A Republic, if you can keep it: Regaining America’s Soul over Tyranny
On Saturday a couple weeks back, I attended one of thousands of protests against the current Presidential administration. Hundreds of people, whether Democrats, disillusioned Republicans, Independents, or otherwise, held up signs and shouted their concerns around the centennial circle in downtown Glens Falls. There was one incident of violence, as Ken Tingley describes, but overall, it was peaceful, uplifting, and necessary. The pushback from the onslaught of radical change in our federal government since January had been gathering steam for months.
As the so-called “Department of Government Efficiency” severed government employees and slashed budgets, the pouring of outcry spread across the country. The dramatic shifting of international priorities caused ripples in world politics that will be felt for decades, with diplomacy between some countries in limbo. History began disappearing from Federal government websites, whether stories of some heroic veterans during world wars or transgender icons transforming the country. Fear became a common thread among more than half the country, and yet, courage kept on showing up.
Last month, LGBTQIA+ pride celebrations across the country were exuberant, with some milestones to celebrate. It had been ten years since the Supreme Court decision in 2015 provided hope to same-sex couples wishing to solidify their relationship in marriage. Fifty years ago, there was the first Washington D.C. Pride Parade, with the lead organizer, Deacon Maccubbin, recalling, “We had a lot of people dancing in the street and we had news media there. We allowed them to film on one side of the street and not on the other side of the street. So, if people did not want to be filmed, they could stay on that side of the street. If they wanted to be filmed, they could go to where the film crews were.”
For the past decade, it had been a common privilege among many, with some edge cases, that identifying as queer was okay. While there were signs of distress, particularly among the trans community, it appeared that progress and inclusivity were becoming the norm in society. Even as recent as five years, the Supreme Court ruled that sexual and gender identity was protected from workplace discrimination. But that hopeful attitude was dashed when the Trump administration was reinstated into the White House, orchestrating a deluge of executive orders from the Project 2025 playbook.
Given the executive orders, minority rights in the country are not only precariously wrought with questions but the very idea of executive overreach. Recently, the Supreme Court shocked the country by allowing the systemic removal of people from America by Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Through the chaos of their process of the past couple months, ICE has even banished legal American citizens, with very little recourse of return. It will escalate as Congress passed the, so named, “Big Beautiful Bill Act”, which, among many things, provides more money into the ICE coffers.
The palpable sense of urgency is rising, as Michael Brock, a former tech executive, states in his recent essay, The Republic of Cruelty. While his headline could be considered hyperbole, the focal points in the essay illustrate the discombobulation apparent in the country’s discourse. He states, “what we’re witnessing is a gentleman’s agreement to treat fascism as friendly disagreement. You can discuss the ‘complex challenges of immigration enforcement’ and the ‘difficult trade-offs between security and liberty,’ but you cannot call systematic institutional capture by its proper name without violating the social contract of sophisticated conversation.”
It reminds me of some of the brilliant and humorous bits from the late George Carlin, describing “soft language”, where he described the euphemisms meant to soften and obscure harsh realities. In his comedic soliloquy on veterans, he states, “here’s an example: there’s a condition in combat that occurs when a soldier is completely stressed out and is on the verge of a nervous collapse. In World War One, it was called 'shell shock.' Simple, honest, direct language. Two syllables. Shell shock. It almost sounds like the guns themselves. That was more than eighty years ago. Then a generation passed, and in World War Two, the same combat condition was called 'battle fatigue.' Four syllables now; takes a little longer to say. Doesn’t seem to hurt as much. 'Fatigue' is a nicer word than 'shock.' Shell shock! Battle fatigue. By the early 1950s, the Korean War had come along, and the very same condition was being called 'operational exhaustion.' The phrase was up to eight syllables now, and any last traces of humanity had been completely squeezed out of it. It was absolutely sterile: operational exhaustion. Like something that might happen to your car. Then, barely fifteen years later, we got into Vietnam, and, thanks to the deceptions surrounding that war, it’s no surprise that the very same condition was referred to as 'post-traumatic stress disorder.' Still eight syllables, but we’ve added a hyphen, and the pain is completely buried under jargon: post-traumatic stress disorder. I’ll bet if they had still been calling it 'shell shock,' some of those Vietnam veterans might have received the attention they needed. But it didn’t happen, and one of the reasons is soft language; the language that takes the life out of life. And somehow it keeps getting worse."
George Carlin’s take on language is more pertinent than ever, as Adam Thomas of the Corsair, a publication by Santa Monica College, states, “… when you force everyone to use terms that are blandly inoffensive, that are obtusely vague and nice, but ugly to the ear, you’re committing to a tyranny of silence. In such a tyrannical state, the loud-mouthed braggart with fiery rhetoric easily becomes the rebellious rogue.” His piece, published back in June of 2016, foreshadows the decade of Donald Trump and the dramatic realignment of culture. This is further exacerbated by the siloed nature of online conversations, permeated through social media platforms, as well as the desire to control attention. As I described in my essay back in February, I gathered the voices of writers like Chris Hayes, with his new book The Siren’s Call, journalist Adam Serwer of the Atlantic, and Kelly Garret’s research paper to illustrate the detrimental effects of this new culture of attention and echo chambers. I also offered hope to reverse this trend, whether imposing time limits on social media algorithms, regaining social spaces for collaboration, instilling mindfulness mediative practices, or volunteering to help local communities.
As Benjamin Franklin is often quoted after the Constitutional Convention, this nation is a “Republic, if you can keep it”. Language is powerful, as are actions, and we can slowly reverse course of tyrannical ideas and return to civil discourse. Michael Brock wrote an essay with a clear notion to “flood the zone with truth”, a satire of Steve Bannon’s ideas on the precipice of the second term of the Trump administration. He describes, “the soldiers in this war for truth aren’t just journalists or fact-checkers. They’re teachers who teach students how to think critically. Citizens who insist on reality in the face of chaos. Technologists who build systems to enhance understanding rather than distort it. And yes—they’re you. The beauty of simple truths is their power to cut through confusion. When officials bypass democratic processes, obscure their actions, or lie with reckless abandon, they’re not just making policy choices. They’re attacking the foundation of democracy itself.”
Each of us have a choice: to find truth in our shared society and debate priorities and policies that attempt to help not harm people. Michael Brock offers simple calls to action, like “talk to neighbors, read local news, attend meetings. These aren’t just niceties—they’re the foundation of how humans make sense of the world together. When these systems fail, our ability to make meaningful choices about our future collapses.”
The United States of America, celebrating 249 years of independence from the tyranny of early British monarchy, is a collection voices that demand to be heard. Be a part of positive change, learn from others’ experiences, and mold a society that treats everyone with dignity and respect.
Anne Applebaum ends of one her essays with a short anecdote about Władysław Bartoszewski, who was a member of the wartime Polish underground, a prisoner of both the Nazis and the Stalinists, and then, finally, the foreign minister in two Polish democratic governments. Later in his life, he summed up the philosophy that had guided him through all of these tumultuous political changes. It was not idealism that drove him, or big ideas, he said. It was this: Warto być przyzwoitym— “Just try to be decent.” And that is something we can all learn from.
