Before the ink dried on the constitution of 1789 by means wittingly and unwittingly, wholly legal, extralegal, conniving manipulation, deceitful ambiguity, or blatant widespread disinterest, all implemented by fraudulent inducement the republic as envisioned by Franklin, replenished by Lincoln, and managed by Coolidge no longer exist.
“Of the people, for the people, by the people,” has perished from this earth. But then, when citizens employ trust instead of askance, how else could this purely experimental idea of governing have evolved?
The inherent power of every branch of the federal, the state, county, city, compared to the power of the individual citizen, is convincingly immense. Who knew that the governments could shut down one’s means of livelihood and keep it shut until some arbitrary goal attained? That the citizen cannot evaluate personal or collective jeopardy, take acceptable precautions, and via the determination of self-reliance assume prescribed risk as inherent to living.
A woke itinerary, wonk experts, and at all levels, a coercive executive branch has replaced the merits of individualism, self-reliance, and personal liberty.
There is a dichotomy of behavior that is puzzling. An American will volunteer to risk life in some foreign destination but refuse to vote for representation. This same citizen has since 1789 freely sometimes enthusiastically traded personal liberty and freedom for the ruse of government’s promise of cradle to grave guarantees.
Within a democratic republic, the operating qualifications intrinsic to efficient governance rests entirely on a citizen’s engagement. Therefore, service to one’s government does not automate heroism. The ordinary obligation of serving one’s community or nation does not merit panegyric glorification. Such patronizing lowers the bar of exceptionalism as well as veracity.
Power for the sake of attaining power is boundless; it is a potent elixir that begets the need for more never less. Government grows in contrast liberty diminishes; stop feeding the beast.