The Duty to Govern: When Soapboxes Replace Statesmanship

“When the wise grow idle and the vain grow loud, liberty learns how easily she may be forgotten.”
— Benjamin Franklin, as he might have remarked upon seeing our government shut for forty days

A Republic in Rehearsal

For forty long days, the Republic has stood still. The doors of our government are closed; its workers are unpaid; its people, once again, are made spectators to the great drama of dysfunction.

This is not a crisis of capacity — it is a collapse of conscience.

The Senate, elected to govern, has instead chosen to grandstand. In refusing to pass a clean continuing resolution — in tethering the livelihoods of millions to political leverage — it has transformed governance into theater. And not the noble kind.

“It seems,” Franklin might say, adjusting his spectacles, “that the play runs long, the actors are paid well, and the audience pays dearly.”

The Echoes of Outrage

In recent weeks, the comment threads of our public square — from the street corners to the social feeds — have become a chorus of incredulity.

One citizen wrote: “How many Democrat votes does the Senate need to open the government?”

Another replied: “It’s shameful — they begged Republicans not to hold the government hostage years ago, and now they do the same.”

These are not partisan heckles. They are the honest bewilderments of a weary people watching their elected leaders perform outrage while families miss paychecks, veterans lose benefits, and federal workers line up at food banks.

“If hypocrisy were combustible,” Franklin might quip, “the Capitol could heat the whole of Washington through the winter.”

The Vanity of the Chamber

For forty days, our senators have stood upon their soapboxes, declaring their compassion while refusing the single act that might demonstrate it: to open the government.

The very leaders who warn that millions may go hungry have voted, repeatedly, to keep the doors shut that could feed them. They speak of empathy while legislating indifference.

Hamilton would have found the irony intolerable: “A government that prides itself upon its principles yet refuses to act upon them deserves neither its pride nor its principles.”

This is not governance; it is grandstanding. It is an abdication of duty dressed in the costume of conviction — and the Republic grows weaker for every hour it continues.

Of Party and Parrotry

If you listen closely, the problem becomes unmistakable. The speeches differ in tone, but not in substance. Each side parrots the same talking points they once condemned.

Ten years ago, one party warned that it was wrong — immoral even — to hold federal workers hostage over policy disputes. Now, the roles are reversed, and the lines delivered by their opponents have become their own.

Franklin might laugh, though not kindly: “The parrot who repeats his rival’s curse gains only the applause of fools and the scorn of the hungry.”

This is what happens when partisanship replaces principle: hypocrisy becomes the only bipartisan achievement left standing.

Governing Is the First Obligation

Our government exists to serve, not to sulk. The oath sworn by every senator does not read, I will oppose my enemies at all costs, but I will faithfully discharge the duties of my office.

And duty, though unfashionable in our age, remains the foundation of self-government. To govern requires the humility to yield, the courage to decide, and the moral discipline to put country before caucus.

Hamilton would have called it the “energy of government” — the power to act even when it is inconvenient.
Franklin might call it simpler still: “A man too proud to compromise should never be trusted with the company purse.”

The Forty-Day Farce

Forty days is not a delay; it is dereliction. Each sunrise that passes with the government closed is a day of lost wages, lost trust, and lost credibility. The world watches in disbelief as the self-proclaimed model of democracy fails to perform its most basic function: to stay open.

The Founders did not design the Republic to be powered by pettiness. They intended its gears to turn through reason and cooperation — not through performative paralysis.

“If the miller refuses to turn the wheel,” Franklin might jest, “he should not boast of the grain he has not ground.”

Let the Senate be reminded: The people’s patience is not infinite, and their memory is long. When the next election comes, the question will not be “Who spoke most passionately?” but “Who failed to act?”

The People’s Reckoning

In the taverns and town halls of Franklin’s day, the citizens would have called such behavior by its proper name — dereliction of duty. They would not have tolerated leaders who weaponized the common good for political theater.

And yet today, too many of us shrug. We sigh, we scroll, we mutter, “They’re all the same.”
But resignation is complicity.

“The indifference of the governed,” Franklin might warn, “is the wind beneath the wings of the unfit.”

The Republic was not designed for perfect leaders — only for an engaged people. If our government refuses to govern, the remedy lies not in the next speech, but in the next ballot.

The Call to Reason

Let the Senate return to its purpose. Pass the clean resolution. Pay the workers. Open the doors.
And then, debate your grand ideas in the daylight of a functioning Republic.

Because to govern is not to posture, and to care is not to perform. The nation hungers — not merely for food, but for leadership worthy of its name.

“To serve the public is no great mystery,” Franklin would remind us. “Feed the people. Fix the roof. And for heaven’s sake, stop arguing about the color of the shingles while the rain comes in.”

Closing Reflection

The Senate’s duty is not to act when it is easy, but when it is necessary. The Founders built no stage for self-praise — they built a table for deliberation.
It is time those who sit at it remember the difference.

For the Republic cannot endure on speeches alone. It must be fed — with integrity, action, and the steady hand of those who remember that governing is not a performance, but a promise.