(Photo courtesy of Mick Haupt, unsplash.com)
“That men do not learn very much from the lessons of history is the most important of all the lessons that history has to teach.” —Aldous Huxley
We think of history as a subject we leave behind in school—dates, wars, and dusty documents. But history is not a relic. It is the heartbeat of our democracy. And the truth is: we’re not just bad at learning from history—we’re alarmingly good at ignoring it. And there is a very real, and extremely expensive cost to forgetting it. And let’s not forget the subject of civics. That would be the rights and duties of citizenship.
In today’s world, forgetting has become its own form of participation. When we fail to remember, we create the very conditions that allow injustice to return dressed in new clothing. Tyranny never starts with tanks in the street—it starts with a shrug. A blind eye. A collective amnesia. A bunch of lies and promises, and overstepping one’s bounds. Remember that citizenship comes with responsibilities?
We tell ourselves this time is different. That’s the seductive lie. But it’s not. The playbook of authoritarianism hasn’t changed—only the cast of characters.
The Danger of Forgetting
History tells us how democracies fall: not with a bang, but with small erosions. An overlooked lie. A judge replaced. A journalist silenced. Due process ignored. Power and privilege becoming a right. One norm bent, then broken. Then another.
We don’t forget because we’re incapable. We forget because it’s easier. Remembering is inconvenient. It forces us to feel. It requires us to confront uncomfortable truths—that we’ve seen these red flags before and did nothing. That we’ve allowed injustice to wear the mask of patriotism, nationalism, or let cruelty march under the banner of efficiency.
The German philosopher Hannah Arendt warned that the first step to totalitarianism is the erasure of critical thinking. Replace it with slogans. Replace it with fear. Make facts relative. Bombard the narrative with craziness and absurdity. That’s not just history—it’s the morning news, the evening news–the constant messaging.
We can no longer afford to be ahistorical. Our democracy depends not just on voting, but on remembering.
The Myth of the “Strongman”
Our fascination with the so-called strong leader is one of history’s longest and most dangerous infatuations. The strongman promises order, simplicity, and certainty. But those promises come at the cost of freedom, truth, and pluralism. They have proven to take societies down the road of tyranny and inhumanity.
Historian Archie Brown, in The Myth of the Strong Leader, reminds us: the leaders we revere—Lincoln, Mandela, Washington—did not hoard power. They shared it. They created systems stronger than themselves. They never sowed seeds of confusion. True strength lies in humility and restraint, not in domination. Not in blame.
Authoritarianism never arrives all at once. It’s a slow seduction. We trade liberty for security. We rationalize the erosion of norms as “necessary.” We prioritize power over principle. And before we realize it, we’re no longer choosing leaders—we’re following rulers.
Redemption Is Still Possible
But this is not a doom story—it is a wake-up call.
There is a redemptive path forward. One where leadership is not about self-aggrandizement, but service. One where remembering our past mistakes allows us to make wiser decisions.
True leaders don’t pretend to have all the answers. They create space for others to thrive. They own their missteps. They surround themselves with truth-tellers, not flatterers. They are givers more than takers. The practice courage, not cowardice. They unify, not divide. They encourage collaboration and cooperation, not chaos and division. They redeem power by using it to uplift, not to crush. Only fools would believe a fool, a pretender, or a con man.
And just as important: the led must also lead. Democracy is not a spectator sport. We don’t just elect leaders—we shape them. We hold them accountable, or we don’t. We teach the next generation what matters, or we let them inherit our silence. We should expect our leader to put the people and not themselves first, and be awake enough to take corrective action when they don’t.
Our Responsibility–All of Us
This is where the wisdom matters more than ever. While society has experienced many changes since the United States was formed, there were timelessly good reasons for the separation of powers, checks and balances, and the separation of church and state. Are there any truly wise reasons to discard them now?
In times of fear and uncertainty, the memory-keepers become our guides. They are the ones who’ve seen what happens when the fire of extremism is fanned instead of extinguished. They know the cost of silence. Of compliance. Of choosing comfort over courage.
Their stories are maps. Not nostalgia. Not lectures. Maps.
Let’s not mistake youthful energy for wisdom, nor elder wisdom for irrelevance. We need both.
If you’re older, speak up. Tell the stories that hurt to tell. If you’re younger, listen. Not to obey—but to understand. Because what you forget today might become the crisis you inherit tomorrow.
A Final Plea
We are at a fork in the road.
One path is paved with distraction, apathy, distrust, and the myth that “it can’t happen here.” The other is more demanding—but it leads to something worth preserving: a democracy where truth matters, where power is accountable, where the arc still bends toward justice.
Huxley’s warning is more than a clever quote—it’s a commandment: remember.
Remember that silence is never neutral. That every vote, every protest, every hard conversation matters. That as individual citizens working together we have power–and responsibilities. If our leaders fail to be courageous and trustworthy, it is even more important we must be.
Remember that democracy doesn’t defend itself. People do.
And most of all, remember that we’ve been here before.
And because we remember, we can choose differently.
We must. I must. You must.
