of 1964 violate the Constitution in Columbia, South Carolina? Did the decision rob Maurice Bessinger of his religious liberty? He was still free to believe, worship, preach, and pass out booklets. What he couldn’t do after choosing to run a public restaurant was use those beliefs to keep people out.And he didn’t stop speaking his mind. Before he died, he deeded a tiny patch of ground under the flagpole to the Sons of Confederate Veterans for five dollars so that future owners couldn’t take the Confederate flag down.But the issue isn’t cut and dry. The stories don’t stop in South Carolina.Act Two. A Seat With ConditionsIn the late 1960s, the University of California, Davis School of Medicine faced a stark reality: its classes had almost no Black, Latino, or Native American students. Justice is the opportunity to earn a place, but what does opportunity mean when the doorway to a profession has been locked for decades? UC Davis tried a fix: Out of 100 seats each year, they reserved 16 for “disadvantaged” applicants. UC Davis judged those applications by a separate committee, with different standards, and the underrepresented minority applicants competed only for those 16 seats.Enter Allan Bakke. A Marine Corps veteran and engineer in his early 30s, Bakke had set his sights on medicine. He’d spent years preparing, earning strong grades and MCAT scores. He applied to UC Davis in 1973 and 1974, along with a dozen other medical schools, and he was rejected by all of them. Later, he discovered that some minority applicants admitted through the special program had lower scores. He believed the school had shut him out because he was white. In reality, records later showed that competition was stiff; as many as 67 applicants had higher scores than his. Nonetheless, Bakke sued. He argued that a publicly-funded state school couldn’t deny him a seat and still honor the commitment to prohibit race discrimination in federally funded programs. Regents of the University of California v. Bakke reached the Supreme Court in 1978. The ruling was messy. Quotas, like the 16 reserved seats, were unconstitutional. They could not exclude Bakke based on race. The court ordered him admitted. But the Court, led by Justice Lewis Powell, also said diversity in education is a compelling goal. Race could be one factor in a holistic review, as long as every applicant competes in the same pool, with no guaranteed quotas.So…Did the enforcement of the Civil Rights Act violate the Constitution? Did it violate Bakke’s right to justice?UC Davis had its opinion of justice. It argued that set-aside wasn’t favoritism. It was a correction for a pipeline bent by decades of exclusion. A diverse medical class would better serve California’s diverse communities.If you were Bakke, would you see justice denied? If you were a minority applicant, would you see the set-aside necessary to level a field tilted by history? The Court decided justice meant the opportunity to compete equally, but not a scripted outcome. There could be no reserved seats, no separate tracks. But a school could consider race as one thread in a larger fabric, if every candidate competed equally.Bakke went on to have a successful career as a doctor in Minnesota.But the issue still isn’t settled. Let’s move on to Louisiana.Act Three. From the Classroom to the Shop Floor In 1965, President Johnson signed Executive Order 11246. In it, Johnson outlined that if a business wanted to compete for federal contracts, it had to follow the rules. If you wanted to do business with the federal government, you had to take “affirmative action” to ensure equal opportunity. This meant companies had to create goals and timetables to hire underrepresented groups. The government insisted these were not quotas. They were temporary tools, intended to pry open doors rusted shut for generations.At the time, Kaiser Aluminum in Gramercy, Louisiana, filled skilled jobs almost entirely with white workers, and it intended to change. They made a goal that their workforce would represent the local labor force. The company and the union built a training pipeline and reserved half of the slots for Black workers to correct the imbalance. A white worker named Brian Weber was passed over for promotion in favor of workers with less seniority. He saw a new door being closed in the name of opening another, so he sued. The local court and the United States Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit agreed that Weber was a target of discrimination, but the matter was not settled. Kaiser appealed.In 1979, the Supreme Court decided United Steelworkers v. Weber. Kaiser Aluminum’s plan survived. The high court said a business could give preferential treatment to minority groups, as long as the company intended the effort to be a temporary fix to balance workforce diversity.In 1987, Johnson v. Transportation Agency approved a similar approach for gender. A business could choose to hire a woman in a male-dominated job if she and a man were comparably qualified for a promotion, if the plan was modest and temporary.The tension between the classroom and the shop floor became plain. The high court killed fixed quotas in college. But numbers could steer workplace decisions if businesses called them goals, kept them temporary, and technically kept the door to all applicants open. On the ground, these goals felt like quotas. If a business chose a woman or minority applicant for a job or a promotion, some believed they were a token hire, not the top choice. If eve

Joel Douglas (00:03) My guest today is Shaka Mitchell, a senior fellow for the American Federation for Children, a Nashville-based attorney, a Belmont adjunct teaching constitutional law, and a leader dedicated to transforming education for underserved families. He’s a featured guest on TEDx Nashville and podcasts like The Learning Curve and Charterfolk. The charter schools Shaka has worked with drive real growth for Nashville’s underserved kids, often doubling district test scores in math and reading. While high-poverty public schools rank in Tennessee’s bottom 30%, Shaka’s schools rank in the top 20% to 25% serving the same communities. Shaka, thanks for being here. Your work with high-performing charters raises big questions about how we fund and deliver education. So, I feel like we have to ask a basic question to get started.Shaka Mitchell (00:49) Hey, thanks for having me.Joel Douglas (01:02) Should we fund education at all?Shaka Mitchell (01:05) Yeah, good question. Well, thanks for having me, Joel, and you’re starting out with a big swing right out of the gate. Should we fund education? I would say yes. I would say yes.And I want to also give the early disclaimer that I am not a big-government guy. I tend to be pretty skeptical of government. I used to work at one point at a constitutional law firm that came from a libertarian perspective. I really believe in individual liberty, individual rights, and also just an individual’s work ethic. So I am not a big-government guy. That being said, when we’re talking about education, it’s something that I think has a community impact. It’s also something that, from a rule of law perspective, is provided for by every state constitution in the country.Right? So all 50 states have a constitution that says something about education—that education is valued, that it is highly prized, and that the state is going to do something to fund some system of education for the public. Now, whether or not the government has to provide the actual services, I think we can differ about. That’s where I would say no. But in terms of funding, I would say yes because, listen, if we don’t do it, you can’t just fund your own children. I don’t believe that. I think that looking out for one another’s kids in that regard is a societal benefit.Joel Douglas (02:47) And really, that’s why I feel like we have to answer this question first. It’s what you just alluded to: you have to fund your kids and everybody else’s kids. If you look at it from a constitutional perspective, I would think about it as, well, we have six national goals, and if one of those is justice, one is liberty, and one is defense, then education fits into a lot of those buckets.If you think about it from a justice perspective, it kind of gets to an individual—like we need to fund education to help individuals who grew up in a less prosperous or less advantaged background succeed. If you think about it from a defense standpoint, you might think, like the school lunch program was started from a defense requirement standpoint. So if we think about education from a defense standpoint, then that’s kind of a collective; we need to have an infrastructure of training-ready Americans who can go and join the military and serve in defense industries to protect the people of the United States.But it’s both, right? You can’t just do it from a justice standpoint—that’s not the only reason you do it—but you also don’t only do it for the collective benefit. It goes back to exactly what you said about how we have to pay for each other’s kids, too, because some of them might join the military and also because constitutionally, we have a commitment to the justice of those kids that grow up in a less prosperous environment.Shaka Mitchell (04:25) Yeah, I think that’s right. And, you know, education is one of these things that, as opposed to, maybe other, say, commodities—things that we buy from the store. The education that I get for myself, yes, it’s important to me personally and individually, but if I’m better educated, that’s going to benefit the community that I’m a part of. It’s going to benefit the private company that I might work for or the nonprofit. It’s gonna benefit the military if I’m a part of the service, right? It’s gonna benefit my neighbors.So education is not one of these things that’s like going to the grocery store and you buy the kind of breakfast cereal that only you like. You’re the only one in your house that likes it and you say, “Forget about everybody else, I’m eating whatever, Fruity Pebbles. I don’t care if nobody else likes it.” No, education is not that kind of good. It’s the sort of thing that actually has so much benefit.And I mean, you highlight something really important, too, that I took a look at a little bit this summer and might just write about later. And that is that the armed forces right now are going through the lowest recruitment cycle in history, right? Our military is having such a hard time finding academically and physically ready young men and women, and that becomes a defense problem. So that speaks a little bit to this “education as a national defense” and national security issue as well. There’s a lot of overlap there.Joel Douglas (06:06) Absolutely, and I don’t want to take too much time on it, but just from a physical education standpoint, PE. When I was a kid, and I grew up in a small town in northern Missouri, the high school football coach was the PE teacher. He used it as the football training program so that we essentially had an extra hour to do stuff. So, Monday, Wednesday, Friday, we'd lift weights. Tuesday, Thursday, we played some sort of sport, so we were running, chasing each other, doing field hockey, or whatever that was.But my kids today, because I have two teenagers, they don’t do the same kind of stuff in PE. For half of the year, they sit in a health class. And rather than go run for 45 minutes and then have 45 minutes of health class—I don’t want to digress too much—but if they ran for an hour every day, would the military benefit from them being more fit and having a higher pool of candidates who could join after they graduate? Absolutely.Shaka Mitchell (07:14) Yeah. I’m a big believer in physical education and just the benefits of physical activity in general. I really think that it’s something that, frankly, kind of links together with education in this sort of virtuous cycle. Right? I mean, I think for a lot of kids, and even personally, when I feel better physically because I’ve exercised, I think I’m more mentally sharp and focused and ready for the workday. And I think that’s the same for elementary, middle, and high school kids, too.Joel Douglas (07:52) Yeah, that’s right. But I’ll get back on track. You said something about how the government doesn’t necessarily outline how to achieve education. So it says what to do. Well, it doesn’t even say that. It says the goals are justice, liberty, defense, and the other three. So you alluded to there being different ways to achieve those. And I know you work with a lot of those, and that’s the work that you do. So, can you talk about that?Shaka Mitchell (08:24) Yeah, so, you know, a lot of state constitutions—most state constitutions—are really broad, even vague, when they talk about education. They’ll say something like, "The state of [fill in the blank] will provide for an equitable education system." You go, okay, what does that mean exactly? Right? Does that mean we're talking about dollars? Equitable that way? Are we talking about kids who are gonna exit the system with the exact same amount of coursework? It’s so vague nobody really knows. It’s just kind of one of these adjectives that they threw in there, and it sounded good. And then you fast forward just a few years, and you don’t really know what it means.So one of the problems, of course, in any state is that on the one hand, it’s really efficient, or it seems like it’s going to be efficient, to have one system that you have in place for all the kids to participate in. That seems like it would work on paper; it seems efficient. But then what happens is, as soon as you meet more than one child, you realize that they are different, and you realize that the same system isn’t likely to work for a whole range of students. And that’s within one school, let alone a whole district, state, or country, right?I live in Nashville, Tennessee, and we’ve got about a hundred thousand school-aged kids. There’s no way one system with one school board of nine people is going to be able to figure out a system that works for every single child because they have different interests. Even in my own house—and I bet this is the same for you and your kids—same parents, but my kids are interested in different things. One is better at math. One is much more interested in the arts. One is much more interested in reading, nose in a book, right? They’re just interested in different things. They’re going to learn in different ways. And that’s in one family. You multiply that out across the whole city, and you've got to do something different. And so that’s really, I think, why I believe so much in school choice.The idea is that, yes, we’re going to fund education from a central pot. Because again, let’s collect the money that way, easy peasy. But let’s not assume that those nine people on the school board can come up with one system that works for everybody. Let’s let different models work. So if it’s a charter school that’s got a focus on science, technology, engineering, and math (STEM), cool. Do that. In my city, there’s another charter school that’s really focused on students for whom English is not their first language. Okay, great. Let’s do that because that was something that the district was really struggling with. Or maybe it’s a values-based decision that a family wants to make. You really want your kids to go to a faith-based school. Okay, cool. I think that that’s your right t

Should Public Money for Schools Guarantee More Than Learning?This week, the National School Lunch Program, born out of national defense, and the rise of homeschooling vouchers, where freedom meets responsibility.And next week, we’ll dig even deeper with our guest, Shaka Mitchell! But for now … the lights are dimming. Look! There's the curtain!Scene One. Frontier America, 1809 Education, even without public funds, can serve national goals like Union and Liberty.A father and mother have their second child! A boy named Abraham, born in a one-room log cabin in Kentucky. The father, a cold and stern man, had built the structure by hand. Dirt floor. No windows. A fireplace for heat and little else. The boy’s father couldn’t read. His mother knew her letters, but not much more. When she died, the boy was nine years old. He was left in the care of his 11-year-old sister.His father soon arranged a marriage of convenience with a widow who had three children of her own. When she arrived at the farm, she found his two children so filthy that the first thing she did was draw a bath for them.She was a godsend for the boy, loving him like her own children. Neighbors called him lazy because he wasn’t much for farm work, and the boy and his father had heated arguments. But his new mother saw something different. He was hungry. Yes, for food. But also for words.There was no school, so she taught him how to teach himself. She got him books, like the family Bible, but also “Aesop’s Fables,” “Robinson Crusoe,” and “Pilgrim’s Progress.” She taught him “how” to learn, to study, to chase every scrap of knowledge he could find. At night, by firelight, he copied passages onto wooden shingles with charcoal. He had no paper, no ink. He’d rub out the words, write again, and memorize them line by line. Neighbors remembered seeing him walking with a book in one hand, axe in the other, reading between swings.He left home in his young twenties to seek his fortune, but he always came back to see her every year or two. He bought some property for her to live on after his father died. The last time he saw her was in 1861, when he stopped to bid her farewell before leaving for Washington and his inauguration as the 16th President of the United States. She mourned his death in 1865, and she passed in 1869.With Sarah Bush Johnston Lincoln’s backing, the boy who copied Bible verses onto wooden shingles with charcoal grew into the man who wrote the Gettysburg Address, President Abraham Lincoln. Would we say today that Abraham Lincoln was homeschooled? Uneducated? Self-taught? However we label it, no one could argue that his lack of formal schooling limited his potential.Lincoln, self-taught in a Kentucky cabin, became a president who preserved the Union. His education, guided by a caring stepmother, shows how learning builds national strength, even without public funds. But when public money enters the picture, what ensures the child’s welfare?Scene Two. Perris, California; January 2018 — Justice and WelfareBefore dawn, a 17-year-old girl climbed out of a basement window with an old phone and dialed 911. She planned her escape for two years, practicing how to use a phone because she’d never been outside alone. Her voice shook as she tried to explain what the house looked like inside. At one point, she said, “My two little sisters right now are chained up.” Riverside County Sheriff's Deputies walked into darkness and the sour smell of waste. They found 13 siblings, ages 2 to 29. Some were shackled. Most were so thin the deputies thought the older ones were still children. Food was rationed; they only ate once a day. Showers, once a year. Teeth never seen by a dentist. Beatings and strangling as punishment. The district attorney later said the house was “foul-smelling,” and the children showed signs of long starvation and nerve damage. Seven of the captives were adults, but their bodies looked like they had been kept small. One victim, 29 years old, weighed about 82 pounds. On paper, this was a school. The adoptive father had filed a private-school affidavit with the state. He listed himself as principal of “Sandcastle Day School.” In California, that filing exempted children from compulsory public attendance, and there was no routine state inspection of such “schools.” No one looked inside for years.The girl who called 911 gave them an opening. Deputies cut chains. Paramedics carried out brothers and sisters who could barely stand. Prosecutors charged the parents with torture, false imprisonment, willful child cruelty, and abuse of dependent adults. They later added perjury against the father for lying on the school affidavits. In 2019, both parents pleaded guilty. The court sentenced them to 25 years to life in prison as part of the plea agreement. The rescue did not end the harm. Some of the younger children were later placed with foster parents who also abused them, and those foster parents were convicted and sentenced. Five years after the rescue, county officials acknowledged that the state failed to get basic services to the siblings.This case is a sinister mirror of President Lincoln’s homeschool experience. A “homeschool” on paper can become a blessing or a cage in practice. In 2018, a California homeschool hid torture behind a private-school affidavit. Public funds for homeschooling, like those for school lunches, must ensure kids are safe and fed, not starved and chained.The Test of Legitimacy — Welfare and TranquilityNow the scene is set, and we can ask our question. As states expand vouchers and tax credits for homeschooling, what obligations follow?Does accepting the American people’s money for schooling create an obligation beyond academics?Liberty in private is one thing. Liberty with the people’s money is another. Public funds carry obligations of legitimacy. These are the same assurances schools already provide: food, safety, health, and visibility.Religious liberty and government overreach are real concerns. So are child welfare checks, meals, vaccinations, and sports. We need a standard that defends liberty and protects children.We think we care about the freedom to choose how a child learns. We think we care about waste of public funds. We think we care about officials telling our children what they should know.Take a couple of examples. Some parents want physical education to mean kids running for an hour, not sitting for “health.” Others say there is no such thing as an average child, and any system built for the average will fail the real ones in front of us.These are legitimate concerns for individuals. I say again—Individuals. Parents should exercise their liberty in how they educate their children. That right stands whether or not public money is involved. And while critics point to abuse in homeschooling, most homeschoolers are not abusive. Abuse exists everywhere. Public and private schools are not automatically safer.But that is not the decisive concern. The issue is not good parents versus bad parents. It is the obligations that come with public money.The government owns nothing. Every dollar it spends is the people’s money. We pool those dollars to build what no family can build alone: roads, bridges, water systems, and schools. Because there is more to school than classes.That collective pool comes with obligations. Every day, in public or private schools, an adult lays eyes on a child. Every day, a child who needs a meal can get one.So yes, we can support individual choice with the American people’s money. But if we choose to take that money, we also choose an obligation to legitimacy.The test is simple. Education is a public function, bound by federal rights. Parents have broad freedom to educate their children, but when public money follows the child, they are spending the people’s money.No one gives you money with no strings attached. The people may ask for basic assurances: that a child is seen, safe, nourished, and protected from disease.Food as Defense — Provide for the Common DefenceLet’s think about the school lunch program.Almost every presidential administration fights over school lunches. But the political theater hides the real purpose of the program.One of the nation’s six goals is to Provide for the Common Defence. That doesn’t stop at buying tanks or building fighter jets. It also means building the human infrastructure to fly those jets and stand watch. A healthy, fit young America is part of national defense.That’s where food comes in. The men and women who step forward to serve often come from the country’s poorest households. They are America’s finest, but not our wealthiest. For many, school lunch is the one reliable meal of the day in childhood.The modern program itself grew out of war. During World War II, the Army discovered too many young men were unfit for service, with a nontrivial share failing for nutrition-related reasons, about one in nine by some estimates. That was not just a battlefield problem. It was a factory-line problem, too.Congress answered with the National School Lunch Act of 1946. The law says its purpose, “as a measure of national security,” is to “safeguard the health and well-being of the Nation’s children” and to soak up US farm output. President Truman signed it on June 4, 1946. He praised it as “strengthening the Nation through better nutrition for our school children.” Those two concepts, national security and better nutrition, are the program’s DNA. Today, the program serves around 30 million kids on a typical school day. This is infrastructure, not charity. It is a national system that keeps children fed so they can learn now and serve and work later. In short, the American people pool our money to pay for school lunches so those kids can grow up and, in return, protect the Republic.The lunches build “human infrastructure” by ensuring future generations, often from poor households, are physically fit to serve in the military, work in defense industries, or contrib

Act 1: The Insurmountable ChallengeIn 1817, New York voted to dig a ditch. And not just any ditch. A grand canal! Dug by hand, 363 miles long, across forests, swamps, and rock. Most experts scoffed. George Washington had dismissed similar ideas decades earlier. Thomas Jefferson called it “a little short of madness.”At the time, farmers and manufacturers in the West faced a brutal choice. To reach markets, they had to send their goods down the Mississippi River to New Orleans, the country’s greatest seaport. From there, shipments went out through the Gulf, around Florida, up the Atlantic, and finally to cities like New York or Philadelphia. It was slow. It was costly. And it made western settlers dependent on a southern trade route they couldn’t control.The Erie Canal wasn’t dreamed up by powerful men in Albany. The idea came from a flour merchant named Jesse Hawley. He had a strong customer base, but to move his flour to market, he had to ship it by wagon over the Appalachian trails or float it on rivers that ran the wrong way. He went broke, ended up in debtors’ prison, and there picked up a pen. In a series of essays in 1807 and 1808, he sketched a bold plan: a canal from Lake Erie to the Hudson River. He mapped the route, described the locks, and argued the benefits. He didn’t have all the details, but he had vision, and he put it on paper.New York City mayor and later Governor DeWitt Clinton picked up that vision and ran with it. He wasn’t an engineer or a canal man. He was a politician with a sense of scale. Clinton saw what Hawley’s prison essays meant: an inland waterway would break dependence on the Mississippi, open the interior, and turn New York into the nation’s gateway.As Governor, Clinton pushed the legislature to back the canal in 1817. The cost was staggering. Seven million dollars, one state spending roughly a third of the entire federal government’s annual budget. Critics mocked it as “Clinton’s Ditch.” They predicted it would bankrupt New York. Some said it would never be finished.But Clinton pressed forward. He didn’t sell the canal as an engineering marvel. He sold it as a doorway. At the time, moving freight from Buffalo to New York City cost one hundred dollars a ton and took weeks. Clinton promised the canal would cut that to under ten dollars, and in just a few days.The Erie Canal wasn’t just a ditch. It was America’s first true megaproject, built long before steam shovels, bulldozers, or dynamite. It was the biggest engineering challenge of the 19th century.How did they dig it? By hand. Tens of thousands of laborers, mostly Irish immigrants and local farmers hired in the off-season, used picks, shovels, wheelbarrows, and horse-drawn carts. There were no roads. When they hit swamps, they laid down logs to make floating roads so carts wouldn’t sink. When they hit limestone cliffs, they drilled holes by hand, packed them with black powder, and blasted inch by inch.The canal had to climb about 571 feet from the Hudson up to Lake Erie. To solve that, engineers built 83 locks; locks are stone elevators for boats. No one had done this on such a scale in America before. They were inventing the craft as they went.But they finished it in just eight years.When water first flowed in 1825, it wasn’t just an engineering triumph. It was an economic revolution. Shipping costs dropped from $100 a ton to under $10. A journey that took weeks now took days. It made bread cheaper. It put tools in the hands of farmers. It made New York City the nation’s port. It opened the Midwest to settlement. Within a generation, roughly three-fifths of the nation’s trade moved through New York’s harbor, powered by the canal. Today, we face another insurmountable challenge: a housing crisis.Instead of a wilderness of rivers, swamps, and mountains, we face a wilderness of bureaucracy. A maze of zoning codes, permit boards, and fragmented governance. Each with its own tolls and delays. Builders spend months fighting hearings and paperwork before they ever turn a shovel, driving up costs and denying millions the chance to build equity through homeownership.Then, as now, we face skepticism from critics who believe working-class Americans aren’t worthy of bold projects. Washington dismissed it. Jefferson called it madness. The rich, who owned the existing shipping lanes, mocked the project as “Clinton’s Ditch.” Today, skeptics argue that small, affordable homes aren’t profitable or that zoning reforms are too radical. Politicians treat it as impossible.But every bold fix begins as madness.Housing is our canal. It’s not a matter of skill or resources. We have both. It’s a matter of clarity, incentives, and purpose. Just as Clinton used a bold state project to open opportunity, we could use a Small Business Innovation Research program to open the housing market.As of mid-2025, the US median home price sits at around $410,800, while median household income is estimated at $84,000. This makes homes over 4.8 times income, compared to just twice in the 1960s. A record 22 million renter households are cost-burdened, spending over 30% of income on housing, and affordability is at an all-time low. Programs like USDA’s SBIR for rural development and HUD’s $20 million innovation grants (with recent deadlines in July 2025) show the tools exist. We just need to earmark them for starter homes under $150,000, tied to zoning reforms that cut red tape.This isn’t about handouts; it’s about competition driving innovation, much like Hawley’s essays sparked a revolution. Instead of a canal, let’s build a pathway to the American Dream for the working class.Act 2: The Crisis Today – Voices from the Ground(Voice: Young Homebuyer; mid-20s female, fiery with a mix of grit, sarcasm, and unshakable hope. Think a teacher who’s had it but won’t quit. Background: Gritty urban soundscape. Honking cabs, slamming apartment doors, distant subway rumble, fading in and out.)Picture me: 25, a teacher in a mid-sized city, grading papers by day, tutoring by night, slinging coffee on weekends. I’m hustling like my life depends on it...because it does. But the American Dream? It’s slipping through my fingers like sand in a busted hourglass.I’m not asking for a penthouse. I just want a home. A small one! 600, maybe 1,000 square feet. A bedroom, a bathroom, a kitchen where I can burn my first attempt at dinner. But in 2025, that’s a fantasy. I looked it up... the median income is something like 84 grand a year. Median home price? Try 420 thousand. That’s nearly five times what I make. It’s crazy! Back in 1960, homes cost twice the income: twelve thousand on fifty-six hundred. Since then, prices ran past wages and never looked back.And I hear the pushback: “Homeownership rates are fine.” Sure, overall. But at my age, it used to be higher. By thirty, nearly 6 in 10 Americans from the Silent Generation owned a home, 1 in 2 Boomers, just under half of Gen X, and about four in ten Millennials. Today, 25–34-year-olds sit in the high 30s, recently near 36%. The overall rate didn’t crash. The doorway for us did.Builders don’t touch starter homes anymore. Why would they? Land’s a fortune, materials are through the roof, and zoning boards pile on fees like they’re playing Monopoly with my future. So they churn out McMansions, the sprawling status symbols for the rich. Me? I’m left scrounging for scraps, priced out of the game before I even roll the dice.This isn’t just my story. It’s a crisis crushing millions. Over 22 million renter households are drowning, spending more than 30% of their income on rent. Twelve million are barely breathing, forking over half their paycheck. Since 2019, home prices have spiked 60%. If you’re pulling $50 grand a year, good luck! Only one in ten listings is even close to affordable.It’s like rowing upstream in a boat made of tissue paper. You paddle; work overtime, skip vacations, eat instant noodles, but the leaks keep coming. Rent. Student loans. Fees. They drain you dry before you can save a dime for a down payment.So we wait. We put off kids. We put off dreams. Some of us are still crashing in Mom’s basement, not because we’re lazy, but because the system’s rigged. We don’t need marble countertops or three-car garages. We need homes under $150,000! Twice today’s median income, like our grandparents had. Without that, the American Dream isn’t just delayed. It’s sinking, drifting downstream, out of reach for my entire generation.But I’m not giving up. There’s a way to fight back. We need to drain this bureaucratic swamp and build a bridge to ownership. We just need the right tools, the right vision, and a whole lot of grit.Act 3: Innovation – SBIR for Housing(Voice: Policy Expert – Confident male, mid-40s, professor-like with a spark of enthusiasm, like a TED Talk speaker rallying for change. Background: Subtle office sounds: typing, flipping blueprint pages, faint construction hum, fading in and out.)So, how do we pull the American Dream back from the brink? We need homes under $150,000! You've heard the grim math from our teacher in Act 2. That five-times-income ratio is a trap. But it's a trap we can engineer our way out of. It’s our Erie Canal moment, and the tool to dig it is competition.Picture this: builders racing to craft small, affordable homes. 600 to 1,000 square feet, sturdy and smart, not some cookie-cutter McMansion. The spark? A Small Business Innovation Research program, an SBIR for housing. SBIRs are America’s secret sauce, fueling breakthroughs in tech, defense, and agriculture with competitive grants for small businesses. Phase I: dream up designs, like modular units, shipping-container conversions, energy-efficient builds. Phase II: build prototypes that hit $150,000 or less. Phase III: scale the winners with private capital, flooding the market with homes for first-time buyers, not hedge-fund vultures. Really promising defense proposals go direct to Phase II to get started quicker.This isn’t a pipe dream! It’s already hal

Our neighbors say they love their EVs. We take a test drive. They’re quick. They’re quiet. They’re fun!Then the facts elbow in. EVs were sold as being cheaper, but in America, they aren’t. Many lose value fast. Some models shed close to half their value in a year. Sales have flattened. They’ll likely spike before the federal credit expires September 30, then sag after.Some of us want to love EVs, but something isn’t quite right.Is it the range, shorter in winter, the waits at chargers, or that stations aren’t where we need them?Maybe none of those. Maybe the cars are designed to be replaced, not to last.So our question:Is this new tech built for my life, or for the next sale?Curtain. Scene One. The 1,000-Hour Lightbulb.Close your eyes and step onto a city street in the late 1920s. Windows glow like jewels. Streetcars hum. Night is no longer darkness. By 1930, nearly nine in ten urban and nonfarm rural homes had electricity. About one in ten farms did. Light is not a luxury. It is the texture of modern life.Enter stage left.At first, bulbs lasted a long time. Early tungsten lamps often burned well past fifteen hundred hours, many to two thousand and beyond. Families loved that. Companies that had built factories did not. In Germany, Osram’s sales fell from sixty three million bulbs in fiscal year 1922 to 1923 to twenty eight million the next year.On December 23, 1924, the leading manufacturers met in Geneva to form what we now call the Phoebus cartel. Osram, Philips, Compagnie des Lampes, and General Electric’s overseas network joined. Its global reach was unusual for the time. By early 1925, they set a benchmark of a one thousand hour life for household bulbs, down from the fifteen hundred to two thousand hours common before. Shorter than families expected, and exactly what manufacturers needed.This was not sloppy work. It was engineering with a new purpose. Each factory shipped samples to a central laboratory in Switzerland. Technicians tested life spans against the benchmark. A company paid a fine if a bulb lasted too short or too long for its class. Reliability became real, but a different kind of real. It was no longer ‘this bulb will endure.’It was equipment that reliably failed on schedule.Consumers adjusted fast. Every brand converged near one thousand hours. Burnout stopped feeling like a defect and started feeling like life. A 1927 Tokyo Electric memo to the cartel reported a fivefold jump in sales. More failures meant more purchases. The cartel redesigned the market not with a breakthrough that gave people more, but with a standard that made sure they would buy again soon.At the same time, the manufacturers claimed progress. They said shorter life meant brighter light and better efficiency. At a higher cost. The new standard raised turnover and margins and punished any member tempted to make a bulb that lasted too long.Companies got paid for replacements. They were not just selling a lightbulb. They were selling this lightbulb and all your next lightbulbs on a schedule.The world has limits. The cartel did not last. Patents expired. Members fought. World War II shattered coordination. In the United States, courts scrutinized General Electric and its partners for collusive control of the lamp business. In 1949, a federal district court found that General Electric monopolized the incandescent lamp industry in violation of section 2 of the Sherman Act.A tool’s death isn’t a breakdown. It’s the quiet moment it stops serving your life. The market plans what you will buy next. Some call that progress.We, the People, need governance to stop failure by design.When we set standards, we should ask: Is this new tech built for my life, or for the next sale?Humanity, Existence, and TimeWe miss what being is because we forget time.Life is not a thing on a shelf. It moves. Picture a clearing in a green mountain forest. We step in already involved, tools in hand, neighbors around, choices pressing in. Our kind of life is being-there. We show up to a world that already matters.Meaning comes through time. Past, present, and future braid every moment. We carry what has been, deal with what is, and anticipate what could be. A rancher does not just cut hay; they remember last year’s rain, read today’s moisture, and watch the three-day forecast. Time makes the work make sense because time sets the limits.The hard edge of time is death. Not only ours. Tools die too. Death frames our choices. Faced clearly, it does not make life grim; it makes it ours. It calls us to live with purpose.In that clearing, a tool “lives” when it disappears into the work. It “dies” when it fails our project and forces itself into attention. Philosophy calls the first ready-to-hand; the second is an object in the way.A tool is alive for us only while it supports our next possibilities. It may not die in a crash. It dies when it stops supporting our lives. Some would schedule that death and call it progress. That is why we need rules that resist quiet, coordinated failure.In tech, death is not when the device stops working; it is when it stops working for you. So, what does this philosophical lens reveal about our devices today?Curtain. Scene Two. Apple and Failing BatteriesWinter 2017. Your phone feels slower. Not creek-dropped slow, just sticky. Screens load like they are pulling a sled. Benchmarks confirm what our thumbs already know. Older iPhones with worn batteries run below design speed and perk up after a battery swap. A developer posts the charts. The story catches fire.Enter stage right.Earlier that year, Apple pushed a software update that changed how the phone handled power. When a battery aged, or when cold or a low charge cut peak power, the system quietly managed performance to prevent sudden shutoffs. No pop-up. No heads-up. A rule under the hood to smooth over an old battery’s limits. Later, Apple explained the machinery and added a setting so the user could see it and choose to turn it off or replace the battery.One version of the story called this protection. Better a slower phone than a dead one in your pocket. Another said it felt like a schedule, set without consent, that made aging devices feel obsolete. Apple apologized, cut the out-of-warranty battery price from 79 dollars to 29 for 2018, and promised more transparency. They added battery-health readouts and a switch to disable the slowdown.Regulators and courts weighed in. In France, consumer authorities fined Apple 25 million euros for failing to inform users that a software update could reduce performance. In the United States, 34 states reached a 113 million dollar settlement over alleged misrepresentations about batteries and slowdowns (without admitting wrongdoing). A federal class action settled for up to 500 million dollars on related claims (again, without admitting wrongdoing).This is not an attack on Apple. Here is what matters for our piece.A battery is mortal chemistry. In the cold, it cannot deliver the same peak power. With age, it cannot hold the same charge. The software’s job was to stretch usefulness. Keep the tool “alive” for your day by preventing blackouts.But the choice was hidden. People felt like their tools were dying because they no longer supported the day’s work. Only after the controversy did Apple present the controls and the explanation. Starting in 2018, Apple and its customers quietly renegotiated the tool’s life.A tool dies when it stops serving you. We need governance to stop failure by design. When choices are hidden, tools die for us. Is this new tech built for my life, or for the next sale?Curtain. Scene Three. The Electric Vehicle. Combustion vehicles age as a negotiation.Yes, parts wear. But you can rebuild, swap, and refresh. Engines come out. New rings go in. Transmissions get replaced. That is why Americans keep vehicles so long. The average age is nearly thirteen years, and many go far beyond that with routine upkeep. With maintenance, a truck that is twenty years old can still deliver the same range and near original power. The fuel tank did not shrink. Compression and fueling are serviceable systems. Keep the machine fit and it keeps carrying your life.Electric vehicles age as a countdown.EVs run on two clocks. First, the seasonal clock. In real cold, range drops because the cabin needs heat and the chemistry slows. Controlled tests around twenty degrees Fahrenheit found some EVs lost roughly forty percent of their range with the heater on. Reporting from recent cold snaps shows a 10 to 36 percent hit depending on model and use. Preheating and heat pumps help, but they don’t erase the penalty. When spring returns, most of that loss is temporary.Second, the chemical clock. Lithium ion packs fade slowly. Large fleet datasets put average loss near two percent per year, and many packs are usable for twelve to fifteen years in moderate climates. Most makers back this with eight year, 100,000 to 150,000 mile battery warranties that guarantee about seventy percent capacity within the term.Many owners, especially those who live in warm climates, will never hit a hard stop. Average degradation is slow and largely predictable, and mild winter penalties are manageable with preheating and heat pumps.A combustion engine is an open ended project. Repairs may stop penciling out at some point, but the owner has the choice.An EV is a timed performance. One day the battery will no longer support a trip across the state in the cold. You might be able to replace the pack, but depending on model and supply, it can take weeks or months. Unlike the secret cartel of the 1920s, today’s EV countdown isn’t an illegal conspiracy. It’s a design trade-off. But the choices nonetheless steer consumers toward the next sale.Some argue that mandating longevity and a ‘right to repair’ for a nascent technology like EVs would be a catastrophic mistake. It would saddle innovators with the burden of supporting old models, lock in today’s inferior battery chemistry,

Belief vs. Biology: Is a Sustainable Environment a Human Right?This week, the world’s highest court spoke. The United Nations’ top judges issued a sweeping opinion: nations might violate international law if they fail to act on climate change (Associated Press, July 23, 2025, Molly Quell and Mike Corder reported). The International Court of Justice (ICJ) opinion posited that a sustainable environment is a human right. And that nations harmed by climate change might be entitled to reparations. The ruling came in response to a campaign by Vanuatu, a small island nation slowly sinking beneath rising seas. The court’s word carries no binding weight. No country must follow. No law compels it. No court can enforce it. It levies no sanctions, no penalties, and no compliance demands. Though not binding, ICJ opinions shape international norms and give weight to future legal and diplomatic efforts.The ICJ argued that inaction threatening human health, safety, or survival could violate international law. It cements the idea that environmental protection is a human rights issue. Court President Yuji Iwasawa called climate change ‘an existential problem of planetary proportions.’The big idea is simple: if clean air, a livable climate, and ecological stability keep us alive and dignified, then they are human rights.…This ruling feels detached from reality. We need to dig deeper.So this week’s question: Is a sustainable environment a human right?We Have to Start at the Beginning. What is it to be “Human”?Before we decide whether a “sustainable environment” is a human right, we need to ask a deeper question.What is it to be human? A courtroom will tell you a human is a natural person, Homo sapiens, endowed with dignity and moral status. That’s just a shallow definition. Strip it away, and the reality is older and harder.A human isn’t a symbol or a legal category. A human is a biological creature. We arrive slick with blood. We hunt, dig, plant, and tear up what we need to live. We kill both plants and animals to survive. When our crops fail, we raid new ground. When danger comes, we fight or we flee. That instinct carried us through ice ages, famines, and wars. It still drives the hand that guides the harvester combine or closes a factory gate against cheaper imports. Biology never rests.No matter how much philosophy or law we try to layer on top, we can’t escape that fact.But we’re also unlike any other animal. We believe. We invent things no other animal can imagine: laws, borders, rights, money, marriage. Those beliefs let strangers cooperate by the millions. We write constitutions, build courts, and carve order out of chaos. But belief is fragile. When enough people stop believing, currencies collapse, treaties shatter, and thrones fall.These two forces share the same skull. Biology pushes us to survive at any cost. Belief tells us to restrain that push for the greater good. Sometimes they align. Often they clash. The International Court of Justice calls a “sustainable environment” a human right. That is a statement of belief, not a law of nature. It says humans must throttle back the internal engines that feed, warm, and defend us. On paper, the duty sounds noble. But in the flesh, it hits every nerve wired for survival. Humans haven’t been here long in Earth’s timeline. Yet we survived ice ages, famines, and wars by adapting and producing. By overwhelming problems with force. Not by scaling back.If the obligation demands we shrink the engines that power modern life, the conflict isn’t legal. It’s primal. We are watching belief walk into the ring with biology. The court asks us to trade proven tools of survival for a moral blueprint still waiting on bricks and rebar. That trade is not impossible, but it will not be easy, and biology will keep the score.So let’s test this idea against history, starting with the Marshall Plan.The Marshall PlanThe United States launched the Marshall Plan in 1948. After World War II, Europe lay in ruins. Factories were silent, currencies worthless, and cities hollowed out. Communist parties gained ground, and Washington saw the danger. We poured more than $13 billion, over $130 billion in today’s dollars, into Western Europe. The program remains a rare case study of large‑scale aid that actually worked: it restored stability, jump‑started shattered economies, and lowered the risk of renewed violence. But the motive was not ideology alone. The United States also needed solvent trading partners to buy American goods and help anchor a fledgling rules‑based order.Europe needed security; we needed industrial muscle. America cranked up production of steel, food, fuel, and machinery at a pace that could hold the continent together. The emissions were massive, but the overriding question was survival, not cleanliness. We had to build fast enough to keep Europe from falling apart.Look at the Netherlands. German fortifications and Allied bombing leveled whole districts of a city named The Hague and displaced more than 130,000 residents. After the war, America churned out the steel and cement that rebuilt the city, and the smokestacks poured emissions into the sky. Today, The Hague is the home of the same International Court of Justice that ruled a sustainable environment is a human right. Marshall Plan funds of about $1.1 billion, the highest per‑capita aid in Western Europe, paid for coal, cement, and specialized equipment to the Netherlands. We rebuilt ports, factories, and housing stock. Within a decade, the city had gone from “largest building site in Europe” to a functioning capital again.Would we generate more industrial and manufacturing capability to rebuild The Hague today, if necessary? Absolutely, yes. Even though the court that sits there ruled that the resulting emissions might violate international law. The Marshall Plan demonstrated what happens when biology takes precedence over belief.But of course, nothing is black and white. The ICJ opinion looks forward, not back. It doesn’t punish the Marshall Plan or any past policy. Let’s look at another story.The Right to Clean Air: Delhi, India, 2019In 2019, the air in Delhi turned poisonous. Schools shut down. Authorities grounded flights. Visibility dropped to near zero. Emergency rooms filled with children who couldn’t stop coughing. Construction halted. People wore masks long before COVID made it normal. The Indian government called it a public health emergency.This event was the predictable result of crop burning, unchecked industrial pollution, vehicle emissions, and seasonal weather patterns that trapped smog like a lid over the city. It happened every year, and every year, people died.Then, inside India, in one of the most polluted cities on Earth, belief overruled biology in court.Biology said: Adapt or suffer. People were coughing blood. Kids were developing lifelong respiratory damage. Entire populations were living in a toxic cloud, and from a purely biological standpoint, they should have either fled the region or accepted the toll as the cost of living.But they didn’t. Citizens sued.In 2021, the Indian Supreme Court ruled that the right to life included the right to clean air as a binding constitutional right. The court ordered governments to coordinate, enforce pollution controls, and protect public health. For India, this point wasn’t woke ideology. It was survival. No emissions cuts would fix it overnight, and Delhi still struggles with pollution, but the ruling forced governments to act. Environmental collapse became a human dignity violation, not a policy failure.Follow-up data show that the ruling was more than symbolic. Since the court’s directives and India’s National Clean Air Programme kicked in, Delhi’s air is about fifteen percent cleaner today. Still triple the safe limit, yes. But every fraction means fewer asthma attacks, fewer cardiac emergencies, and thousands of school days reclaimed each winter. Belief did not cleanse the air overnight. But it forced measurable gains. It’s proof that a legal idea tied to enforcement and money can bend biology in the right direction.But Now, the Brutal TruthEven if America reduced its emissions today, would climate change stop? No. Even if we cut all emissions to zero tomorrow, the planet wouldn’t stop warming. Not right away. Not for decades.Carbon dioxide stays in the atmosphere for hundreds of years. What we’ve already emitted, along with China, India, Europe, and the rest, is already baked in. That legacy carbon keeps trapping heat, melting ice, and driving storms, no matter what we do now.And we aren’t the only emitter. We are currently responsible for about 13–15% of global emissions, depending on how you count. China emits more than double that. India’s emissions are rising fast. Developing nations, in total, now emit more than developed ones. And we are improving. We’ve cut emissions from electricity production by 35% since 2007.But even if the United States went to zero, the warming would continue. Sea levels would keep rising. Places like Vanuatu would still drown, just more slowly.That’s not an excuse for doing nothing. But we need to be honest.Cutting emissions isn’t a rescue plan. It’s a brake. It slows the damage. It might help future generations, but it doesn’t undo the past. And it doesn’t save the people standing in the water right now.If we’re serious about survival, emissions cuts aren’t enough. We need adaptation. We need infrastructure. And we need to stop pretending courtroom declarations can replace concrete, steel, and hard physical work.We survive by adapting, producing, and overwhelming problems with force, not by scaling back. Countries like Vanuatu need our help, not promises made in cities we rebuilt with industrial might that pumped emissions into the air.What’s It Going to Be?We began with a court opinion and a question of rights. We trekked through biology, belief, wartime industry, and Delhi’s burning air to see how those rights collide with

State Government Funding Is a ParadoxState governments do important work, but too often, they’re boxed in. If we want better roads, stronger schools, and healthier communities, we don’t need to cut federal support. We need to change how it works.Fragmented control kills leadership and accountability. Federal and state officials often share authority with different priorities. That overlap creates seams: delays, miscommunication, and gaps where problems fall through. Even an imperfect decision-maker, if clearly responsible, can move faster than a tangle of agencies working at cross purposes. Clarity beats complexity.Effective leadership means guidance, resourcing, results, and accountability. To orient in the right direction, there’s one mission, one leader, one line of authority. State power hasn’t been lost in a courtroom or an election. It’s been hollowed out by how the money works. Federal grants now pay for most of what states do, including roads, education, agriculture, healthcare, and law enforcement.That might sound like help. But if we look closer, we see that money comes with strings, and those strings are a leash. Voters elect one set of leaders. Then a second, unelected set inside federal agencies writes the rules through grant conditions, deadlines, and compliance forms. The people don’t know who to hold accountable.So this week we ask: What would it take to make state government matter again?After all, We the People was never meant to describe a bureaucracy. It was a declaration of self-government. Government of, by, and for the people. Not federal control, but local judgment. Not compliance. Purpose.The Problem: Compliance Masquerading as GovernanceEvery year, taxpayers send vast sums to Washington. That money returns to the states, but not freely. It comes with instructions: mandates, formulas, eligibility rules, and layers of accounting. States must apply for federal grants, and they don’t always win. In theory, it’s a partnership. In practice, it’s a transaction with terms that limit what states can do.State leaders don’t really govern under this model. They implement. Legislators may pass budgets, but terms are set in federal agencies. Local needs or voter demands don’t shape priorities. Instead, federal guidance, often years in advance, sets the conditions.This isn’t always malicious. The intent is to standardize, promote fairness, and ensure funds are spent wisely. But good intentions don’t guarantee good outcomes. Over time, this system rewards compliance over creativity, and risk avoidance over responsiveness. Innovation dies in the red tape.Federal power expands under the banner of help; state autonomy shrinks under the burden of compliance. What looks like governance is just administration. What looks like support is control.The Slow Death of Local JudgmentState governments must be able to set their own priorities, shaped by the needs of their communities. For a long time, they did. As examples, education, transportation, and agriculture were handled almost entirely at the state level. States had less money, but more authority.Before the 1960s, states ran their own public schools with minimal interference. That changed with the Elementary and Secondary Education Act of 1965, which expanded the federal role. The funding helped rural areas, but it came with strings. Testing mandates and performance targets now shape classroom policy, but national academic outcomes haven’t meaningfully improved, especially in reading and math.Transportation followed the same pattern. After the Federal-Aid Highway Act of 1956, federal funding brought federal design standards, environmental review processes, and route constraints. Local projects came to depend on federal approval. States could no longer freely set priorities.Agriculture shifted, too. Local extension offices once worked directly with farmers to adapt to local conditions. That changed with the rise of USDA-administered programs. Now, farmers make decisions based on eligibility for crop insurance, conservation compliance, and commodity subsidies.One of the clearest effects? Instead of a variety of food crops, the Midwest now grows mostly two: corn and soybeans. Neither is meant for direct human consumption, but they’re the safest bet under federal policy. The heartland used to grow more vegetables; food for people, not for fuel or feed.To sum up: kids don’t run in PE because they’re prepping for federally required benchmarks, but math scores didn’t go up.Most roads got safer, but Wyoming got the Snow Chi Minh Trail. It’s I-80’s scenic southern route, built against local advice, now one of the windiest, snowiest, most shutdown-prone highways in America.And all our food now contains federally subsidized corn sugar. A 2016 study in JAMA Internal Medicine found that Americans whose diets were highest in subsidized calories had significantly higher rates of obesity, high blood sugar, and inflammation.None of this is inherently malicious. Some of it works. Some doesn’t. But the pattern is clear: as federal dollars expand standardization, local authority shrinks.The First Stand for States’ RightsThis tension isn’t new.June and July, 1798. The Fifth Congress of the United States, under President John Adams, passed a series of four laws that became known as the Alien and Sedition Acts. Congress claimed the laws were meant to restrict the activities of foreign residents and silence dangerous speech.In reality, they made it a crime to criticize the federal government. If an American wrote something unflattering about the president or Congress, they could be fined or jailed. This wasn’t a fringe proposal. They passed and became law. And people were actually arrested, including congressmen, newspaper editors, and publishers.Now imagine you’re a state leader: a governor, a legislator. You’ve just joined this new American experiment. The Constitution is still fresh. The idea of a federal government this powerful is still new. Suddenly, it starts to look a little too much like the old one you just fought a war to escape. The kind of federal control that reminds you why we added a Second Amendment in the first place. Even Thomas Jefferson, the man who wrote the Declaration of Independence, and James Madison, the principal author of the Constitution, started to worry. And they didn’t just stand by.Jefferson drafted the Kentucky Resolutions in October 1798 and quietly passed them to political allies George Nicholas and Wilson Cary Nicholas in Kentucky. The legislature adopted them on November 16.A few weeks later, Madison followed suit. He drafted the Virginia Resolutions in secret and worked behind the scenes to move them through the legislature. They passed on December 24, just in time for Christmas.Both men kept their involvement quiet. Jefferson was Vice President. Madison was still in Congress. They knew that open authorship could trigger political backlash, or even charges under the laws they were challenging.Their resolutions argued that the states had created the federal government, not the other way around, and therefore retained powers not explicitly given away. They claimed the states had both a right and a duty to declare federal laws unconstitutional if those laws went too far.The resolutions didn’t carry legal weight, but they planted a seed that grew into later doctrines of nullification and state sovereignty.They weren’t perfect. The resolutions were later cited by those pushing secession at the onset of the Civil War. But in the moment, they were a clear stand for state autonomy against federal overreach.Most states rejected the Kentucky and Virginia Resolutions. But the ideas stuck, and they helped carry the next Democratic-Republican candidate, Thomas Jefferson, into the presidency. When Jefferson took office, he let the Alien and Sedition Acts expire and pardoned those who had been convicted under them. He even returned some of the fines. He erased the laws and made sure their damage didn’t linger.Today, federal control looks different. It doesn’t come through dramatic laws. It comes through funding and the rules that come with it.Some of that funding does real good: roads, hospitals, schools. But the more Washington funds, the more it dictates. And the more it dictates, the less space state leaders have to lead.Federal agencies don’t see day-to-day realities clearly. They’re too distant to make the right call, but they still write the rules.Maybe there’s a better way.A Better Way: Fund Goals, Not ControlWe need a better way to structure federal support. One that honors constitutional balance, improves real-world outcomes, and respects state autonomy. A model built on four principles: guidance, resourcing, results, and accountability.Guidance doesn’t mean silence. Congress should set national priorities through laws and budgets. But those broad directions often get buried in red tape, splintered into grant conditions, reporting mandates, and timelines divorced from local realities.Instead of prescribing how to act, guidance should focus on what we aim to achieve. That means setting shared outcomes, not universal methods, and trusting states, with their varied geographies, cultures, and capacities, to chart their own course. Federal oversight still matters, especially to protect civil rights and prevent abuse, but oversight is not the same as control.Federal agencies don’t need to vanish. They need to collaborate. Agencies and state leaders should jointly define goals and align their work to meet them. A federal office doesn’t have to report to the state, but it should recognize the state’s voice as legitimate within its borders.Missouri and Illinois might pursue different agricultural policies. California and Nevada may diverge on environmental rules. Different is okay. A joint state and federal agency team making progress and achieving the goals matters more than methods. The goals are the decisive element.…ResourcingGoals without resources

We Don’t Build a Country on Things We Can TouchNot really.We build it on belief.We believe a piece of paper can be worth a dollar. We believe strangers can govern us. We believe that if we follow the rules, justice and liberty will protect us. None of that is real, not like gravity or fire.But it works because enough of us believe. That’s what holds a nation together. Not armies. Not buildings. Not slogans. Belief. We think institutions hold society together. But it’s the other way around. We hold them together with belief. When nothing is real, belief gives institutions value. Today, we ask, if justice isn’t real, what is its market price?And I don’t mean metaphorically. I mean literally. What do Americans pay out of pocket to achieve the justice our Constitution promises?Money Isn’t RealMoney isn’t real. Not like gravity. Not like death. You can’t drop it on your foot. You can’t breathe it. It has no weight, no heat, no life.Its value depends on whether others believe in it.Even the bills in our wallets mean nothing. They’re just cotton paper and ink. And most money isn’t even physical. It’s digital, just zeroes and ones on a computer somewhere. If no one believes those numbers are worth anything, they aren’t.But when enough of us believe in them, they become real. When we go to the store to buy eggs and butter for breakfast, we might use a debit card for our purchase. We give the store some of our digital zeroes and ones for real eggs that we can eat. In this way, money facilitates society. It’s a fiction that organizes everything from breakfast to war. Again, money isn’t real. Even if we think it matters, that’s not enough. It only matters if others think it does. If we stop believing, our money is worthless.But because enough of us believe in it, belief itself creates the value. The belief makes a dollar worth a dollar, and not just what the cotton paper would suggest.This principle is society’s basis.In the same way that money only has value because other people believe it has value, our institutions only have value when enough of us believe in them.Our institutions aren’t real outside of our shared beliefs. They become real only because we act like they are. Religion, law, the stock market, America, and the Constitution exist only in the human mind, but once enough of us believe, we begin to shape the world.Our churches can only bring relief to the needy in our communities if enough of us believe not in the rituals, but in the responsibility to care for the needy. It’s not a physical reality. It’s a collective commitment. Shared belief only matters if it produces real outcomes. We measure the value of our churches in meals for the needy, addiction recovery programs, volunteer hours, and youth mentoring. If those disappear, the steeple means nothing.Our law can only bring order to society if enough of us believe it applies to all of us. If we don’t believe the law applies to all of us, order dissolves. We measure the effectiveness of law by disputes resolved without violence, access to and fair treatment in court, and access to counsel no matter your income. Belief is the foundation of our institutions. When enough of us share these beliefs, our institutions gain value.The Day George Washington Gave the Army BackWe think institutions hold society together. But it’s the other way around. We hold them together with belief.Scene: December 23, 1783. Annapolis, Maryland. The war is over. The Constitution doesn’t exist yet. George Washington entered Congress to resign his military commission.Everyone held their breath. Washington had led the Continental Army through eight brutal years of war. He was a war hero: beloved, feared, and trusted. If he wanted to become king, no one could stop him. Rumors of Washington’s intentions to give up power had already crossed the Atlantic. King George III reportedly told the American-born artist Benjamin West that if Washington gave up power, he would be the greatest man in the world.The American people loved him. He was a star. He didn’t have to give up power. He could be king. The night before the ceremony, they threw him a party. Washington “danced in every set, so that the ladies might have the pleasure of dancing with him, or as it has since been handsomely expressed, get a touch of him.”But instead of claiming fame and power, he gave it back to the people. America would owe allegiance to no king, and George Washington believed in America. He would not become king. The next day, he stood before the Confederation Congress, a weak, fragile institution barely holding the states together, and gave up command. To complete his tear-filled address, he said … “Having now finished the work assigned me, I retire from the great theatre of action... and take my leave of all the employments of public life….”He didn’t have to. He could have stayed in command.Washington’s single act gave birth to civilian rule. A weak Congress became legitimate, not because it inherently had power, but because one man believed it should. And once Washington believed, others followed. Washington relinquishing command transferred his belief to his fellow Americans.His belief in rule by the people gave value to the institution that became the Constitution. When James Madison and the other authors wrote the Constitution, they opened with an idea that didn’t exist in governance: ‘We the People of the United States.’ People stopped believing that the Almighty ordained rulers at birth because they came from a ruling family. They started believing people consent to governance for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The idea didn’t stop at the Potomac. It crossed the Atlantic. Less than ten years later, the French violently overthrew their monarchy. The streets of Paris ran red with blood. The Bastille fell. The people executed their king and queen. They refused to be subjects any longer. And it didn’t end in France. Across Europe, the old order trembled. Monarchies began to fall or reform. The divine right of kings gave way to constitutions, parliaments, and citizens.The transfer of Washington’s belief in rule by the people to the Constitution is sharply evident. Where a king might believe primarily in order, people believe in justice. A king might believe in rules and obedience. People believe in liberty, protest, and the right to bear arms against their rulers.His belief in rule by the people made the people believe in themselves. Washington’s act powerfully illustrates how shared belief underpins our institutions. When we believe in an idea, we build institutions. When enough of us share that belief, those institutions gain value.Of course, like money, we need to be able to measure this value. To measure justice, we need to pick something concrete and clear. We need measures that reflect real opportunity.Measuring Ideas Like Liberty and JusticeSome think tanks say they can measure the payoff of our belief in the Constitution’s promises. They call their metrics “market quotes” on the value we assign to liberty, justice, and other national ideals.Organizations like Freedom House publish global reports with titles like Freedom in the World. They attempt to track civil liberties and political rights across 195 countries. These reports have been cited for over 50 years. But we should reject every proposed measure that comes from outside sources instead of the people. The people are the governed, and only the governed can say whether they are free. An external judge of internal values falls short.Others suggest questionnaires, letting people rate their own experience. But surveys are subjective. If belief is real, it must leave a measurable trail. We must be able to measure our values like we measure the dollar.So, how would we measure ideas like liberty and justice? Let’s consider justice. Justice has a dual meaning. It is equal treatment under the law, and it is access to fair opportunity, no matter where you were born. Let’s consider two critical areas in society: housing and education. Why these two? Because where you live and what you learn directly determine the opportunities you have. Housing and education aren’t luxuries. They’re the foundation of fairness.Genius hides in poverty. A child born in a trailer or housing project must succeed by structure, not by luck. We need empirical data to measure whether we achieve our national goal of justice. If they are willing to work for it, a kid born in a trailer or project housing needs to be able to buy a house in a safe neighborhood with a good school for their children. To measure our ability to achieve this goal, we need a test. To pass it, America needs a healthy supply of homes for first-time homebuyers that cost only double the household median income. The median cost for a house in 1960 was $11,900, when the median income was $5,600. The median household income in 2023 was $80,610. So a fair entry point today would be a home under $160,000.Next, education. Any loan a low-income student must take to attend a public college is a measurable price of fairness. That price tells us how far short we fall of our national ideal.We need to track three numbers; each for first-time, full-time undergraduates from the bottom income quartile at in-state public colleges:First, the average net price after grants: tuition, fees, living costs, minus all aid. If that price rises faster than family income, the system is failing.Second, the average federal loan balance at graduation. If the poorest students graduate with the biggest debts, we have not achieved equal opportunity.Third, the three-year default rate on those loans. If defaults are rising, the ladder of opportunity is breaking.We BelieveWhen we believe in an idea, we build institutions. When enough of us share our beliefs, our institutions gain value.If money isn’t real…If liberty and justice aren’t real…If even America isn’t real...Then our common belief is everything.Led by George Washington, ‘We the P