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I BelieveGovernance and Philosophy in America A Top 10 Apple Philosophy Podcast Author: Joel K. Douglas
Governance and Philosophy in America A Top 10 Apple Philosophy Podcast joelkdouglas.substack.com Language: en Genres: Government, Philosophy, Society & Culture Contact email: Get it Feed URL: Get it iTunes ID: Get it |
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TWENTY-TWO
Monday, 5 January, 2026
Act I. Tick Tock[SFX: The noise of New York City][Narrator] New York City in December. Manhattan. No snow yet, but the cold sits like it’s waiting for something.A kid walks home from work. Twenty-four years old. Jacket zipped to the throat. Same route he always takes. Down from Midtown, cutting through the side streets. Too many tourists on the main streets.He wants to move through the world without it touching him.It’s 6:12 PM. The sun is already gone. The crosswalk timer across the street blinks 12, then 11, then 10. Tick. Tick.Cars honk. Little beeps, long beeps, the ones that hold down the horn. Trash trucks. Ambulances with sirens blaring. Delivery drivers on bicycles. All stuck.The kid walks by the way he walks by everything. Eyes forward. Keep moving.Cops on almost every corner. Keeping the peace. On the buildings, American flags, lit from below, snapping in the wind that cuts between the towers. Red and white and blue against the black.And the steam.It comes up through the grates, the vents. Somewhere underneath. The water in the gutter catches it, and the whole street looks like it’s breathing. Like the city has lungs.A waist-high stack painted orange and white hisses near the curb. Warm air in cold air.He asked someone once. Why does it do that? Why is there always steam? Like the water is smoking.The subway, they said. The pipes. The heat below. The cold above. The whole city is a machine, and the steam makes it run.[Daniel] I love it. The city breathes. Exhales. Makes it feel alive. Like something’s happening under the surface, even when nothing’s happening at all.I put my headphones on.The noise is still there. I can see it. Mouths moving. Cabs lurching. Cops talking into their radios. But I can’t hear it. I’m inside my own head now.The tourists look up. They stop in the middle of the sidewalk to take pictures. Big coats. Shopping bags. Walking three across, like the city belongs to them.The New Yorkers move like water around rocks. They don’t stop. Just flow toward wherever they’re going.I’m one of them now. Four years in. The headphones that say don’t talk to me, don’t see me, I’m not here.[Narrator] The lights from a bodega spill onto the sidewalk. Red and gold. A pizza place on the corner, line out the door. A woman arguing into her phone in a language he doesn’t recognize.He turns onto his block. Streetlights tinge yellow-orange. A guy smokes on his stoop, looking at nothing. Somewhere above, music loud enough that the bass comes through the walls.Home.He steps inside.[Daniel] There he is. My little brother. Sitting on the couch. Looking at me like he’s got something to say.[Narrator] Daniel stands in the doorway. Doesn’t move. His brother looks up. People call him “K.” Nineteen years old. Named after his great-grandfather. Same face Daniel’s known his whole life, but something’s different now. The way he sits. The way he holds himself. K speaks first.[K] “I tried to call you. A few times.”[Narrator] Daniel pulls off his jacket. Tosses it on the chair. He moves to the kitchen, opens the fridge.[Daniel] He’s right. I never pick up.“You hungry? I’ve got leftover Thai. The good place.” K says he’s not hungry.[Narrator] Daniel grabs two beers. Pops the caps. Sets one on the coffee table in front of his brother and sits down across from him. K has been waiting for him to sit down.[K] “I joined the Navy.”[Narrator] Silence. Daniel’s beer stops halfway to his mouth.[Daniel] “What?”[K] “The Navy. I leave in two days.”[Daniel] I don’t say anything. I’m trying to hear it again. Navy. Two days.“When did you decide this?”[K] “A while ago.”[Daniel] “And you didn’t tell me?”[Narrator] The brother looks at him. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t apologize.[K] “I’m telling you now.”[Daniel] “That’s a waste.”[Narrator] It comes out before Daniel can stop it. K’s jaw tightens.[Daniel] “You’re smart. You could do anything. You’re going to swab decks and take orders from guys who peaked in high school?”[Narrator] K doesn’t look away. But something closes behind his eyes.[K] “Great-Grandpa Kenneth was Navy.”[Daniel] “That was different. That was a real war.”[Narrator] The words hang there. K picks up his beer. Sets it back down.[K] “I needed to do something.”[Daniel] “You were doing something. You had a job.”[K] “I was delivering packages.”[Narrator] K stops. Looks down at his hands. Then back up.[K] “I wanted to matter.”[Daniel] He says it like it’s simple. Like that explains everything.And I just told him it was a waste. Told him his war wouldn’t be real enough.[Narrator] K stands up.[K] “I should go. Early flight.”[Daniel] “K—”[K] “It’s fine.”[Narrator] It’s not fine. Daniel can hear it. But K is already at the door.[Daniel] “Be safe. Okay?”[Narrator] K nods once. Doesn’t look back.[Daniel] The door closes. I sit there with two full bottles and the thing I said still in the room.He wanted to matter. So he signed a contract. Raised his right hand. And now he belongs to something I don’t understand.Act II. Duration[SFX: Train wheels on tracks, rhythmic, then slowing. Station announcement muffled.][Narrator] The train pulls into the station. New Jersey suburbs. Christmas Eve.Daniel is on the platform. Cold air. Gray sky. Not cold enough to bite. Just there. He didn’t want to come. His mother called three times. The third time, she didn’t ask. She just said what time dinner was. So. Here he is. The house is twenty minutes from the station. His father picks him up. They don’t talk much. The radio fills the space. Sports. Weather. Traffic.[Daniel] Dad asks how my place is. He asks if work is good. We talk about sports. That’s the whole ride.[Narrator] The house is already full when they arrive. Cars in the driveway. Lights on in every window. A wreath on the door. Same wreath since Daniel was a kid.Inside, the house is warm. The smell of food. Voices overlap. Christmas music competing with a movie playing in the other room.His grandmother finds him first. “There he is. Look at you. So skinny. Are you eating?”[Daniel] “I’m eating.”[Narrator] She doesn’t believe him. She never believes him. She tells him she made a brisket and pulls him toward the kitchen.His mother finds him before he gets there. Hugs him like she’s checking if he’s real.[Daniel] She says I look tired. She asks about work. She asks if I’m seeing anyone.And there it is. I say no.She tells me about a girl. Rachel’s daughter. In law school. Very pretty. She could introduce us.“Mom.”She’s just saying.I need air. Quiet. To be anywhere but in the middle of this.[Narrator] He escapes. The back room. Used to be his grandfather’s study. Now it’s just a room with old books and a chair nobody sits in.Except tonight.Kenneth is there. In his late nineties. A circle of cousins around him, laughing at something he just said. He’s holding a glass of wine like a prop. He won’t drink it. Just likes having something in his hand.[Daniel] Great-Grandpa Kenneth. Everyone’s favorite person. Always has been.He’s the one who remembered every birthday. Sent five dollars in a card until I was ten, then switched to twenties because, in his words, “inflation is a thief and you deserve to keep up.”He’s sharper than anyone expects. Mixes up some names. Thinks my cousin Mike is still in college, even though Mike is thirty-two and sells insurance. But he knows what year it is. Knows who’s President. Has opinions about both.[Narrator] The cousins drift away when someone announces food. Kenneth stays in his chair. Daniel sits down across from him.[Daniel] “Do you think the Jets will make the playoffs next year?”[Narrator] Kenneth laughs. A real laugh. Starts in his chest. [Kenneth] “I’ve been waiting on the Jets since nineteen-seventy. I thought we were going to repeat.”[Narrator] He looks out the window. His fingers tap the arm of the chair. Something shifts behind his eyes.[Kenneth] “You know what waiting really is? I learned it in the Pacific.”[Narrator] Daniel didn’t expect this. But you don’t interrupt Kenneth.[Kenneth] “Picket duty. Small ship. Radar watch. You sit out there and wait. Okinawa, 1945. We were the first thing the kamikazes would see. That was the job. Spot them. Report them. Hope they didn’t get through.”“We were at sea when Roosevelt died. April. Someone came through the ship saying the President was dead.”[Daniel] “What did you think?”[Kenneth] “We didn’t believe it. He’d been President my whole life. Since I was a kid. Didn’t know there could be another one.”“You know what they told us when we signed up? ‘Duration Plus Six.’ That was the contract. You serve for the duration of the war, plus six months. No end date. Just... until it’s over. However long that takes.”[Daniel] “What if you wanted a different deal?”[Kenneth] “Only deal there was. You signed, or you didn’t. I signed. I wanted to matter.”[Narrator] He looks at Daniel. Eyes clear. Present.[Kenneth] “I heard your brother signed up.”[Daniel] “He just started boot camp.”[Kenneth] “I know. Your mother told me. Navy. Like me.”[Narrator] He nods. Proud. But something else crosses his face.[Kenneth] “I enjoyed serving. Proud of it. Still am.”[Narrator] He pauses. Looks at Daniel like he’s deciding whether to finish the thought.[Kenneth] “But the men who send them. The men who decide where they go. What we did was right, but it isn’t always right. Those men should be bound too.”[Daniel] “What do you mean?”[Kenneth] “Limits. A clock on them. Something that says you can’t keep sending boys forever just because you feel like it.”[Narrator] Someone calls from the other room. Dessert. Kenneth waves his hand. He’ll be there in a minute. Daniel waits for more. But Kenneth is looking out the window now. Somewhere else. Sixty years back. Small ship. Radar. Waiting.[Daniel] I sit there another minute. Then I get up. “Thanks, Grandpa. You want me to bring you some food?” I walk back into the noise. The laughter. The questions. But I’m not there. I’m somewhere else.The men who send them. They should be bound, too.[Narrator] Daniel leaves the next morning. Early train. The city, waiting. But something is different.He wants to move through the world without it touching him.Act III. The Debate. Scene 1.[SFX: Espresso machine. Cups on saucers. Quiet conversation.][Narrator] January. The city has its rhythm back. The holidays are over. The tourists have thinned out.Daniel is at a café in the West Village with his friend Margot. She loves the coffee here. Says it’s the only place in the city that does it right.They’ve known each other since college. Margot works at a think tank now. Policy stuff. She reads everything. The kind of person who sends you articles at midnight with “thoughts?” in the subject line.[Daniel] Margot is my smartest friend. She’d tell you that herself. Not in a bad way. She just knows what she knows, and she knows a lot. When I want to argue about something, I call Margot. When I want to feel dumb, I call Margot.[Narrator] They’re on their second espresso. Margot is reading something on her phone. Frowning at it. Then she looks up.[Margot] “You following this term limits thing? You should. Someone’s going to float it again. Repeal the 22nd. Let him run again. Or let whoever comes next run forever.”[Daniel] “Why would we do that?”[Margot] “Why wouldn’t we.”[Narrator] She takes a sip. She’s enjoying this.[Margot] “The 22nd isn’t a founding document. It’s from 1951. A reaction to Roosevelt. Republicans shoved it through because they were mad at FDR. Now they’re the ones floating ways to get around it.”[Daniel] “So we just erase it?”[Margot] “If the people want someone, why should dead people get a veto? The men who wrote the rule are gone. Every generation should get to decide for itself.”[Daniel] “So term limits are antidemocratic.”[Narrator] She leans in a little.[Margot] “If sixty million people want someone to be president, and you tell them no because of a rule written by guys who’ve been dead for seventy years, who’s the tyrant?”[Daniel] “What if they’re wrong.”[Margot] “Then they’re wrong. You don’t get to protect people from themselves.”[Narrator] She sets her cup down.[Margot] “I’m not saying I want it. I’m saying the argument against it is weaker than people think. The 22nd is a leash. And the hand holding it has been dead for decades.”[Narrator] Daniel’s cup is empty. He doesn’t order another.[Daniel] I think about Kenneth. The chair by the window. The men who send them should be bound too.Margot doesn’t know about K. Doesn’t know about Kenneth. She’s arguing in the abstract. I’m somewhere else. But I don’t say that. I don’t have the words.[Narrator] They step outside. The cold hits them. Margot heads uptown. Daniel walks home.The city hums. Steam from the grates. American flags wave in the sunlight. He puts his headphones on. But today they don’t work the way they’re supposed to.Kenneth’s voice is there. The men who send them should be bound too.And now Margot’s voice. The dead have no rights over the living.They don’t agree.Act III. The Debate. Scene 2.[SFX: Neighborhood bar. Quiet. A Knicks game on low. Someone shooting pool in the back.][Narrator] A week later. Daniel is at a bar near his apartment. Not his usual place. Just somewhere close. Didn’t want to cook.It’s a Tuesday. Almost empty. A couple in a booth by the window. A guy at the end of the bar, watching the game. Daniel sits in the middle. Orders a burger and a beer.The bartender is older. Sixties, maybe. Gray hair, kept short. Moves slow, but not tired. The kind of guy who doesn’t need to talk, but will if you want him to.[Daniel] I’ve been carrying it around for a week and haven’t said it out loud to anyone. And then I say to the bartender, “My brother just shipped out. Navy.”[Narrator] The bartender looks up. Nods once. Keeps wiping the glass.[Bartender] “Where to?”[Daniel] “He can’t say.”[Narrator] The bartender nods again. Like he knows that feeling.[Daniel] I don’t know why I ask him. Maybe because he’s right here.“What do you think about term limits. For presidents.”[Narrator] He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t act like it’s weird. People talk to him about all kinds of things. He sets the glass down. Thinks about it.[Bartender] “You know why we have them?”[Daniel] “Roosevelt served four terms. People got nervous.”[Bartender] “That’s the history. Maybe not the reason.”[Narrator] He shrugs, like the rest is simple.[Bartender] “We don’t do kings.”[Narrator] He says it plain. Like Daniel should already know.[Bartender] “That’s the whole point. Some guy sits in the chair until he dies, and then his kid sits in it. We said no. We said the people get to choose.”He leans in a little.“But the people choosing the same guy forever, waiting for him to die, that’s just a king with more steps.”[Daniel] “But if the people want him…”[Bartender] “People thought they wanted kings for thousands of years. Might have worked for Europe. But it’s not America.”[Narrator] He pours a beer for the guy at the end of the bar. Comes back.[Bartender] “There’s no guy so important the whole thing falls apart without him.”[Daniel] I think about what Margot said. The dead have no rights over the living.[Bartender] “The guys who wrote the Constitution, they’d seen what happens. A guy gets power, he wants more. Stays long enough, he thinks he deserves it. Stays longer, he thinks he’s the only one who can do it.”He taps the bar with two fingers.“After that, you’re not voting him out. You’re waiting for him to let go. And men like that don’t let go.”[Daniel] “So the limit protects us from ourselves?”[Bartender] “It reminds the guy in the chair it doesn’t belong to him. He’s just sitting in it for a while. He gets up and someone else sits down. That’s the deal.”[Narrator] The burger comes. Daniel eats. The bartender moves down the bar, checks on the other guy, comes back.[Bartender] “Your question. You’re chewing on something.”[Daniel] “I keep thinking about it. My brother. He signed. He’s bound.”[Narrator] The bartender nods.[Bartender] “Then the guys who send him shouldn’t be able to do anything they want.”[Narrator] He lets that sit.[Bartender] “If my kid’s going to war, the man who sends him should know he won’t be there forever. The longer you sit in that chair, the more you think it’s yours. There’s gotta be a limit.”[Daniel] I stop chewing. That’s it. That’s what great-grandpa Kenneth said. Almost the exact words.[Bartender] “A king doesn’t think about that. A king thinks he’ll be there to see how it ends. A president with a limit knows he won’t. That changes how you decide. Something good for the country is one thing. Something good for him is another.”[Narrator] Daniel finishes his burger. Finishes his beer. Pays the tab. Leaves a good tip.Two voices in his head all week. Kenneth. Margot. Now a third.There’s no guy so important the whole thing falls apart without him. He walks home. Headphones off. The city. The machine. Noise surrounds him.Act IV. The Limit[SFX: Silence. A refrigerator hum. A radiator clicking.][Narrator] May. 3 AM. Daniel’s apartment. Dark. Phone buzzes. Unknown number.[Daniel] “Hello?”[K] “Hey.”[Daniel] “K? You okay? Where are you?”[K] “I’m good. Can’t say.”[Daniel] “Is it cold? They feeding you?”[K] “Yeah. Food’s fine. Look, I can’t be on long. There’s a line. But I need a favor. Tell Mom I’m good. Doing the job.”[Daniel] I picture it. A line of guys at sea waiting for two minutes with a phone. Two minutes of home. And he’s using his to check on Mom.“I will.”[Narrator] Silence on the line. Daniel hears voices in the background. Someone waiting for the phone.[K] “Hey, I gotta go. There’s a line.”[Daniel] “Wait. K. I was wrong. What you’re doing matters. I didn’t get it then. I do now. We’re all proud of you.”[Narrator] He stops. That’s not what he meant to say.[Daniel] “I’m proud of you.”[Narrator] Quiet. Just the static of wherever K is. When K speaks again, his voice is different. Younger, almost.[K] “Hey, I’ll be home in a few months. We can go to that Thai place.”[Daniel] That’s all he says. It’s enough.“It’ll be my treat. Be safe, K.”[K] “You too.”[SFX: The line clicks. Silence.][Narrator] Daniel sits on the edge of the bed. Phone dark in his hand. His brother, somewhere he can’t name. For a duration he doesn’t control.[Daniel] K signed the contract. Gave them his time. His body. Maybe his life. Duration Plus Six. That’s what Kenneth signed in 1943. You serve until they say you’re done.K trusts the people spending his life know the value of it. America sends her sons and daughters to serve. The nation owes them something back.If K is bound, can’t say no, can’t leave, can’t tell me where he is, then the men who sent him should be bound too. A clock. A limit. You don’t get to do this forever.But in my head, Margot’s voice is there too. The dead have no rights over the living. If the people want someone, who are the dead to say no?[Narrator] He walks to the window.[Daniel] Two ideas. Both American. Both true.The dead have no rights over the living. We owe allegiance to no king.What happens when they collide? The 22nd says the people will have no king, even if we want one. But the dead can’t enforce anything. The only thing holding the line is the living agreeing to keep it.K is inside the machine. Bound by iron. He serves the American people, not a king. His oath is to the Constitution, not a personality. If we unbind the men who send him, what was the point? What did Kenneth sit on that ship for? What is K doing right now, in the cold?The men at the top have to be bound too. Power is a loan. You are not a king. We don’t do kings. You sit in the chair, then you get up. That’s the deal.[Narrator] Daniel steps outside. Same route. The tourists. The cops. He reaches for his headphones.Leaves them in his pocket.[Daniel] I wanted to move through the world without it touching me.But my brother is somewhere cold. Someone sent him there. And that someone is either bound by a clock, or they’re not.[Narrator] He looks at the crowd. The living. The ones who decide.The dead have no rights over them. And they owe allegiance to no king. Both true. The question is which one wins.May God bless the United States of America. Get full access to I Believe at joelkdouglas.substack.com/subscribe
