Dwain Northey (Gen X)

There was a time when we liked to imagine ourselves as the global hall monitor—the nation that lectured everyone else about democracy, rule of law, and consequences. We wrapped ourselves in civics textbooks and told the world how it ought to behave. And yet here we are, watching other countries quietly do the very things we claim to stand for while we twist ourselves into rhetorical pretzels trying to avoid holding our own powerful accountable.

Take Park Geun-hye in South Korea. When her corruption scandal and abuse of power came to light, the country didn’t shrug and say, “Well, politics is messy.” Millions protested. Courts acted. She was impeached, tried, and sentenced. Agree or disagree with every detail, but the through-line was clear: power does not equal immunity. The system bent toward accountability.

Meanwhile, in the United Kingdom, even the gilded insulation of monarchy didn’t prove impenetrable. Prince Andrew was publicly stripped of royal duties and affiliations after his associations with Jeffrey Epstein became impossible to ignore. The House of Windsor closed ranks not to protect him, but to distance the institution from scandal. Titles faded. Doors closed. Consequences arrived—however imperfectly.

And here? We debate whether consequences are “political.” We treat accountability like it’s a partisan attack instead of a civic obligation. We split hairs. We invent alternate realities. We call prosecutions “witch hunts” and investigations “weaponization.” We elevate people under clouds of serious allegations and then act shocked—shocked!—when the rest of the world questions our moral authority.

How did we fall so far, so fast?

It wasn’t overnight. It was a slow corrosion. A tolerance for “our side” getting away with what we’d condemn in anyone else. A normalization of behavior that would have once ended careers in a week. A transformation of patriotism from love of country into loyalty to personalities. We began treating the rule of law as optional, depending on polling numbers.

The irony is painful. We still give speeches about freedom and democracy while other nations—flawed, imperfect, complicated nations—demonstrate that no one is too powerful to answer for misconduct. We insist we are the beacon. But a beacon has to shine consistently, not flicker depending on who’s standing in the dock.

Accountability isn’t vengeance. It isn’t partisan. It’s the quiet, steady insistence that the rules apply to everyone. When other countries enforce that principle and we hesitate, deflect, or protect, it doesn’t just damage our politics. It damages our credibility.

Maybe the real question isn’t how we fell so far so fast. Maybe it’s when we decided that protecting power was more important than protecting principle. Because the rest of the world is watching—and, increasingly, leading by example.