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.
At a time when so many issues seem beyond the control of any one person, it’s important to remember that the institutions capable of changing the status quo are made up of folks like you and me. In other words, individuals can change the world by changing the institutions they drive and keep running. A teacher can reorient a school. An engineer can alter a company. An organizer can upend a community. That said, an individual’s efforts will only bring about collective change if that one person gives others opportunities to join them.
The importance of courageous contrarians and the collaborators they attempt to inspire to join them became all the clearer during my two-week tour of Berlin and Krakow with Fellowships at Auschwitz for the Study of Professional Ethics (FASPE).
On that trip, I learned about Lothar Kreyssig, a district court judge at the time of Hitler’s reign and an example of a courageous contrarian. Early in 1940, the Nazi regime launched Operation T-4, which involved the killing of individuals unfit and unworthy of Aryan race due to epilepsy, schizophrenia, asocial behavior, and “mental enfeeblement.” Many professionals--including doctors and lawyers--made those killings possible. Yet, Judge Kreyssig dared to steer members of the legal community away from perpetuating this system.
Judge Kreyssig soon realized that patients sent to Operation T-4 killing sites never returned. In response, he did not merely hope that the institution would suddenly reverse its ways. Instead, he took all available actions to protect those under his care as their legal guardian and provided others with an opportunity to join him in ending a horrific practice. First, he instructed the State Hospital to not release any of his wards without his approval. Second, he traveled to one of the killing sites to again order that none of his patients be transferred to that location. In short, he recognized that his individual actions--though just a ripple--could catch the attention of others and bring about a wave of institutional reform.
Sadly, such a wave never formed. Others refrained from supporting Judge Kreyssig’s efforts. Soon he found himself forced into retirement--unable to prevent thousands of killings under Operation T-4.
One could interpret Judge Kreyssig’s courageous stand as a failed effort. He stood up to a killing machine that simply evolved, grew larger, and succeeded in many of its worst goals. Still, Judge Kreyysig opened a door to resistance that others could have followed. The mere act of creating such an opportunity reduced the odds of catastrophe--though his gamble did not pay off it could have and that’s all any individual can hope to do.
To bring things into the modern era, Frances Haugen--the Meta whistleblower--provides an example of a courageous contrarian who managed to place a winning bet on upending an institution. Haugen and Judge Kreyssig both risked their jobs and reputations to encourage the reform of massive institutions--in Haugen’s case, others shared her courage and followed her lead. Members of the press picked up her story. Congressional officials gave her a platform. Her former colleagues verified her allegations and, to some extent, affirmatively responded to the concerns she raised.
A lack of change cannot and should not be blamed on institutional rigidity and resilience--every institution is just the sum of a finite group of individuals. Each of those individuals have agency and, consequently, power over that institution. At a minimum, they can choose to reject an assignment, to delay a duty, or to otherwise poorly perform their job. Such actions may not seem revolutionary but such actions can cause ripples that turn into waves of reform.
Cynicism is a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you think institutions are too large to change, then they will carry on as is and your power to leverage your influence will go unrealized. Some are better positioned than others to take risks that may jeopardize their lives and their well-being. But all of us bear a responsibility to take whatever actions are necessary to disrupt institutions that sow discord, foment inequality, and divide our communities. The risks you take may spark another to contribute to the movement--a pattern that, when repeated, can result in institutional change and societal reform.
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.