THE BEST GOVERNMENT IN THE WORLD
The question came from a school assignment. His son sat at the kitchen table with a workbook open in front of him, pencil hovering over an empty page. His father was standing at the counter, reading through the morning news while coffee brewed behind him.
After several minutes, the boy finally spoke.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Why is the Thessaran government the best government in the world?”
His father stopped reading. He slowly lowered the paper.
“What?”
The boy turned the workbook around.
“It says: ‘Explain why the government of the United States of Thessara is the best government in the world.’ I have to write two pages.”
His father stared at the question for a few seconds. Then he looked at his son.
“Joey, are you familiar with the term B.S.?”
The boy blinked.
“You mean bullshit?”
His father pointed at him.
“So you are familiar with it.”
“Mom says I’m not supposed to say that.”
“Your mother is correct. Which is why we’re calling it — B.S.”
He pulled himself upwards facing his son.
“Now, that question is B.S.”
The boy immediately looked worried.
“My teacher wrote it.”
“Joey, teachers are capable of B.S.”
“The government wrote the textbook.”
His father raised an eyebrow.
“That is not helping its case.”
The boy tried not to laugh.
His father pulled the workbook closer.
“Look at the question. It doesn’t ask whether Thessara has the best government. It tells you that it does and asks you to explain why.”
“So?”
“So that’s not a question. That’s a conclusion wearing a question mark.”
The boy looked down at the page.
“But Thessara is the strongest country.”
“Probably.”
“And the richest.”
“By a ridiculous margin.”
“And we have the best technology.”
“Possibly.”
The boy looked satisfied.
“So the question is right.”
His father shook his head.
“No. You just gave me reasons Thessara is powerful. Power and good government are not the same thing.”
He pointed toward the window. Across the city, the distant towers of Thessarapolis rose behind the river.
“A government can have the largest economy on Earth and still waste money. It can have the strongest military and still start stupid wars. It can have the best scientists and still make terrible decisions. It can build beautiful institutions and fill them with idiots.”
The boy frowned.
“Do we do that?”
His father smiled.
“Every country does that.”
He pushed the workbook back toward him.
“Here’s another problem. You’re mixing up Thessara with the Thessaran government.”
“Aren’t they the same?”
“Absolutely not.”
The answer came quickly.
“Thessara is the country. The people, the states, the cities, the businesses, the families, the history, the culture. The government is a group of people temporarily hired to manage part of it.”
“The President isn’t temporary.”
“Especially the President.”
The boy thought about that.
“So you don’t like the government?”
His father leaned back.
“Sometimes I like what it does. Sometimes I think it’s competent. Sometimes I think it’s completely full of B.S.”
“Can you say that about the government?”
“That’s one of the things a good government is supposed to allow you to do.”
The boy smiled.
His father continued.
“Here’s the trick. Governments love taking credit for things they didn’t entirely create. If the economy grows, the government says it grew because of them. If a Thessaran company invents something revolutionary, a politician gives a speech about national leadership. If the military wins a battle, suddenly twelve ministers who have never worn a uniform are standing in front of flags.”
The boy laughed.
“That’s kind of mean.”
“It’s also true.”
He tapped the assignment.
“And this question is doing the same thing. It’s taking everything successful about Thessara and quietly putting it in the government’s column.”
“Then what should I write?”
His father shrugged.
“Write that you disagree with the question.”
The boy stared at him.
“I’ll fail.”
“Not if you make a good argument.”
“You don’t know my teacher.”
“Fair point.”
The father picked up the pencil and turned it between his fingers.
“Okay. Let’s say you want to argue that Thessara has a good system of government. What would you say?”
The boy hesitated.
“We have elections?”
“Good.”
“Courts.”
“Good.”
“The states have their own governments.”
“Better.”
“People can criticize the President.”
His father smiled.
“Very important.”
The boy continued.
“And the government can’t just take your stuff.”
“Usually.”
“Dad.”
“What? We’re being accurate.”
The boy sighed.
His father leaned forward.
“Those are arguments. Not ‘Thessara is rich, therefore the government is perfect.’ You’re talking about institutions. Limits. Accountability.”
“So it is the best?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
The boy looked frustrated.
“You never answer anything.”
“I’m answering you right now.”
He pointed toward the workbook.
“The most dangerous thing you can teach a citizen is that his government is automatically good because his country is successful.”
The boy stopped smiling. His father’s tone had changed.
“You should love your country enough to know when its government is lying to you. You should respect its institutions enough to notice when someone abuses them. And you should be very suspicious whenever somebody tells you patriotism means agreeing with the people currently in charge.”
The boy looked down at the empty page.
“So patriotism is criticizing the government?”
“Sometimes.”
“That sounds backwards.”
“Only if the government thinks it owns the country.”
There was a brief silence. The boy finally began writing.
His father watched.
“What did you put?”
The boy read the first sentence aloud.
“‘The government of Thessara may be one of the most powerful governments in the world, but calling it the best before examining its failures is B.S.’”
His father stared at him.
“Maybe spell that one out as ‘a questionable assumption.’”
“Why?”
“Because I’d like to survive your parent-teacher conference.”
