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Promises made… promises broken. Americans are caught in the dysfunction and chaos of a country in crisis.
The President promised relief, but gave us the Big Beautiful Bill — cutting support for seniors, students, and families while showering tax breaks on the wealthy. He promised jobs and opportunity, but attacked Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion programs. He pledged to drain the swamp, yet advanced corruption that enriched himself and his allies. He vowed to protect Social Security, yet pursued policies that threatened it. He declared no one is above the law, yet sought Supreme Court immunity.
These are not minor contradictions — they are hypocrisy in plain sight. And hypocrisy corrodes democracy by eroding trust, weakening institutions, and betraying the people who believed in those promises.
Trump calls the government corrupt, yet profits from it. His hotels and golf courses abroad benefited from foreign officials seeking favor. He vowed to rid the country of drugs, yet pardoned individuals convicted of drug offenses. He weaponized the Department of Justice against enemies while shielding allies (Reuters). By politicizing prosecutions and dismantling oversight, he eroded the firewall meant to protect democracy.
Freedom of the press is not optional — it is the mechanism that keeps the government honest (Free Speech Center). Yet Trump undermined transparency, intimidating reporters and turning access into leverage. He demonizes immigrants while relying on them to maintain his properties. He punishes states that vote against him. He floats the idea of dictatorship, only to be rejected by Americans who value freedom too much.
Meanwhile, Congress has failed to check him. Instead of protecting the people, it bends in loyalty, shielding him from accountability.
The Supreme Court pretends to uphold the law, yet entertains claims of presidential immunity that would place one man above accountability. At times, it offers silence instead of clarity — leaving Americans to read between the lines. Citizens are not ignorant; we see the contradictions.
Americans need a fair, unbiased, moral Supreme Court — one that upholds the law as intended by the Constitution, not one swayed by billionaires with money. When justices remain seated for decades, they become prey to corruption and influence. Millions favor term limits, and I am one of them.
The late Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg is deeply missed. She was strong, principled, and often appeared to keep the male justices in check. Her absence is felt in every ruling that bends toward privilege instead of principle.
Hypocrisy corrodes democracy just as surely as broken promises from the president or dysfunction in Congress. It leaves citizens caught in chaos: food insecurity, unaffordable housing, inaccessible health care, and institutions that pretend to care but demonstrate the opposite.
It takes courage, conscience, and sacrifice to confront hypocrisy. Liz Cheney stood as a patriot for justice and was penalized by her own party (MSN, Newsweek). That is not partisan courage; that is moral courage.
This is not a partisan issue. Hypocrisy corrodes democracy, whether it comes from Republicans or Democrats, and Americans must demand honesty from leaders of both parties.
The short‑term goal is to remedy the immediate problem by controlling leaders through enforceable ethics codes, ensuring ethical leadership in both Congress and the Supreme Court. Measures such as the Supreme Court Ethics, Recusal, and Transparency Act and a strengthened Ethics in Government Act can provide these safeguards, backed by independent oversight to monitor compliance and impose sanctions.
Once in place, Ethics Committees in Congress must monitor compliance, investigate misconduct, and enforce sanctions against violators. But Congress’s responsibility does not end with enactment. It must also review these codes regularly, legislate updates, and close loopholes as new abuses arise. Citizens must demand that Congress legislate binding ethics codes for the Supreme Court as well. That process begins with bills introduced in Congress, debated in Judiciary Committees, passed by both chambers, and signed into law by the President. Only then do ethics codes become binding safeguards. Such laws must also establish independent oversight — an inspector general or judicial ethics panel — to investigate violations and enforce compliance, because voluntary guidelines are not enough.
Americans must write, call, and attend town halls to demand that ethics codes be enforced. Citizens must contact their representatives and insist that Congress introduce, debate, and pass legislation requiring enforceable codes of conduct for both Congress and the Supreme Court. Once enacted, citizens must monitor congressional dockets and roll‑call votes to ensure leaders have followed through and continue to uphold these standards.
This is active citizenship — government of the people, by the people. Americans cannot sit by and expect leaders to do what is right; we must take a role to make sure they do. Not all leaders practice moral and ethical leadership, which is why vigilance is essential. In my former world, we adopted the Effective Schools motto: “What gets monitored, gets done.” The same principle applies to democracy. Americans must pay attention, help monitor, and speak out when promises are broken or ethics ignored. We cannot afford to be silent when democracy itself is at stake.
In the long term, Americans must recognize that legislation alone will not suffice. Age limits and term limits demand constitutional amendments. That process begins with a joint resolution introduced in Congress, requiring a two‑thirds vote in both the House and Senate. From there, three‑fourths of the states must ratify the amendment before it becomes law. Citizens must become advocates and lobbyists, working directly with their representatives, senators, and state legislators to demand that this be done. They must build coalitions across governments, press candidates to pledge support for reform, and monitor roll‑call votes and ratification debates to ensure momentum is not lost.
Citizens must lobby for measures like H.J.Res.5, which proposes limiting Representatives to three terms and Senators to two. They must also advocate for fixed terms for Supreme Court justices — such as 18 years — to ensure renewal and prevent entrenched influence. Congress must legislate binding ethics codes for the Court, enforced by independent oversight, while citizens insist that the Court itself accept renewal as a safeguard against corruption and bias.
Ultimately, democracy’s survival depends not only on laws but on a culture of accountability — citizens who demand integrity, leaders who honor their oaths, and institutions that adapt to protect the people rather than themselves.
Americans value freedom and want to feel safe enjoying it without fear. We need peace, opportunity, and justice. We want leaders who value diversity, show empathy, and exercise moral judgment. Above all, we need leaders willing to put country over self‑ambition, who honor their oaths and hold themselves accountable.
Democracy is not just the absence of dictatorship; it is the presence of integrity, equality, and courage. It means leaders who honor their oaths, citizens who can trust their institutions, and a press free to ask hard questions without fear. It means a country where immigrants are valued for their contributions, not demonized for political gain. It means billionaires cannot buy silence or power, because the people themselves hold the final say. That is the vision worth fighting for — and it is slipping away unless we act. Integrity is not red or blue. It is the foundation of democracy, and both parties must recommit to it.
The weight of hypocrisy and authoritarian ambition is heavy and dangerous. If leaders will not honor their oaths, uphold the Constitution, and place the people first, then the people must hold them accountable. Promises made must be promises kept — or democracy itself will collapse under that weight.
This vintage engraving depicts the portrait of the second President of the United States, John Adams (1735 - 1826)
In an earlier Fulcrum essay, John Adams Warned Us: A Republic Without Virtue Cannot Survive, I reflected on Adams’s insistence that self-government depends on character as much as law. Adams believed citizens had obligations to one another that no constitution could enforce. Without restraint, moderation, and a commitment to the common good, liberty would hollow out from within.
But Adams’s argument about virtue did not stop with citizens. It extended, with equal force, to those who wield power.
Adams understood something that remains easy to forget in moments of fear and anger: the greatest threat to a republic is not disorder alone, but authority exercised without restraint, as Adams warned in Thoughts on Government. Power, in his view, was more dangerous than turbulence when it lost its connection to legitimacy and moral discipline. A republic could endure conflict; it could not endure cruelty normalized as governance.
That concern feels uncomfortably current.
Across several American cities, federal authority has been exercised in ways that are opaque, unaccountable to local and state officials, and visibly intimidating, as documented in reporting on recent federal deployments in U.S. cities. Officers are operating without clear identification. Detentions that appear symbolic rather than necessary. Enforcement actions that communicate dominance more than protection. Even where lawful, these methods matter. They shape how people understand their relationship to the state.
This is not how a confident republic governs.
For Adams, the defining distinction was not between order and chaos, but between citizens and subjects. As Hannah Arendt later argued, authority rests on legitimacy and consent, while violence appears when authority has already begun to fail. Citizens participate in self-rule. Subjects are ruled upon. The difference is not merely legal; it is psychological and moral. When people encounter government primarily through fear, spectacle, or humiliation, citizenship erodes long before any formal rights are revoked.
That erosion does not require suspended elections or rewritten constitutions. It begins with experience. When power feels arbitrary, people withdraw. When restraint disappears, trust follows. When fear becomes routine, participation becomes risky. Over time, the public realm contracts, not because people stop caring, but because the cost of engagement grows too high, speech becomes guarded, and participation begins to feel risky rather than routine.
A state that governs through intimidation does not require virtue from its citizens. It does not trust them enough to ask.
Adams would have recognized this pattern. He knew that republics rarely collapse in dramatic fashion. They decay through exceptions that become habits and through justifications that harden into norms. What begins as extraordinary enforcement slowly redefines what is acceptable. Cruelty ceases to shock the people. It becomes procedural.
That is the danger line.
The issue is not whether a government has the authority to enforce the law. It does. The issue is whether that authority is exercised with proportionality, transparency, and moral accountability. Cruelty, even when legal, corrodes civic trust. It teaches citizens that power is something to fear rather than something they collectively own. It signals that consent is no longer the foundation of governance.
Once that lesson is learned, it spreads.
Institutions that rely on fear eventually demand loyalty rather than legitimacy. They narrow the space for dissent. They substitute spectacle for persuasion. The public realm shrinks further, and civic virtue withers, not only among the governed but within the institutions themselves.
Adams warned that liberty is not self-sustaining. It depends on habits, norms, and mutual restraint. Those expectations apply as much to government as to citizens. A republic cannot demand virtue from its people while modeling its opposite.
The tragedy Adams foresaw was moral exhaustion, not sudden tyranny. A people who no longer expect restraint from power eventually stop practicing restraint themselves. At that point, wealth may remain. Elections may continue. But freedom, in its deeper sense, is slipping away.
A society does not return to safety because power becomes kind. It returns because enough people refuse to let cruelty become normal.
That question comes next in this John Adams on Virtue series.
U.S. President Donald Trump tours the Ford River Rouge Complex on January 13, 2026 in Dearborn, Michigan.
“We shouldn’t need a mid-term election” is his latest outrageous statement or joke. Let’s break down the pattern.
When a candidate says something extreme, we, the public, tend to downgrade it: He’s joking. He’s riffing. He’s trolling the press. We treat the line like entertainment, not intent.
With Donald Trump, that downgrade function is unreliable.
Not because he keeps every promise. He doesn’t. PolitiFact’s tracker of his 102 2016 campaign promises ends with a blunt scorecard: 23% Promise Kept, 22% Compromise, 53% Promise Broken. Those numbers matter because they keep us honest: “he always keeps his word” isn’t true.
But here’s the harder truth: “he was just joking” isn’t a safeguard either.
Trump has a repeatable pattern: he floats ideas as crowd-work, tests the reaction, and then—when it’s useful—turns them into policy, especially when he can do it through executive power.
So if you’re trying to understand what to do with the outrageous things he says, don’t ask, “Was he serious?”
Ask: Can he do it? And does it serve him?
In March 2018, Trump tossed out “Space Force” in public and described it as something he wasn’t “really serious” about—until he heard himself say it and decided it was “a great idea.”
That’s the pattern in miniature: a line arrives as a wink, gets applause, and becomes normal.
Less than two years later, the U.S. Space Force became real—created in law when Trump signed the FY2020 National Defense Authorization Act on December 20, 2019. Budgets. Command structures. Careers. A new permanent institution.
Whatever you think of the policy, the process is the point: the “joke” was an on-ramp.
PolitiFact’s Trump-O-Meter is useful because it forces a simple question: Was the promise achieved, yes or no (or partly)?
Some of the most prominent 2016 campaign vows were carried out quickly through direct presidential action:
And some of the most iconic slogans—especially the ones requiring Congress, sustained coalition management, or an implausible funding story—did not land the way the rallies promised:
This isn’t about “gotcha.” It’s about prediction.
A practical rule emerges from the record: Trump is most likely to follow through when the lever of change is his alone. He likes acting unilaterally.
If it can be done by executive order, agency enforcement, procurement rules, staffing changes, licensing decisions, or the strategic use of funding—he’s much more likely to do it than if it requires Congress to pass a complicated bill that holds together for years.
The 2020 campaign is a special case because Trump lost reelection. But it still teaches something important about the “joking / not joking” problem: he used campaign rhetoric to pre-authorize real actions while he still held power.
As “anti-CRT” and “divisive concepts” became a political target in his speeches and messaging, he signed Executive Order 13950 (“Combating Race and Sex Stereotyping”) in September 2020. It restricted certain training in the federal government and among federal contractors. Overnight, DEI training and those who provided it were targeted through contracts, compliance and enforcement. It was not just a talking point.
When you look back, the order reads like the bureaucratic version of a campaign theme: a punchy moral claim translated into rules, definitions, and penalties.
So if you’re listening to Trump and you hear something shocking, one relevant question is: Can that shock be turned into paperwork? Because that is often how it moves from stage to state. Turning the system against itself is part of the “soft coup” that is undermining our republic.
PolitiFact’s MAGA-Meter (tracking promises from the 2024 campaign) has a similar scorecard—showing a chunk already marked Promise Kept, a large share In the Works, and small slices stalled or broken.
The details will evolve over time, but the pattern is visible early: the promises that get the fastest traction are the ones that fit the presidential toolbelt—orders, enforcement, funding, personnel, and aggressive administrative action.
And yes, this includes the kind of pledge many people wanted to treat as mere crowd-pleasing theater. PolitiFact has rated the promise to pardon people convicted of Jan. 6-related crimes as Promise Kept in its tracker. Likewise, the idea of a broad baseline tariff—something that can be advanced through executive authorities and trade mechanisms—shows up as Promise Kept in the same tracking system.
At the same time, PolitiFact has also rated at least one of Trump’s most dramatic foreign-policy time claims—ending the Russia-Ukraine war within 24 hours—as Promise Broken.
That mix is precisely why “he keeps his word” and “he’s just joking” are both incomplete. The truer statement is:
He keeps his word selectively—and in ways that matter—when he has the means and incentive to do it.
If you want a grounded way to interpret the next outrageous line, try this five-question filter:
This is not a call to panic at every provocation. It’s a call to stop using “he was kidding” as a comfort blanket.
So is Trump joking when he says, “We shouldn’t need a mid-term election?” He is likely floating an idea he would like to make happen.
Because the joke, in Trump’s politics, is often the delivery system: a low-cost way to introduce an extreme idea, test whether the crowd will cheer, and then—if it works—turn it into governance.
How can we stop him? The levers for elections currently exist at the state level; will he try to pull that power into the White House? Undoubtedly. Strong state and local control of elections is essential.
Another level for controlling elections is to control the companies who run the voting machines. Liberty Vote acquired Dominion Voting Systems in 2025. Liberty Vote is run by a Trump supporter and former Republican official, Scott Leiendecker. Is this a secondary play to control elections? Hmm.
If Trump is thwarted and we hold 2026 mid-terms, it will be “I was just joking.” If he succeeds in scuttling the election, he will say “It was a good idea.”
Debilyn Molineaux is storyteller, collaborator & connector. For 20 years, she led cross-partisan organizations. She currently holds several roles, including catalyst for JEDIFutures.org and podcast host of Terrified Nation. She previously co-founded BridgeAlliance, Living Room Conversations and the National Week of Conversation. You can learn more about her work on LinkedIn.
U.S. Secretary of Homeland Security Kristi Noem on January 7, 2026 in Brownsville, Texas.
The Trump administration has always treated truth as an inconvenience. Nearly a decade ago, Kellyanne Conway gave the country a phrase that instantly became shorthand for the administration’s worldview: “alternative facts.” She used it to defend false claims about the size of Donald Trump’s inauguration crowd, insisting that the White House was simply offering a different version of reality despite clear photographic evidence to the contrary.
That moment was a blueprint.
It signaled that this administration would not merely spin or shade the truth—it would replace it. And today, as the country reels from the killing of Renee Nicole Good by ICE agent Jonathan Ross in Minneapolis, we are watching the full evolution of that blueprint in action.
Just over two hours after Good was shot, the Department of Homeland Security—under Secretary Kristi Noem—issued a statement defending the agent and labeling Good a “domestic terrorist.” This was before any independent investigation, before the release of full footage, and before the public had any verified facts.
In a tense, nearly 20‑minute interview on CNN, Jake Tapper pressed Noem repeatedly on how she could justify such a definitive accusation so quickly. Noem doubled down, claiming DHS had “unpublished video evidence” and insisting, “We all saw what happened,” even though the available footage raised more questions than answers.
Ross’s own cell phone video captured him calling Good a “f***ing b****” moments after firing into her vehicle as it appeared to turn away. Whether he was struck by the car remains unclear. Yet the administration’s narrative was locked in place within hours.
This is not fact‑finding. This is fact‑dictating.
Conway’s “alternative facts” were widely mocked at the time, but they were also a warning. The phrase normalized the idea that truth is optional—something a government can curate, edit, or discard. It was an early form of political gaslighting, a strategy that critics noted was designed to control public discussion by blurring the line between fact and fiction.
That strategy has hardened into something more dangerous: a government willing to prejudge a dead woman within hours of her killing, while demanding patience and deference for the armed agent who shot her.
Noem’s insistence that Good’s death was “absolutely” what DHS claimed it to be—despite the absence of an independent investigation—shows how deeply the administration’s contempt for factual rigor has become embedded in its governing style.
When a government decides that truth is negotiable, accountability becomes impossible.
Labeling Good a “domestic terrorist” before investigators have even reconstructed the scene is not just reckless—it is a message. It tells federal agents that the administration will protect them before knowing what happened. It tells grieving families that their loved ones’ reputations are expendable. And it tells the public that the government’s version of events will always outrank the evidence.
This is the logical endpoint of “alternative facts”: a state that does not wait for the truth because it does not need the truth.
The protests erupting across the country are not only about the shooting itself. They are about a government that has abandoned the basic democratic expectation that facts come before conclusions. They are about a pattern that began with something as seemingly trivial as lying about crowd size and has now escalated into preemptively criminalizing a dead woman to justify a shooting.
The Trump administration has spent years eroding the public’s ability to trust what it sees, hears, and knows. Conway gave the country the vocabulary. Noem is giving it the consequences.
A democracy cannot function when its leaders treat truth as a political tool. And the American public should not accept a government that decides guilt or innocence before the facts are known—especially when a life has been taken.
If the Trump administration wants to restore trust, it must start with something radical: telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. But that would require abandoning the very strategy that has defined it from the beginning.
Hugo Balta is the executive editor of the Fulcrum and the publisher of the Latino News Network
