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.
Democracy is simpler than it’s made out to be; it’s about people and the communities they form in order to identify shared problems and implement mutually beneficial solutions.
The strength and scope of that democratic community is the sum of millions of decisions made by you and me on a daily basis—who we talk to, who we get to know, and who we collaborate with at work and in our neighborhoods. Those small decisions can build a powerful democratic community.
But throughout our history we’ve squandered much of that power by letting other individuals and entities dictate who joins our democratic community—in fact, we’ve given social media companies, political parties, and special interests the authority to confine us within democratic bubbles. These bubbles are hard to burst—the public spaces and institutions that used to break us free of narrowly defined communities no longer serve that function. For instance, higher education institutions cater to a very small set of society and neighborhoods that previously allowed folks across the socioeconomic spectrum to run into one another have now priced out certain folks. Income inequality, housing unaffordability, and disparate educational and economic opportunities are all indicative of a larger, troubling trend: Americans have fewer friends from fewer places with fewer differences in their backgrounds, beliefs, and perspectives.
The upshot is that for reasons somewhat within our control our democratic community has fragmented into cliques with all the pettiness you’d expect from the mean students in high school. There’s unfounded gossip, unnecessary exclusion, and unproductive drama.
Of course, I’m not the first to recognize this. Others have as well and, in response, have offered a mandatory national service program as a way to reconnect Americans to one another at an early age—but with a notable shortcoming. Proponents of national service usually pitch it as short-term (usually a year or two), skill-based (service opportunities intended to advance a member’s professional prospects), and focused on the individual (a member has some say over when, why, where, and how they serve). In other words, developing a stronger, broader democratic group is at best a second-order priority under common national service proposals.
If we agree that restoring our democratic community should be more of a priority both generally and in the specific context of a national service program, then we need to upend the traditional model. Think back to your late teens—maybe your senior year of high school. Now, imagine a classmate you considered an acquaintance —a temporary partner in a shared, short-term experience oriented around individual skill development. Fast forward to today. Do you consider this random Joe or Jane to be a part of your democratic community? Do you know anything about their goals, struggles, and hopes? Would you even call them an acquaintance at this point?
My hunch is that the answer to each of those questions is “No.” And, that’s fine! Understandable, even. But it’s also instructive—building a strong democratic community requires building relationships.
Thankfully, we can take a look at our own close relationships to figure out how to redesign proposals for national service programs with our democratic community in mind. The relationships that last are those that include regular connection, meaningful shared experiences, and a mutual agreement to build and deepen those relationships. There’s little about the traditional conception of national service that checks those boxes. Instead, the traditional model would build summer camp-esque relationships that burn hot like an overcooked s’more but then disappear as soon as the campfire goes out. Though your friendship bracelets might make it into the real world, the actual friend would not.
A national service program designed with a democratic community in mind could build off the following aspects: first, it should be cohort, rather than individually-based—you’d be assigned to a diverse cohort of about 50 other Americans; second, it should be long-term—your cohort would have a month-long service obligation each year until you turn 30; third, it should address communal needs first—individual skill development should not be the overriding purpose. In other words, service opportunities should predominantly emerge from consultation with local leaders and community members rather than from the professional aspirations of the national service members.
This service cohort approach has plenty of kinks to work out. Members could have a few “passes” to skip a service assignment when work, family, or other opportunities demand it. There’s myriad ways one could shape cohort selection--for instance, cohorts could be made demographically representative of the U.S. or could turn on different variables like socioeconomic status or even political affiliation. Those details can be resolved down the road. For now, we need to have an honest and productive national conversation about restoring our democratic community through service.
If we want to build a democratic community, then we need to rebuild our capacity to form relationships with one another. A reimagined approach to national service could start that process.




















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.”
____
Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.