Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Comfort Zone: Sometimes It Takes a Kick in the Ass to Wake Us Up

I’ve been thinking about something since last Tuesday’s election. As counterintuitive as it might sound, should we actually be thanking the Republican Party and Donald Trump for pushing so many Americans so far outside their comfort zones that they finally woke up?

Now, before anybody gets the wrong idea, I’m not suggesting we send Donald Trump a Christmas card or nominate him for some sort of humanitarian award. Let’s not get carried away. But there is something worth considering about what happens when people are pushed far enough beyond what they’ve grown accustomed to accepting.

For years, a large portion of the American public seemed perfectly content to sit back, go about their daily lives, and assume that somebody else would take care of the important things. Politics was something that happened on television. Elections were something that came around every couple of years. Government was something to complain about over dinner, but rarely something that required any personal involvement.

We became comfortable. Maybe too comfortable.

And there’s a particular kind of comfort that isn’t really comfort at all. It’s more like being comfortably numb. You recognize that something isn’t right, but it hasn’t quite affected your daily routine enough to make you do anything about it. You shake your head, roll your eyes, make a sarcastic comment, and then go back to whatever you were doing.

Until eventually, something happens that makes it impossible to ignore.

I suspect that’s what we’ve witnessed over the last several years. The political rhetoric, the attacks on institutions, the constant division, the disregard for traditions and established democratic principles have pushed people who might otherwise never have paid much attention to politics into actually paying attention.

People who never considered themselves politically active have started showing up. People who rarely discussed politics are suddenly having conversations about the Constitution, voting rights, the separation of powers, and what kind of country they want their children and grandchildren to inherit.

People who might have previously thought their individual voices didn’t matter have discovered that they actually do.

And perhaps that’s the most important thing to come out of all this.

Sometimes it takes being pushed outside your comfort zone to recognize just how important that comfort was in the first place. We don’t always appreciate the things we take for granted until somebody threatens to take them away. Democracy, personal freedoms, institutional safeguards, and the simple expectation that our government should work for everyone aren’t things we should have to think about every single day. But perhaps we’ve learned that we should never take them for granted either.

So, in a rather strange and admittedly sarcastic way, perhaps we do owe Donald Trump and the Republican Party a thank-you.

Thank you for making people pay attention. Thank you for reminding Americans that elections have consequences. Thank you for demonstrating that democracy isn’t something that operates on autopilot. And thank you for motivating people who might otherwise have remained comfortably on the sidelines to finally stand up and say, “Wait a minute. My voice matters, too.”

Of course, there’s a catch to all of this. Waking up is only the first step. Being angry, frustrated, or politically engaged for one election cycle isn’t enough. The real challenge is turning that awakening into something lasting. It’s about remaining involved when the headlines change, when the immediate threat seems less urgent, and when the temptation to return to our comfortable routines becomes overwhelming.

Because the last thing we need is to wake up, accomplish something, and then promptly fall asleep again.

Maybe that’s the unexpected lesson here. Sometimes progress doesn’t begin with inspiration. Sometimes it begins with frustration, disappointment, and the realization that things have gone too far to simply sit back and watch.

I don’t know whether this moment will ultimately become the turning point that so many of us hope it will be. But I do know that an awful lot of Americans have discovered something about themselves over the last several years: they have a voice, they have a stake in this country, and they don’t have to remain spectators.

So, thank you, Donald. Not for what you’ve done to the country, but perhaps for what you’ve inadvertently reminded people they can do for it.

Sometimes it takes a truly uncomfortable experience to get people out of their comfort zone.

And sometimes, apparently, it takes a political wrecking ball to remind a whole lot of Americans that they were supposed to be holding the steering wheel in the first place.

Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Well, what a week it has been. For those of us who have spent the better part of the last couple of years wondering whether voters were paying attention, it appears that at least a substantial portion of the American electorate finally read the assignment. Democrats made significant gains, took control of both the House and Senate, and gave this administration something it hasn’t had to deal with very often: a Congress that isn’t simply willing to rubber-stamp whatever comes out of the White House.

There is plenty to be optimistic about. We have an opportunity to investigate, provide oversight, restore some accountability, protect programs that have been under attack, and begin repairing some of the institutional damage. We will have committee chairs who can actually ask questions, subpoena documents, and demand answers. We can begin looking at what happened, who authorized it, who benefited from it, and whether anyone believes the Constitution still applies to people occupying positions of power.

But I hate to be the person looking for the dark cloud when everyone else is enjoying the sunshine. Unfortunately, I have watched enough American politics to know that winning an election and winning the political narrative that follows are two entirely different things.

And the Republicans have become exceptionally good at turning their defeats into accusations against the people who defeated them.

Remember 2006? George W. Bush and the Republicans lost control of both chambers of Congress. The electorate had become increasingly unhappy with the direction of the country, the war in Iraq, and the administration’s handling of just about everything. Democrats won, and suddenly the conversation became about how unreasonable, obstructionist, and politically motivated Democrats were. The election results were almost an inconvenience to the narrative that Republicans wanted everyone to hear.

We are going to see that movie again.

The moment a Democratic committee schedules a hearing, somebody on right-wing television will declare that Democrats are bullying Republicans. If they investigate questionable government spending, it will be a witch hunt. If they subpoena administration officials, it will be political persecution. If they demand answers about immigration enforcement, government contracts, executive orders, or the treatment of American citizens, they will be accused of weaponizing government.

And naturally, every Republican who spent the previous several years demanding investigations, issuing subpoenas, and conducting congressional hearings will suddenly discover that congressional oversight is an abuse of power.

Apparently, accountability is a wonderful American principle until somebody holds your side accountable.

We also need to understand that the administration isn’t going to quietly accept the change in political circumstances. If anyone needed a preview of what is coming, we got one with the announcement that Stephen Miller, otherwise known as the human embodiment of a particularly unpleasant Victorian-era vampire, is becoming Trump’s chief of staff. That’s not exactly a personnel decision that suggests a newfound interest in moderation, cooperation, or national healing.

It’s a signal that the administration intends to double down rather than reconsider the direction that just cost Republicans control of Congress.

And then there is the issue of legislation. We need to be particularly attentive to the timing of policies and programs that Republicans approved knowing their consequences would not become apparent until after the election. Cuts to healthcare programs, changes to federal spending, and other provisions can be structured to take effect in 2027, when the new Congress is already in office.

Think about the political convenience of that arrangement. Republicans pass legislation, establish the consequences, and then leave Democrats to deal with the fallout. When people begin experiencing the cuts, the increased costs, or the loss of benefits, the administration and its media allies will point toward the Democratic Congress and suggest that somehow Democrats are responsible.

It is an old political trick: create the problem, delay the consequences, and blame the people who inherit it.

This is precisely why Democratic leadership needs to start preparing now, not in January, not after the first manufactured controversy, and certainly not after the right-wing media machine has spent six months establishing its version of events.

We need to get ahead of the narrative.

First, transparency has to become a priority. Every investigation, every hearing, every subpoena, and every finding should be explained to the public in language ordinary people understand. Don’t assume Americans are going to watch eight hours of congressional testimony or read a 300-page investigative report. Show them what happened, explain why it matters, and make the evidence accessible.

Second, Democrats need to stop being afraid of doing their jobs because somebody might call them mean names on television. Oversight isn’t bullying. Investigating government misconduct isn’t revenge. Protecting constitutional responsibilities isn’t partisan warfare. There is a difference between political retribution and legitimate accountability, and Democrats need to demonstrate that difference through their actions.

Third, we need to communicate consistently. Not 15 different Democratic representatives giving 15 different explanations of the same issue. Leadership needs to establish priorities, coordinate the message, and make sure the public understands what is being accomplished. We cannot afford to spend the next two years arguing with ourselves while Republicans spend their time attacking us.

And perhaps most importantly, we need to remember why voters gave us this opportunity in the first place.

People didn’t vote simply because they wanted Democrats to take over congressional offices. They voted because they were frustrated with the cost of living, healthcare, government corruption, the direction of the country, and the seemingly endless assault on democratic institutions. They want their government to work for them. They want some evidence that elected officials understand the difference between serving the public and serving themselves.

We cannot lose sight of that.

There will be plenty of opportunities for investigations, and there may very well be legitimate grounds for impeachment proceedings depending on what the evidence establishes. But we cannot make impeachment or political revenge the entire Democratic agenda. We need to demonstrate that governing is more than simply opposing Donald Trump. We need to show people what responsible government actually looks like.

We also need to resist the temptation to expect everything to change overnight. We have already discussed how much easier it is to break something than to rebuild it. The incoming Congress will inherit legislation, policies, appointments, and institutional problems that cannot simply be reversed with the stroke of a pen. Some things will require legislation, some will require litigation, and others will require years of rebuilding.

But we finally have an opportunity to start.

I am genuinely optimistic about what this new Congress might accomplish. I am also realistic enough to understand that the next two years are going to be ugly. The Republican Party isn’t going to suddenly embrace bipartisan cooperation because voters handed Democrats the keys to Congress. The right-wing media ecosystem isn’t going to acknowledge that perhaps some of the criticism of this administration was justified. And Donald Trump certainly isn’t going to wake up one morning and decide that humility and introspection are attractive personality traits.

The attacks are coming. The accusations are coming. The manufactured controversies, selective outrage, and endless attempts to turn legitimate oversight into some kind of Democratic persecution campaign are coming.

So I hope Democratic leadership is already preparing for that storm.

We have been given more power, but power without preparation is just another missed opportunity. We have to be disciplined, transparent, persistent, and willing to stand our ground. We need to investigate where investigation is warranted, legislate where legislation is needed, and remember that the people who voted for us are watching.

And perhaps those who didn’t vote for us are watching, too. We have an opportunity to demonstrate that government can function without treating half the country as an enemy.

I don’t want Democrats to become a mirror image of the Republican Party. I don’t want investigations simply for the sake of political theater, and I certainly don’t want us to adopt the same scorched-earth philosophy that has brought us to this point.

But I also don’t want Democrats to spend two years apologizing for doing their jobs.

We won the election. We earned the opportunity. Now we have to earn the public’s confidence.

Enjoy the victory, folks. Celebrate it. We deserve a little breathing room after everything that has happened.

But keep your helmets handy.

Because the election may be over, but the political shitstorm is just getting started.

Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Two Things Every Gen Xer Remembers: The Breakfast Club and the Soundtrack of Our Youth

There are certain songs and movies that do more than entertain us. They become time machines. You can be going about your day, minding your own business, and suddenly a familiar song comes over the radio. Within the first few notes, you’re no longer sitting in traffic, paying bills, or worrying about whatever nonsense adulthood has decided to throw at you. You’re sixteen again. You’re back in high school, wondering where you fit in, who understands you, and whether any of this teenage bullshit is ever going to make sense.

For Generation X, I would argue there are two pieces of entertainment that accomplish this better than almost anything else: Simple Minds’ Don’t You (Forget About Me) and the movie The Breakfast Club.

And if you grew up in our generation, I’m willing to bet neither one needs much explanation.

Let’s start with the song.

Released in 1985, Don’t You (Forget About Me) became inseparable from The Breakfast Club. Those opening notes are practically a universal Gen X identification card. You hear them, and suddenly you’re transported back to a time when your biggest concerns might have been getting through algebra, figuring out who liked you, avoiding the wrong crowd in the hallway, or wondering what the hell you were going to do with your life.

There is something wonderfully melancholy about that song. It’s not simply a declaration that someone should remember you. There’s a little desperation in it, a little vulnerability, and a whole lot of youthful uncertainty. It’s the sound of someone hoping that the people who matter will remember them after the moment has passed.

And perhaps that’s why it has lasted.

Then there’s The Breakfast Club, John Hughes’ 1985 masterpiece of teenage angst, identity, and the social classifications that seemed so important when we were growing up.

The brain. The athlete. The basket case. The princess. The criminal.

Five teenagers, five different social identities, thrown together in Saturday detention. On the surface, they couldn’t have been more different. They occupied different corners of the high school social universe, and under normal circumstances probably wouldn’t have voluntarily spent five minutes together.

But as the hours pass, the labels begin to fall away. We discover that the athlete has pressures of his own, the princess has problems at home, the brain is struggling with expectations, the criminal is dealing with a miserable family life, and the basket case isn’t nearly as strange as everyone assumes.

In other words, they’re teenagers. They’re trying to figure out who they are while everyone around them seems determined to tell them who they’re supposed to be.

And that, more than anything, was the experience of Generation X.

We grew up in an interesting period. We were the latchkey kids, the children who came home to empty houses, made our own snacks, watched television, and generally figured things out without an adult hovering over every decision. We had MTV, cassette tapes, drive-in memories, mall hangouts, and enough teenage independence to get ourselves into trouble without needing a smartphone to document the evidence.

We were also a generation that spent a fair amount of time feeling misunderstood. Our parents had their expectations, society had its expectations, and high school had its little kingdoms and social hierarchies. We were expected to fit into categories that rarely described the complicated people we actually were.

John Hughes understood that. He managed to put something on the screen that a lot of teenagers recognized, even if they didn’t necessarily have the vocabulary to explain it.

And Simple Minds provided the soundtrack.

What makes these two cultural landmarks particularly interesting is that they have outlived the circumstances that made them popular. The teenagers who watched The Breakfast Club in 1985 are now approaching sixty, or already there. The kids who listened to Simple Minds on their bedroom stereos have mortgages, careers, divorces, children, grandchildren, and a collection of responsibilities that would have seemed unimaginable back then.

Some of us have done pretty well. Some of us took a few detours. Some of us are still trying to figure out what we’re supposed to be when we grow up. And some of us occasionally wonder whether the adults we became had any idea what they were doing in the first place.

But play that song.

Just play those opening notes.

I suspect a lot of us will stop whatever we’re doing for a moment. We might even remember the people we sat with in the cafeteria, the friends we lost touch with, the first person who broke our hearts, or the version of ourselves who thought the entire world was waiting just beyond graduation.

And maybe we’ll remember that movie, too. Five teenagers sitting in a library, discovering that underneath all the labels, they weren’t nearly as different as they thought.

That’s the funny thing about nostalgia. We don’t necessarily want to go back. We remember the awkwardness, the insecurity, the heartbreak, and the occasional humiliation. High school wasn’t necessarily a wonderful experience for everyone. But we recognize the people we were, and sometimes we miss the simplicity of having our entire future still ahead of us.

So, if you’re Generation X, here’s a little test. Put on Don’t You (Forget About Me) and watch the closing scene of The Breakfast Club again.

If you don’t feel something, I’m going to have to question whether you actually attended high school in the 1980s.

Because those weren’t just a song and a movie. They were two pieces of our generational identity. One gave a voice to the feeling that we wanted to matter, and the other reminded us that behind all the labels we wore, we were just trying to figure ourselves out.

And forty years later, Simple Minds is still reminding us not to forget.

As if any of us ever could.

Dwain Northey (Gen X)

If we are going to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ according to the traditional Nativity story, perhaps we ought to pay a little attention to the events that supposedly happened before the big day. After all, Christmas didn’t just happen because Mary showed up at a stable one evening with a newborn and a supporting cast of livestock. There was apparently a fair amount of divine scheduling, celestial navigation, and international travel involved.

And if we take the biblical account seriously, particularly the story of the Magi, then somewhere around this time of year, or within the next few weeks, those distinguished gentlemen from the East should be getting their celestial notification that something rather extraordinary is about to happen in Bethlehem.

Think about the logistics for a moment.

According to the traditional interpretation, the Magi were traveling from somewhere in the East, often associated with Persia or Babylon. Depending on their actual point of departure, their route, and the method of travel, the journey to Bethlehem could have taken four to six weeks, possibly longer. These weren’t three fellows hopping on a direct flight from Dubai to Tel Aviv. They were traveling by camel, horseback, and whatever other transportation was available in the ancient world. No GPS, no Google Maps, no roadside convenience stores, and certainly no Starbucks to keep the camel caravan caffeinated.

Which means that if they were going to arrive anywhere near the time of Jesus’ birth, their journey would have needed to begin well before the delivery.

So perhaps we should be celebrating the Magi’s notification right about now.

Imagine the scene. Somewhere in the East, a group of astronomically inclined gentlemen are minding their own business when the heavens decide to put on a little show. A star appears, apparently significant enough that these men conclude a king is about to be born somewhere in Judea. Not just any king, mind you, but the King of the Jews. And rather than sending a letter, dispatching a messenger, or waiting for confirmation, they apparently decide to pack up some expensive gifts and head west.

Gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Because apparently even the Son of God needed a welcome basket.

There is something wonderfully peculiar about this story. The angels announce the birth to shepherds in the fields, while the Magi receive their information through astronomical observation. One group gets an angelic announcement, the other gets a celestial billboard. Heaven seems to have multiple communication departments, and apparently nobody thought to establish a central notification system.

Of course, there is another little detail worth mentioning. The biblical account in Matthew doesn’t actually say there were three Magi. It mentions three gifts, and somewhere along the way Christian tradition decided that three gifts must mean three gift-bearing gentlemen. Apparently, biblical mathematics works a little differently when Christmas pageants need casting.

And Matthew doesn’t even say they arrived at the stable on the night Jesus was born. In fact, the account describes them visiting a house and refers to Jesus as a child. The familiar Christmas-card arrangement of shepherds, wise men, Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus, and a strategically positioned donkey all gathered together in one picturesque scene is more of a theological group portrait than a precise historical timeline.

But let’s not let historical details interfere with a perfectly good opportunity to celebrate.

If we’re going to follow the traditional Nativity chronology, then sometime in the coming weeks, those Magi should be receiving their invitation to the greatest birth announcement in human history. They will need to saddle up, gather their provisions, check their celestial navigation, and start making their way toward Bethlehem.

And perhaps that is a more interesting way to approach the Christmas season. Before we get wrapped up in shopping, decorations, commercialized cheer, and the annual argument about whether somebody has put the Christmas lights up too early, let’s remember that the story itself begins with anticipation.

A child is coming. A star is appearing. Travelers are preparing for a long journey. Shepherds are going about their ordinary business, completely unaware that their evening is about to become a permanent fixture in religious history.

And somewhere in the East, three men who may or may not actually number three are preparing to undertake a journey that will eventually make them some of the most recognizable visitors in religious tradition.

So here’s to the Magi.

May their camels be healthy, their provisions plentiful, their navigation accurate, and their gift-wrapping skills adequate. They have a long way to go, and apparently the destination is rather important.

And if you happen to see an unusually bright star over the next few weeks, don’t immediately assume it’s a drone, a government surveillance balloon, or Elon Musk trying to sell you something.

It might just be the beginning of the original Christmas road trip.

Happy Magi Notification Season. The wise men are about to hit the road, and Bethlehem is going to need a bigger parking lot.

Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Well, Democrats, progressives, independents, and anyone else who has been watching the political circus over the last several years with a mixture of disbelief, frustration, and occasional existential dread: we have a reason to be optimistic. The results of this midterm congressional election have given us an opportunity to change the direction of this country, restore some semblance of responsible government, and perhaps remind Washington that the people are still paying attention. It’s an encouraging development, and I’m certainly not going to apologize for being a little excited about it.

But before we start drafting legislation, rearranging congressional offices, and mentally redecorating the White House, perhaps we need to have a conversation about expectations.

One of the biggest problems with our political culture is that we have become accustomed to expecting instant gratification. We want results yesterday. We want legislation passed tomorrow. We want investigations completed, accountability delivered, institutions repaired, and every broken piece of government put back where it belongs before the next news cycle. And when those things don’t happen immediately, we become frustrated, disappointed, and sometimes downright angry with the very people we just elected to accomplish them.

We need to remember something rather fundamental: It doesn’t take very long to break something, but it takes considerably longer to put it back together.

We’ve spent years watching institutions being undermined, regulations dismantled, public trust eroded, relationships with our allies damaged, and the basic expectations of responsible leadership treated like optional suggestions. Reversing that damage isn’t going to happen because a new Congress takes an oath of office in January. There isn’t a magic switch in the Capitol building labeled “Restore Democracy.” Unfortunately, government doesn’t come with a factory reset button.

And institutional change is even more complicated.

If we genuinely want to address the underlying problems rather than simply reverse whatever the previous administration did, we need to think beyond the next election cycle. We need to establish building blocks that create lasting change. That means legislation, oversight, judicial reform, election protections, campaign finance reform, stronger institutions, and policies that can survive beyond the people currently occupying positions of authority.

Some of those things will be relatively easy to accomplish. Others will require negotiations, compromises, court challenges, public support, and perhaps several election cycles before we see meaningful results.

That’s why maintaining congressional majorities matters. One election can change the direction of the conversation, but maintaining those majorities for two or three consecutive cycles could give us the opportunity to accomplish something substantial. We need enough time to put policies in place, evaluate their effectiveness, make adjustments, and establish protections that aren’t easily undone by the next administration.

And let’s be honest with ourselves: we aren’t going to agree with every decision made by every Democrat we elected. There will be compromises we don’t like, legislation that doesn’t go far enough, and moments when we wonder whether anyone in Washington actually understands what we sent them there to do. That’s part of representative government. We can hold our elected officials accountable without demanding that every disagreement become a reason to abandon the entire effort.

We also need to resist the temptation to turn every political victory into an opportunity for revenge. Investigations and accountability are necessary. If laws were broken, if public resources were abused, or if constitutional responsibilities were ignored, those matters deserve examination. But the objective should be restoring the rule of law, not simply finding new people to punish. We should be demonstrating what responsible government looks like, not imitating the behavior that got us here in the first place.

And perhaps most importantly, we need to remember that governing is different from campaigning. Campaigning is about promises, slogans, and telling people what you intend to accomplish. Governing is about actually accomplishing those things, often through a painfully slow process involving people who don’t agree with you.

So, yes, let’s celebrate. Let’s enjoy this moment. We have earned a little optimism after watching the political equivalent of a dumpster fire for longer than any of us should have had to endure. But let’s temper that enthusiasm with a healthy dose of reality.

We didn’t get here overnight, and we aren’t going to get out of it overnight.

The work ahead is going to require patience, persistence, accountability, and a willingness to keep showing up even when the results aren’t immediately visible. We need to recognize progress when it happens, demand more when it doesn’t, and understand that meaningful change is often measured in years rather than headlines.

My expectations aren’t that the new Congress will fix everything in its first hundred days. My expectations are that they will start fixing things, establish a direction, and give us reasons to keep supporting the work.

We’ve been given an opportunity. Now we have to be willing to invest the time necessary to make something of it.

Winning an election changes who gets to steer the ship. It doesn’t magically repair the damage below deck.

Let’s keep our expectations realistic, our eyes on the long game, and our representatives working. We’ve got a country to put back together, and that is going to take more than one election, one congressional session, or one inspirational speech.

It takes sustained effort. And perhaps that’s the most important expectation we should have of ourselves as voters: don’t just show up when things are going wrong. Stay engaged long enough to make sure they get better.

Dwain Northey (Gen X)

Put Your Hand on the Constitution, Not the Bible

There is something I would like to see change when this next group of elected officials is sworn into office. Whether we’re talking about Zohran Mamdani, James Talarico, or any of the other newly elected representatives, I would like to see them put their hands on something other than a religious text when they take their oath of office. My suggestion is simple: Put your hand on the Constitution.

Not the Bible. Not the Quran. Not the Torah. Not any other religious text. The Constitution.

Before anyone gets their religious feathers ruffled, let me explain. This isn’t an attack on Christianity, Islam, Judaism, or anyone’s personal faith. People are absolutely entitled to believe whatever they want. They can worship on Sunday, Friday, Saturday, or whenever their particular faith tells them to. They can read their holy books, attend services, pray, meditate, or practice whatever religious traditions give their lives meaning.

But that’s personal faith. Holding public office is a public responsibility. Those two things should remain separate.

We supposedly have this little principle in the United States called separation of church and state. It isn’t an obscure suggestion or some modern invention designed to offend religious conservatives. The First Amendment establishes that Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting its free exercise. In other words, the government isn’t supposed to establish a religion, favor one religion over another, or interfere with an individual’s right to practice their faith.

Yet somehow, we’ve managed to turn religious symbolism into a recurring part of our political theater. Politicians hold Bibles, swear oaths on religious texts, invoke God in political speeches, and occasionally seem to confuse being elected to public office with receiving some sort of divine appointment.

I find that particularly ironic.

The oath of office isn’t a promise to God. It’s a promise to the American people and to the Constitution that establishes the government those officials are about to serve.

The Constitution is the document that defines their responsibilities, limits their authority, establishes the rights of the people, and provides the framework they are supposed to protect. It is the document that makes it possible for a Christian, a Muslim, a Jew, an atheist, or someone who practices a religion nobody in Washington has ever heard of to serve in the same government.

So why wouldn’t that be the document sitting underneath their hand when they take their oath?

Think about the symbolism for a moment. We have a country made up of people with different religious beliefs, different cultural backgrounds, and different ideas about the existence of God. Some believe deeply in a higher power. Some aren’t sure. Others don’t believe in God at all. But we all live under the same Constitution.

That’s supposed to be the common ground.

Article VI of the Constitution actually reinforces this principle by specifically prohibiting religious tests as a qualification for public office. The government doesn’t get to decide whether you’re Christian enough, Muslim enough, Jewish enough, or religious enough to represent your neighbors.

And that’s exactly how it should be.

I don’t want elected officials making decisions based on what they believe God wants. I want them making decisions based on the Constitution, the law, evidence, and the interests of the people they represent. Their personal religious beliefs are theirs to practice, but those beliefs shouldn’t become the measuring stick for everybody else’s rights.

If a politician wants to pray before taking office, that’s their business. If they want to attend church after the ceremony, that’s their business, too. But when they stand up to swear an oath to serve the United States government, I’d rather see them place their hand on the document that actually defines that responsibility.

And here’s where I’d like to take this one step further.

I would love to see the next swearing-in ceremony become an opportunity for every elected official, regardless of their religious affiliation, to make the same statement. Whether you’re a Christian minister, a Muslim, a Jew, an atheist, or someone who simply doesn’t subscribe to organized religion, put your hand on the Constitution and take the same oath.

Not because your religion is unimportant to you, but because it isn’t the job of government to represent one religion over another.

And I would even suggest changing the traditional closing words of the oath. Instead of ending with “So help me God,” why not end with something that actually reflects the responsibility these individuals are accepting?

Something along these lines:

“I take this oath for every person who voted for me and every person who didn’t. I take this oath to uphold the Constitution, protect the rights of the people I represent, and faithfully perform the duties of the office to which I have been elected. I understand that my responsibility is to all the people, not just those who share my political beliefs, my religious beliefs, or my opinions. I will do the job the American people entrusted to me.”

Now, that sounds like an oath of public service.

Because the person who voted against you still deserves representation. The Christian who disagrees with you deserves representation. The Muslim who disagrees with you deserves representation. The atheist, the agnostic, and the person who doesn’t give a damn about religion at all deserve representation.

You weren’t elected to represent God’s interests, your church’s interests, or even exclusively the interests of the people who put you in office. You were elected to serve the people.

There is something beautifully appropriate about that.

Imagine the next swearing-in ceremony. No religious competition over whose holy book gets the most prominent position. No implication that one faith has a special relationship with the government. Just elected representatives placing their hands on the Constitution and making a promise to the American people.

Because that’s the job.

My suggestion for getting God out of our politics isn’t complicated. We don’t need to outlaw prayer, remove religion from people’s lives, or tell anyone what they can believe. We simply need to remember that our government isn’t a church, the presidency isn’t a pulpit, and Congress isn’t a religious congregation.

Put your hand on the Constitution.

And when you finish taking your oath, don’t promise God that you’ll do your job. Promise the American people.

They are the ones who hired you. They are the ones whose rights you’re supposed to protect. And they are the ones to whom you are ultimately accountable.

It’s the Constitution that makes that promise possible. Perhaps it’s time we started treating it as the most important book in the room.