In today’s climate, many in their 20s and 30s express deep dissatisfaction with the state of opportunity in America. Stagnant wages, rising costs, anxiety about climate and conflict—these are real concerns. Yet it’s essential to view this generational frustration through a broader historical lens.

This is not the first time a generation has faced disillusionment. Nor will it be the last.

Each generation has carried its burdens. Those who came of age in the post-war boom experienced prosperity, but also bore the weight of Korea Vietnam, Watergate, the Cold War, stagflation, and what looked like the slow unraveling of the American Dream. The picket fence and pension model had already begun to fade by the late 1970s. The belief that a college education guaranteed security was always more myth than promise, especially for those in historically marginalized communities.

Even now, amid record-low unemployment, sustained economic growth, and access to education and healthcare that remains the envy of much of the world, we hear the claim that the system is broken. Some parts of it may be. Yet before we declare collapse, we must recognize a basic truth: challenge is the American constant, not the exception.

Homelessness and economic despair are not new. Every generation has had its left-behind—veterans on the streets, industrial workers displaced by globalization, the mentally ill neglected by underfunded systems. Disadvantage and inequity are not byproducts of this moment alone. They are, tragically, woven into every era.

What has changed is how we interpret and narrate these struggles.

The Cold War and Command

For those of us who served during the Cold War, the sense of national purpose was unmistakable. I was among the first to serve under Selective Service, just after the end of the draft. That shift—from mandatory conscription to voluntary service—was more than procedural. It reflected a change in how Americans thought about civic responsibility.

The U.S. military during this era was an instrument of real deterrence. The 600-ship Navy, for instance, was not merely a political slogan. It was a strategic doctrine that demanded resources, readiness, and constant vigilance. Service meant something serious, and it required real sacrifice.

Many just a few years older than I lived through nuclear air raid drills. Their school days were shadowed by the constant threat of atomic annihilation. During this time, Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD) became official doctrine—a grim but effective geopolitical philosophy. The premise was stark: no one would strike first if it meant total destruction for all.

The Cold War eventually ended. Not with a bang, but through sustained diplomatic, military, and ideological pressure. We outlasted the Soviet system. What followed was a remarkable wave of democratic expansion across Europe. Fragile governments emerged from old authoritarian shadows. The United States and NATO played a pivotal role in that transformation—not just with tanks and treaties, but with stability, structure, and trust.

Critics today point to those same countries and say they didn’t pay enough for their protection. But building a democratic society from rubble is not a short-term investment. Freedom doesn’t arrive on schedule. It must be built slowly, often painfully, over generations.

Veterans continue to serve today across the U.S. government, especially in technical and civil service roles. However, at the cabinet, secretariat level and in the Senior Executive Service, prior military experience has become uncommon. That absence matters. Leadership without practical understanding of risk can lead to oversimplified policies and underappreciated consequences.

Some rise to leadership believing the spoils of office will be rewarding. In reality, true leadership is punishing. The weight of responsibility ages those who carry it honestly. The most difficult decisions rise to the top of the organization. Look at the before-and-after photos of U.S. Presidents. The toll is visible—etched in their faces. Military leadership tells the same story. Generals and Admirals rarely rise young. Their strength is not in raw stamina but in the ability to navigate complexity, ambiguity, and consequences that unfold over years.

Lessons from Abroad

I recently returned from Paris, where I walked the halls of Versailles, marveling at the grandeur—and the disconnect—that brought down kings. In contrast, nearby, the Arc de Triomphe stands not for indulgence but for sacrifice. It is engraved with the names of battles fought not for dynasties but for ideals.

Perspective sharpens through movement. I’ve visited 62 countries so far. That’s a privilege. Most Americans will never leave the country more than once, if at all. I’ve stood at Normandy and in the quiet rows of American Battle Monuments cemeteries across Europe: Luxembourg, Meuse-Argonne, Anzio, Belleau Wood, Aisne-Marne, and others. The sacrifices buried there are staggering—not abstract, not cinematic, but real.

To walk among those graves is to be reminded: freedom is not inevitable. It must be chosen, protected, and often paid for with lives we will never know.

Wealth, Visibility, and the Weight of Inequity

In an age of digital transparency, wealth is no longer just a reality—it’s a spectacle. Social media has turned fortunes into performance art, often stripped of context and humility. That spectacle breeds resentment, and understandably so.

In 1987, there were roughly 140 billionaires worldwide. Today, there are over 2,600, with more than 700 in the United States alone. Some earned their wealth through vision and risk. Others succeeded because of timing, regulatory gaps, or inherited positioning.

Jeff Bezos, for example, built Amazon from a garage. But the company’s early growth was aided by regulatory lag—specifically, the fact that online retailers were not required to collect state sales taxes, giving Amazon a price advantage over local businesses.

Warren Buffett, long admired for his restraint and clarity, has publicly criticized the tax code that allows him to pay a lower effective tax rate than his secretary. He rightly noted that capital gains taxation, while legal, exposes a deep systemic imbalance.

These stories aren’t new. Carnegie, Rockefeller, and Vanderbilt all built vast fortunes before strong labor, safety, or antitrust regulations existed. They didn’t break the system. They benefited from the absence of one.

The 2010 Citizens United ruling only intensified this divide. It equated money with speech and allowed billionaires and corporations to exert massive influence over elections without transparency or limit. It can look quite unfair; yet it’s a period of imbalance we are experiencing that will eventually shift. Justice Ginsberg referred to the pendulum of government and politics that is never at rest.

Even so, it would be wrong to suggest that all wealthy people act with greed. Not every billionaire buys a yacht or rocket. Some fund cancer research, global education, or climate solutions on a scale few governments can match. The issue is not wealth itself. It is accountability—and the balance of systems that must contain it.

Regulatory Lag: A Historical Feature

These dynamics are not unique to this era. Regulatory lag has always existed. Innovation routinely outpaces oversight. Railroads, telecommunications, oil barons, tech platforms, cyber, cryptocurrency, AI—each rose faster than government could adapt.

The delay isn’t failure.
It is the nature of democratic process.

Regulation requires debate. Innovation does not.

The gap is what must be managed. Not feared. Not surrendered to. Nor should we succumb to measuring our own success through the gap between our own position and that of the super-wealthy. It’s an unrealistic measurement.

Miscasting the Mission

Some now argue that Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) has gone too far—that it divides rather than unites. But this work is a continuation, not a disruption, of the American project.

We have always moved slowly toward equity. DEI does not reject the Constitution. It seeks to fulfill its promise more fully. It can be argued that some policies began to help minorities in the extreme; again a temporary imbalance. Yet digitally erasing the achievements of those who succeeded despite their difficult circumstances does not make the achievements any less real.

We just witnessed a remarkable demonstration of both strategic and tactical might in the long-range bombing of Iran’s nuclear plants. The B-2 bomber squadrons supporting, joined by carrier strike groups in the 5th and 6th fleets. Each of those units (B-2, ships, submarines, aircraft squadrons) is comprised of roughly 20% women. Some of those units are led by a woman.

5% of the military is foreign born. About 30% of the current active-duty military identify as racial minorities.

We cannot support an all-volunteer military without allowing an entry path and career progression for everyone: men, women, and minority groups. The system would collapse.

The die is cast—America’s demographic transition to a majority-minority nation is no longer hypothetical; it’s demographically inevitable. This transition has been unfolding for decades. By 2045, no single racial or ethnic group will be a majority. Again, change.

Our immigration patterns have changed over the decades with the foreign-born population at 14% in 1910, 5% in 1970, 8% in 1990, 11% in 2000, and just over 14% in 2023. The change is driven by changing immigration policies over time.

A Lookback to Look Ahead

Political power has shifted in waves: New Deal liberalism, Reagan-era conservatism, the pendulum of deregulation and reform. The Obama and Biden years have been efforts to stabilize, modernize, and restore trust in public institutions. Imperfect, but not aimless. They were responding to dissatisfaction with eight years of Bush policies, the near collapse of the financial system, and a rising defense budget. Again, the pendulum.

Democracy is not measured in perfection.
It is measured in participation.

What Are We Risking?

Today, we face a wave of efforts to rewrite or dismantle institutions that have functioned—imperfectly but consistently—for generations. These efforts are often fueled by cynicism disguised as reform.

The Constitution is not outdated. It is resilient. But its success depends on citizenship, not just criticism.

To those in younger generations: your frustration is valid. Your participation is essential. This is your moment to build, as others before you did—not on certainty, but on resolve.

We build on imperfection. That is our inheritance. That is our challenge.

That is our hope. It’s my hope that you’ll share this with those you know in the next greatest generation coming along.