Commentary
Even before the penning of the Declaration or the drafting of the Constitution, the promise of the American Dream has been a beacon of hope that defines our people.
The nature of the dream was a deep promise to those who risked their lives to help settle and build the New World—a social compact we have always taken seriously.
The vision for this dream, and its significance, was laid out most eloquently by John Winthrop in his iconic sermon casting America as the “city upon a hill.” It was while at sea in the Atlantic on the Arbella, three weeks before reaching New England, that Winthrop expounded on his prescient belief that the opportunity awaiting in the New World was particularly special: “For we must consider that we shall be as a city upon a hill. The eyes of all people are upon us. So that if we shall deal falsely with our God in this work we have undertaken, and so cause Him to withdraw His present help from us, we shall be made a story and a byword through the world.”
The foundations of the dream have always been rooted in freedom (first and foremost, religious liberty) and economic opportunity (specifically, the ability to acquire land and improve one’s financial station in life).
Early promoters of the New World understood this allure. The Virginia Company, chartered in 1606, distributed pamphlets like Nova Britannia (1609), enticing Englishmen with tales of abundant land where “every man may be master and owner of his owne labour and land.” This expectation quickly became a hallmark that distinguished Americans from their European cousins.
This ethos annoyed Europe’s elites then, much as it annoys those in power today. Lord Dunmore, colonial governor of Virginia in 1774, observed, “The established authority of any government in America, and the policy of government at home, are both insufficient to restrain the Americans ... that they should for ever imagine the lands further off, are still better than those upon which they are already settled.”
The American Enterprise Institute channeled its inner Lord Dunmore in a Thanksgiving op-ed featured on its homepage. Yuval Levin wrote: “We, the conservative party to the conflicts in our culture, have to temper our outrage with our lower expectations, and to remember that ours will always be the more demanding educational challenge. It requires us to draw younger Americans into a spirit of appreciation and humility, not into arrogance and anger.”
This is not a rare judgment among young Americans—or among those upset about the present state of our economic situation.
A few days ago, former Heritage Foundation economist Steve Moore posted on X: “The Snowflake Generation is the only group of Americans not optimistic about the economy. They are graduating with useless degrees that don’t match what employers actually need.”
When the vice president discussed this issue the other day by suggesting we should focus on domestic problems instead of pursuing foreign adventures, he drew “friendly fire” from many commentators. The common refrain: “We can walk and chew gum at the same time—why would you suggest otherwise?” One might notice that we’ve been trying that for at least the last 15 years, with little to show for it.
Lower your expectations, stop being a snowflake, and don’t you dare suggest we stop and focus on young Americans’ desire to be able to afford homes (own property) or move up the economic ladder. That’s the message from the conservative movement.
Lost in this discussion is that settling for less than the generations before us is unprecedented in America. To lower expectations, accept the status quo, and stop complaining are about as consistent with America’s historical tradition as monarchy.
We are tired of dismissing domestic problems as inevitable, necessary, or, for that matter, anything less than the highest priority.
Americans deserve a brighter future than the Boomers ever had. Right now, they don’t see it. And with how our friends dismiss these concerns—who can blame them?
