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.
Hindsight is 20/20—assuming, of course, that you care to look back. Generally, folks throw this phrase out there because looking to an immutable past can tell you little about how to navigate a turbulent future. What’s the value, for instance, of reviewing all the red flags that high-school Kevin missed in continuing to date the star of the volleyball team who cheated numerous times? In this case, zero; I’m happily engaged to a wonderfully loyal person.
In some cases, however, failing to look back is a dire mistake. That’s sadly too often the case when it comes to government regulation (or lack thereof). Two pressing examples stick out: climate change and tech.
In 1992, the Intergovernmental Policy on Climate Change (IPCC) noted that “[t]he potentially serious consequences of climate change give sufficient reasons to begin adopting response strategies that can be justified immediately even in the face of significant uncertainties.” In 2023, the IPCC reported that delayed action on climate change rendered some negative consequences “unavoidable and/or irreversible,” to the extent that even “deep, rapid and sustained greenhouse gas emissions reduction” would only partially reduce those effects. Some hindsight could help pinpoint how, when, where, and why our regulatory system fell short.
In 2018, Mark Zuckerberg more or less asked Congress to regulate social media. Five years of inaction later, the U.S. Surgeon General issued an advisory on social media and youth mental health, noting that “[s]ocial media may also perpetuate body dissatisfaction, disordered eating behaviors, social comparison, and low self-esteem, especially among adolescent girls.”
A few weeks ago, Sam Altman urged legislators to regulate Artificial Intelligence. Hindsight could help explain why Congress previously ignored a tech CEO’s pleas and what needs to change for a different response this time around.
Yet, there’s no formal institution tasked with evaluating—in a non-partisan, exacting, and thorough manner—what led to our mistakes and recommending—with a healthy dose of pragmatism—what can change to avoid such mistakes in the future.
We need a “Hindsight Commission.”
This Commission could take many forms to achieve its lofty and essential objections, so the important thing is to establish what decisions would undermine its potential.
First, this shouldn’t be a retirement gig for historians. The Commission must be as good at looking forward as it is looking back.
Second, this shouldn’t serve as a launchpad for aspiring politicians. The Commission should operate in relative obscurity and its members should remain anonymous.
And, third, this shouldn’t be a partisan tool. Like the Congressional Research Service— a nonpartisan institution tasked with providing objective and authoritative legal analysis to members of Congress, the Commission should operate under the Library of Congress.
In an age of hyper partisanship, some may rightfully worry that despite the Commission being housed in an institution (the Library of Congress) that is better known for its role in a Nicholas Cage movie than its politics, Democrats and Republicans will still find a way to exploit the Commission to show the “errors” of the other side. That’s why the Commission should put older case studies at the top of its agenda.
For instance, the Commission could start with a thorough examination of the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II. A report by the Hindsight Commission on how each branch and the political process in general failed to prevent such egregious treatment of American citizens would provide a real service to all those dedicated to preventing similar injustices today. This topic, by now means any easy case, would give the Commission a chance to demonstrate its capacity and value--setting it up for taking on more recent shortcomings.
Looking back isn’t always a bad thing. Our democratic system will never improve if we lack the humility to acknowledge that its design, its actors, and its bystanders have previously fallen short of our collective expectations and aspirations. A Hindsight Commission would institutionalize and legitimize the process of learning from our governance mistakes -- a worthy goal given all the challenges that lie ahead.




















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.