Theme: Virtue and Morality
Quote:
"Virtue needeth no ornament, for it is its own reward, shining brighter than gold in the eyes of the just."
— Jean Puget de La Serre, The Mirrour Which Flatters Not
Reflections on Truth
One year ago this week, I tendered my resignation from city council, concluding a chapter of public service that spanned seven years and nearly four full terms. I did not step down out of fatigue or disinterest. I stepped down because the political climate surrounding my departure rendered continued service untenable.
My time on council had been rooted in a deeply personal tradition of civic engagement. My grandfather, Ernie, worked for Carthage Water and Electric for 25 years. As a child, I learned what civic labor looked like—not from textbooks or campaign slogans, but from the sight of a man answering late-night calls, digging ditches in snow-covered streets to fix ruptured mains, and returning home without fanfare. I learned what stand-by meant—not just in theory, but in practice. It meant Grandpa couldn’t be at dinner. It meant Grandpa had to skip church. It meant someone had to keep the city running even when no one was watching.
As John Adams once wrote, “Public virtue cannot exist in a nation without private virtue, and public virtue is the only foundation of republics.” I grew up surrounded by this principle—not as theory, but as the unspoken code of those who gave their time, labor, and lives to the city’s unseen rhythms.
After Grandpa passed away in 2002, my grandmother continued to receive an invitation to the annual CWEP picnic, a tradition I often joined her in honoring. Even after his death, Grandpa Ernie remained part of that close-knit community. Those gatherings, informal as they were, stood as quiet affirmations of loyalty and continuity—reminders that civic duty endures in memory, in legacy, and in shared bread.
So when I joined the council, I did so with reverence. I visited every department, not for optics, but out of respect. My chairmanship of the Public Works Committee was shaped by this ethos—especially when faced with the urgent matter of three aging bridges that desperately needed repair. I knew infrastructure is more than concrete and steel. It is trust made physical.
Reflections on Virtue
As conflict erupted over the governance of CWEP, I found myself in the center of a civic maelstrom. I was targeted for recall, accosted in public, harassed online, spat upon, and vilified by those unwilling to acknowledge the nuance of the situation. Still, I chose to remain grounded. I reached out to CWEP employees. I adjusted my position as new facts emerged. I listened.
Cicero wrote, “Virtue is its own reward.” I found this to be true, even when the cost of holding onto that virtue was steep. No one was handing out medals for civility, patience, or the willingness to revise one’s stance in the face of better evidence. But I did it anyway, because that is what stewardship demands.
Despite the antagonism, one officer of Carthage Citizens United—an organization formed in opposition to the council’s actions—reached out and asked me to stay. I was called “the loyal opposition,” a term I received with complicated gratitude. It meant I had conducted myself in such a way that even my detractors could see the shape of my integrity. And yet, they could not protect me from what followed.
On election night in 2024, I was informed by an incoming council member that I would be impeached. The decision was made. The outcome inevitable. And so I resigned—effective at the close of the existing council’s term. I would not allow the office I cherished to become a stage for political performance.
This was not capitulation. It was, as Marcus Aurelius might put it, “the recognition that the obstacle becomes the way.” I could not control the actions of others. I could only control how I responded—with dignity, with clarity, and with moral resolve.
Reflections on Morality
This month, I find myself dwelling not only on virtue but on the nature of morality in public life. What does it mean to act rightly when your motives are questioned and your actions misunderstood?
In The Human Condition, Hannah Arendt reminds us that “The polis… is the organization of the people as it arises out of acting and speaking together.” For Arendt, morality is not a private matter of conscience alone—it is revealed in the public sphere, in action and in relation to others. The public realm, or res publica, is the space in which we are truly seen, where our words and deeds give shape to who we are.
Civic morality, therefore, is not about purity. It is about participation. It is the disciplined willingness to be misunderstood if that is the cost of doing what is right. It is choosing to act on principle, even when surrounded by suspicion or hostility.
Arendt also wrote, “Action reveals the agent… without the agent, action loses its specific character.” In other words, in politics, the how is as important as the what. I never wanted to simply get things done—I wanted to serve well. I wanted my means to reflect my ends.
Throughout my service, I tried to bring my private conscience into public action. I did not always succeed, but I never acted with malice. I never treated those I disagreed with as enemies. I believed in deliberation. In shared space. In the ideal that people of good will could disagree and still work together for the common good.
This belief was tested—fiercely—and though I bore the scars of that test, I never renounced it.
A Yearlong Journey
Over the past year, I have reflected deeply on what it means to walk away—not in defeat, but in fidelity to a higher principle. The bridges I worked to preserve—literal and metaphorical—may not all stand today. But I know I did not neglect them.
The moral courage to let go when holding on would compromise your values is not something that often receives applause. But I now see that it was an act of quiet strength. As Arendt wrote, “Courage is indispensable because in politics not life but the world is at stake.” I left to protect the world I had helped build, rather than stay and see it torn down in the name of vengeance.
Looking Ahead
I do not know if I will return to public service. Perhaps my time in the arena is over. Or perhaps the mirror will once again call me back. Either way, I carry with me the conviction that I served with honesty, compassion, and a steady regard for the truth.
When I look in the mirror this month, I do not see failure. I see someone who upheld the duties of public life with care and clarity. Someone who tried to be the kind of representative his grandfather would have been proud of. Someone who understood that politics, at its best, is not war—it is stewardship.