Kevin Frazier will join the Crump College of Law at St. Thomas University as an Assistant Professor starting this Fall. He currently is a clerk on the Montana Supreme Court.
Imagine going to an ice cream shop known for its flavor selection. You walk in and immediately see that the shop lives up to its reputation. Flavors from different parts of the country and even different parts of the world are lined before you. Rocky Road catches your eye. Oreo, though, also looks tempting. The guy behind the counter asks for your choice - you switch at the last second and ask for two scoops of fudge brownie. But the scooper scowls and reports, “I can only offer chocolate or vanilla.” Shocked, you ask why. He quips, “The name of the store is ‘Two for You.’ The owner picks two flavors for us to sell each day and today you get chocolate or vanilla.”
Our political “flavor” preferences are also all over the place but the “owners of the shop”-- the individuals and entities with the most sway over our democracy– have forced us to pick from two choices many find either unacceptable or subpar. Some citizens would even claim to be allergic to one or both of the choices.
This effective limitation of political parties--and, consequently, of the range of possible political outcomes--is a societal choice. As with the ice cream offerings above, this artificial and forced limitation is unnecessary and unproductive. Just as a profit-seeking shop owner would try to cater to as many customers as possible by offering an array of flavors, a participation-motivated democracy would enable and encourage citizens to select from a broad range of political identities– after all, you’re far more likely to engage in a system that reflects your views and presents the possibility of advancing your policy priorities. The alternative -- the choiceless choice between two parties that may be as distasteful as salmon-flavored ice cream -- will motivate people to leave the ice cream shop (i.e., not vote, not pay attention, and question the legitimacy of our democratic institutions on the whole) or make a choice and leave disappointed (i.e. vote, but unwilling and with increased frustration).
The solution should be somewhat obvious using the ice cream shop analogy. Though the current two-party menu seems fixed, there are means for the people to provide with more choice. Alaska, for example, has adopted the Final Five voting system to elect its officials. In that system, all candidates compete in an open primary, which means that the two major parties have far less control over who makes it to the general elections. The top five finishers in that open primary then compete in the general election, with the winner being determined through ranked-choice voting (RCV). In a ranked-choice election, voters rank the candidates by order of their preference. If Alex, Bob, Cindy, David, and Emma made it to the general election, the RCV process would proceed as follows: if no candidate received a majority of the first place votes, then the candidate who received the fewest first place votes, let's say Alex, would be eliminated; with Alex eliminated, another tabulation would occur to see if any candidate received a majority of the first place voters--if not, the candidate with the fewest such votes would be eliminated; this process would continue until a single candidate earned majority support. Relatedly, cities across the U.S. --from San Francisco to New York City --have implemented different versions of RCV with the same goals of expanding voter choice, increasing candidate diversity, and increasing the odds of a more representative electoral system.
But my goal here isn’t to advocate for one reform over another. Proponents of these systems and others often fight over which “take-over” strategy of our democracy is best -- the real fight (and the corresponding resources used to sustain that fight) should instead be focused on claiming ownership in the first place. Any effort that returns democratic choice to the people, rather than the two parties, is worthwhile.
My goal is instead to remind Rocky Road fans - the independents and non-affiliated folks, fudge brownie supporters - the greens and libertarians, and everyone else that would opt out of a chocolate/vanilla binary that we, the people do not have to accept an artificially narrow democratic system. Political communities of all stripes have successfully made a dent in bringing down a two-party system that diminishes choice and participation--thereby decreasing our democratic potential. A better democracy is possible -- one with more choice, more representation, and more participation.
A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.