07/06/2025
Liberty & Patriotism: Where Have All the Patriots Gone?
In the time of the Founding Fathers, it’s said that America was divided in thirds:
-One-third patriots.
-One-third loyalists.
-One-third survivalists.
Today? If we’re being honest—maybe ten percent still carry that patriot spirit. Maybe five. If that. Most are loyalists now. Not to a crown, but to systems. Party lines. Paychecks. Comfort. And the survivalists? They’re out there too—quiet, tired, holding on.
I came across a post recently—someone sitting in silence, speaking truth about the cost of labor, the weight of systems, and the illusion of freedom. It reminded me of a visual I once created: a heart in a cage. I saw myself in that post. A man in a prison cell—not behind bars, but in a world where asking questions feels like rebellion.
People say things like, “At least he has AC.” As if air conditioning makes submission more palatable. As if comfort replaces liberty.
That’s what struck me. Not just the dismissal, but how few truly paused to think. That’s when the quote came back to me:
“When men yield up the privilege of thinking, the last shadow of liberty quits the horizon.”
—Thomas Paine
I still believe in the ideals of America. That’s why I speak. That’s why I care. That’s why I write.
Men like Paine supported the flag—not as an idol, but as a symbol of standing together. I’m not attacking those who wave it. Let me be clear—I believe many still hold real patriotism in their hearts.
But we must ask:
Are we still standing together?
Or are we just waving?
Let us not forget: the Founding Fathers were not simply fighting for a country—they were fighting for the freedom to think, to speak, to act with dignity.
They fought for representation—not just in taxation, but in voice, in agency, in the shaping of their lives and families.
Men like Patrick Henry, despite their contradictions, understood this deeply. The British crown offered protection, trade, and structure—but without real representation. What they offered was not liberty. It was comfort disguised as choice. And the Founders saw through it.
They weren’t rebelling against hardship. They were rebelling against forced submission—against being told how to live, what to give, and who to be. They knew the danger of too much safety, too much control. They knew that true freedom requires the space to think, to err, to create, to resist.
That padded comfort can become a cage.
“Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety.”
—Benjamin Franklin
We must be cautious of comfort. Because when comfort is used to dull the senses—when it's used to keep us quiet—it begins to resemble padded walls. Soft. Harmless. Safe. We build them slowly—one convenience, one policy, one excuse at a time—until we wake up in a space where thinking feels dangerous, and speaking truth sounds ungrateful.
Because safety feels easier.
Because asking hard questions sounds ungrateful.
But life isn’t easy. It was never meant to be. Life is hard—and it’s in the hard that we find the good.
And yes, we’ve forgotten who we are.
And that’s okay.
We have forgotten—but we are not lost.
The truth is still there. The values are still there. We still know.
But we must regain what was set aside.
We must remember.
Freedom is not just ease or access.
Freedom has thought. Freedom has weight.
It carries with it a kind of sacred gravity—one that demands we not give it away for convenience, even when that convenience is wrapped in safety.
This is not a call to condemn.
It is a call to condone remembering.
Remembering thought.
Remembering who we are.
And how we got here.
We were never meant to teach children what to think—but how to think, and even more, why we think. There are truths still present—quiet, buried, but not broken. The lines to those truths have not been severed… but insulated. Softened. Protected. Padded.
But life isn’t meant to be insulated.
Not like a wire.
Life must weather storms.
It must feel friction.
It must take risk.
That’s how it grows. That’s how it becomes stronger.
Not in padded cells.
Not behind quiet comfort.
But in remembering.
