Kevin Frazier i s an Assistant Professor at the Crump College of Law at St. Thomas University. He previously clerked for the Montana Supreme Court.
“It takes a village to raise a child.”
It’s a common refrain. It’s commonsensical. And, it should be a common basis for the informal norms and formal policies intended to support young families. A “Leave It To Beaver”-esque upbringing should be our shared aspiration, rather than the target of skepticism. Such an upbringing is unquestionably a privileged one, but such privilege should become as common as the cold. There’s a difference between mandating a specific kind of family and celebrating the positives that come from surrounding a child with a community of support.
On a recent visit to Oklahoma City, I saw a model for such a community. At the center of that village is a toddler named Clarissa, the bundle of joy born to good friends who we visited on our summer road trip.
Within a five minute drive, Clarissa can count on at least six adults to go out of their way to ensure her well-being. A two-hour drive would bring four more adults into her village. A four-hour drive would add two more. Then there’s the entirety of the congregation at Clarissa’s church, all ready and willing to babysit, play, and mentor her.
Once I realized the breadth and depth of Clarissa’s village, it made all the sense in the world why her parents were nearly as giggly as she was. I expected to find them hassled, haggard, and hurried. Instead, the young family welcomed me and my fiancé into their home with open arms and dinner waiting on the table. Don’t get me wrong, they had plenty of stories about sleepless nights and restless days, but none of those taxing situations depleted their batteries because they knew they could count on others to step up when the crying got too loud.
Importantly, Clarissa isn’t the only one benefiting from her village. According to her parents, Clarissa has given some members of the village a new purpose and opportunity to be a part of a cause larger than themselves. In an age marked by an epidemic of loneliness, Clarissa’s role as a point of connection for adults across a wide swath of Oklahoma and Texas is worth celebrating and emulating.
A village-approach is a win-win-win-win…you get it…situation. One underappreciated win is the role village formation can play in tapping into an underused resource, the wisdom of an aging population. As our nation becomes older (and it’s graying quickly), there’s an opportunity to call on that experience to help raise our toddlers and teenagers so that they will, in turn, become valuable parts of a village down the road.
To realize the full potential of the village-approach, we will have to upend traditional limits on who can join the community, for instance, by inviting participation by members beyond our family trees. This is a big ask. Parents have every right to question the character and intentions of those who want to play a role in the life of their child. But there’s no reason we cannot develop ways to assuage those concerns and bring in members of our communal shrubbery.
Many of us have become comfortable riding in other people’s cars and staying in a stranger’s home. Given our willingness to extend our trust further in certain contexts, it seems possible that similar systems could be developed to recruit members into a child’s village. One easy way to start would be to canvas retirement homes for volunteers. My hunch is that more than a few folks would raise their hand if asked to help mentor and guide a little one.
Imagine the good that would come about by ensuring that every child had at least two grandparents, through blood or by being recruited to a child’s village, to call on for assistance and instruction. Just those two additional villagers would help parents and children alike reach their full potential.
A child isn’t the only one who needs a village. Parents rely on them. And community members yearn for them.




















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.