A Republic That Forgets to Feed Itself

“When pride feasts, it is always the people who go hungry.”
— Benjamin Franklin, as he might say were he seated in today’s Senate gallery

The Manufactured Morality of the Shutdown

It seems our Republic has once again mistaken cruelty for conviction. Forty-two million Americans — mothers, fathers, children — now face the uncertainty of lost food assistance, not because our nation lacks the means to feed them, but because its leaders lack the will to govern.

And what’s worse, those who could have kept the government open now profess outrage that it is closed. One might call it irony. Franklin would call it hypocrisy polished to perfection.

The Senate had its chance. The vote to keep the Republic open — to pay our workers, feed our families, and sustain the essential functions of government — was not a riddle of policy but a test of conscience. And conscience, it seems, failed the roll call.

The Hunger of the Republic

It is easy, in an age of slogans, to speak of compassion. Harder still to practice it when the cameras are off. For the truth is plain: the decision to withhold a clean continuing resolution — to tie the operation of government to unrelated political ambitions — is not strategy. It is hostage-taking.

Franklin might have asked, with that blend of humor and heartbreak,

“Can a nation feed its pride and its people in the same sitting? I should like to see the bill.”

A government that closes itself in protest of its own failures does not champion the poor — it multiplies them. Every day the lights stay dimmed in Washington, paychecks vanish, programs stall, and hope is rationed by the hour.

The Blame That Feeds No One

There is no dignity in watching millions of families suffer to make a political point. There is no virtue in shutting the doors of the Republic to bargain over policy.
And there is no truth in pretending that such paralysis is the fault of one man alone.

The Senate — the world’s so-called “great deliberative body” — had a vote to keep the Republic open and chose delay over duty. To cry foul now is to weep crocodile tears over one’s own spilled ink.

“Tis remarkable,” Franklin might note, “how swiftly the pen of blame writes when the ledger of responsibility is due.”

Of Pride and Provision

We cannot govern a nation by punishing its people for the pride of its politicians. We cannot claim to champion working families while allowing those families to become pawns in a policy fight. The Republic is not a stage, nor are her citizens props in a party’s play.

Those who truly care for the hungry will prove it not through speeches, but through votes — not in condemnation, but in cooperation.

“A full stomach never excused an empty conscience,” Franklin might remind them.

The moral measure of a government is not in its rhetoric of compassion, but in its willingness to act when compassion is costly.

The Call to Reason

The answer is simple — open the government. Pass the clean resolution. Feed the people first; then debate the policies that failed them.

Every hour spent performing outrage could instead be spent governing. And every senator who claims to care about the poor should begin by ensuring their paychecks, their nutrition, and their dignity are not casualties of political vanity.

“When pride becomes policy,” Franklin might quip, “the Republic soon goes hungry.”

Closing Reflection

If the Founders could look upon the Capitol now — closed, bickering, and self-satisfied — they might wonder whether the Republic had grown weary of responsibility. The great question before us is no longer “Can we keep it?” but “Will we keep it open?”

Feed the people. Fund the government. And remember: a Republic that forgets to feed its own will soon find its conscience starving too.