In my work as a homeowner advocate and civic voice, I’ve come to believe that honesty and integrity aren’t just personal virtues—they’re the foundation of every meaningful relationship, every credible institution, and every lasting peace. When those values are compromised, trust erodes—and with it, so does the social fabric that holds communities and nations together.
This isn’t just a local lesson. It’s a global one.
In 1994, Ukraine surrendered the world’s third-largest nuclear arsenal. It did so voluntarily, trusting that the United States, the United Kingdom, and Russia would honor their word. The Budapest Memorandum offered security assurances in return: a promise to respect Ukraine’s sovereignty and territorial integrity.
Ukraine kept its word. The world did not.
When Russia annexed Crimea in 2014 and launched a full-scale invasion in 2022, those assurances proved tragically insufficient. The signatories expressed concern, imposed sanctions, and offered aid—but none intervened militarily to uphold the sovereignty they had pledged to protect. The message was clear: political commitments and absent enforcement are fragile shields.
Now, as Ukraine faces the prospect of new negotiations, the question arises: Why would it trust another set of guarantees—especially from the same actors who failed to uphold the last?
This is not a call for cynicism. It is a call for clarity.
If the United States aspires to lead by example, it must reckon with the legacy of broken promises. It must offer more than rhetoric. It must craft agreements that are enforceable, transparent, and rooted in accountability. That’s not just good policy—it’s a moral imperative.
Because when nations fail to honor their word, they don’t just lose credibility; They weaken the very norms that underpin global cooperation. They teach smaller nations that survival depends not on diplomacy but on deterrence. And they risk a future where trust is replaced by fear.
The Fulcrum exists to elevate voices committed to strengthening democracy. That work begins with restoring faith in our institutions, our commitments, and our word. Honesty and integrity are not luxuries. They are the bedrock of a functioning democracy and a peaceful world.
The world is watching. Ukraine is watching. And history will remember not just what we said—but what we did.
Bruce Lowe is a homeowner advocate and community leader in Lubbock, Texas. He writes about civic integrity, public health, and principled reform. His book, "Honesty and Integrity: The Pillars of a Meaningful Life", explores how ethical leadership can strengthen families, uplift communities, and create a better life for all.
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.