Goldstone’s most recent book is "On Account of Race: The Supreme Court, White Supremacy, and the Ravaging of African American Voting Rights.
Few question the value of experience. Almost every parent attempts, often with great difficulty, to teach their children to acquire some experience in life before making major decisions. New hires in most businesses go through training programs to prepare them for the challenges they will face, as does just about every aspiring doctor or lawyer. Young athletes, no matter how talented, are usually brought along slowly to gain seasoning before facing veteran opponents.
Although many teenagers and the ignorant of all ages insist they can waltz into any situation and do just fine the first time out, life often teaches them that they should have been more prudent. Experience is something that they did not think they would need until they had some.
And so, predictably, the internet is rife with quotes about experience by famous people. Albert Einstein said, “The only source of knowledge is experience.” The great physician William Osler observed, “The value of experience is not in seeing much, but in seeing wisely.” The poet John Keats noted, “Nothing ever becomes real ‘til it is experienced — even a proverb is no proverb to you till your life has illustrated it.” Oscar Wilde added, with typical acidity, “Experience is simply the name we give our mistakes.” Even Oprah Winfrey has chimed in: “Turn your wounds into wisdom.”
With such widespread agreement that the past informs the present, it is something of a surprise that Americans on both sides of the political divide are so willing to brush off the most valuable source of political wisdom — our own history.
What is American history, after all, but a record of our national experience, a vehicle by which we can evaluate the decisions of the past to try to make better decisions in the future? To be a useful learning tool, however, history has to be properly recorded, fairly evaluated and taught as objectively as possible. Failure to do so creates distortion and misunderstanding, and thus renders it useless to help solve present problems and prepare for future ones.
In recent years, however, understanding our history as it actually played out has been subordinated to using the past as a political weapon. We hear all too often from the left that United States history is an unbroken line of oppression, racism, sexism and any other -ism that the venal, greedy, white male power structure foisted on helpless minorities. For the right, our past is glorious, where freedom was granted to each and every American, regardless of race, creed, color or national origin and that everyone was able to thrive within the system if only they worked hard and followed the rules. (Slavery, an obvious exception to that doctrine, is dismissed as an historical anomaly.) Thus, those on the right contend the starting line is essentially equal and those on the left insist that the privileged classes are starting 90 yards up the track in a 100-yard race.
Warping history has political consequences. If, for example, one believes that all Americans, regardless of color or origin, effectively have the same opportunities, then social programs look like giveaways to moochers rather than an attempt to redress past discrimination. If, on the other hand, one believes the United States is incurably inequitable, where no amount of false promises will prevent biased treatment under the law, then government has a responsibility to protect those whom society will not.
Both are half-truths, and that is the problem. Advocating such principles might yield short term political advantage, but it will create a weaker nation, less able to solve the nation’s problems, which at the moment are deep and acute.
Understanding history can also be a powerful tool. Black citizens of Georgia, for example, have been victims of voter suppression since just after Reconstruction. State and local governments erected transparent barriers to registration, which both state and federal courts upheld as not on their face being racially motivated. For decades, Black men and women in the state had no recourse and few were willing to risk their jobs, their homes and even their lives to try to cast a ballot.
Although the 1965 Voting Rights Act helped some, the white power structure spared no effort to stay one jump ahead of the federal government, a task that became a good deal easier in 2013, when the Supreme Court eviscerated that law in Shelby County v. Holder. As a result, in a state that is one-third Black, African Americans had virtually no power in state government, and minimal representation in Washington. Many Black Georgians felt that things had not and would not change and that participating in such a sham was a waste of time. Apathy became as big an impediment to voting as the law.
But some Black Georgians, such as Stacey Abrams, looked at history and saw opportunity. Unlike with the de jure restrictions of the Jim Crow days, and even in the face of Shelby, the best that the white power structure could do was make registering and voting massively inconvenient. They could not prevent it. What was needed was to convince Black men and women that giving their time and effort would not be futile, a task whose monumental difficulties cannot be overstated.
But Abrams and her supporters did it and in 2018, she came within 55,000 votes of defeating Brian Kemp, who used any variety of questionable ploys to win the governor’s race, including overseeing the election himself. But the opportunity was still there and Black Georgians tried again in 2020.
And this time they won.
Success did not come easily. It involved a massive effort to both register Black Georgians and then to ensure that their registrations remained valid in the face of increasingly desperate efforts to disenfranchise them. Then there were the waits — four, five, sometimes six hours in long lines to get to inadequately manned polling stations. Rural voters, the conservative base, could be in and out of their polling places in minutes.
But in the end, Joe Biden carried the state and Georgia elected a Black man and a Jew as U.S. Senators. You could have gotten better odds on Vladimir Putin winning the Nobel Peace Prize.
In two months, Black voters will again be in the position to help elect Sen. Raphael Warnock to a full term and turn Kemp out of office. It will involve navigating through yet another wave of state imposed restrictions and waiting interminably to reach the ballot box.
But this time history, which had always been the enemy, is on their side.




















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.