The Veto Is a Trumpet, but Who Will Hear the Poor Man's Cry?

I was watching a man build a wall once—a fine wall, good stone, the kind that lasts. He worked all morning, and when the sun grew hot he stopped and said to his helper, “If you do not bring me water, I will knock down every stone I have laid.” The helper had brought no water. The wall stayed half-built, and the man sat in its shade and blamed the helper. I thought of that man on Friday when I read that President Trump told reporters on the South Lawn that if Democrats win Congress next month, “I veto everything.” The story is plain: the president is threatening to block legislation wholesale if his party loses the midterms, as polls suggest Democrats may take at least the House, driven by frustration over the Iran war and the cost of living. House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries says Democrats are “on the verge” of winning the House.

I know something about vetoes. Rome had its tribunes, and a single “veto” could stop the Senate in its tracks. It was a fine tool—until it became a weapon. Then the grain ships sat in harbor, the aqueduct went unrepaired, and the widow who needed a judge found the courthouse door bolted. The men who wielded the veto went home to their villas. The widow went home to her empty table.

Do not mistake me. I am not against a man speaking plainly. I am against a man speaking plainly about power while saying nothing about the people power is meant to serve. The president says Democrats would “come to make a deal.” Perhaps they would. But deals are made by those who have something to trade. The day laborer in the field has nothing to trade but his hours, and if the government shuts down, his hours are worth nothing. The mother buying bread has nothing to trade but her few denarii, and if prices climb while the politicians posture, her denarii buy less. These are the people nobody in the story is looking at.

I have heard it said that this is how politics works—that one side must threaten to get the other side to move. Maybe so. But I remember a parable about a king who wanted to collect a debt. He summoned his servant and demanded payment. The servant begged for patience. The king, in his mercy, forgave the debt. Then that same servant went out and seized a fellow servant by the throat for a few denarii. When the king heard it, he was not pleased. The lesson was not that the king was wrong to hold a debt. The lesson was that mercy withheld from the small debtor is a kind of blindness.

So I ask: when the president threatens to veto “everything,” who is the small debtor in the room? It is the federal worker who will miss a paycheck. It is the veteran waiting on a benefit. It is the family in Fort Myers—where the president was traveling to rally for a governor—who will hear a fine speech and go home to a kitchen table where the bills do not care who won the House. It is the stranger at the border, the sick man in the clinic, the child in the school that needs funding. They do not get to veto anything. They do not get to make a deal. They only get to wait.

I love this country. I love its noisy freedom, its churches, its stubborn hope. But freedom is not a trumpet you blow to scare the other side. It is a table where everyone gets a seat. The president is a man of great energy and great appetite for the fight. I do not doubt his love for the country. But a shepherd who threatens to abandon the whole flock because the sheepdogs disagree will soon find the wolves have no such disagreements. Pilate, I suspect, would understand the veto. Herod would admire the theater. Judas would ask what it costs.

Here is the line I will leave you with: a veto is a door slammed in the House—but the wind that blows through it always finds the poor man’s roof first.

The story: Washington Examiner — Trump threatens to veto ‘everything’ if Democrats win Congress