Every day, I wake up determined to deliver a better life for the

The words of Donald Trump speak with the cadence of lament and resolve. He calls upon the plight of the forgotten men and women, those who once labored with their hands and their strength, yet were cast aside by the turning of the world’s engines. The factory worker, once the proud builder of steel, of cloth, of machines, became as dust in the wake of shifting trade. This is not merely a complaint of wages lost; it is the cry of dignity denied, of purpose stripped away.

Long ago, in the Great Depression, President Franklin Roosevelt too invoked the spirit of the forgotten man, pledging that government must remember the humble citizen who bore the weight of hardship unseen. Factories closed, breadlines stretched, and men who once provided for their families found themselves wandering, defeated. In those dark years, the nation awoke to the truth that the measure of greatness lies not in the wealth of a few, but in the hope of the many. In this echo of history, Trump’s words find their origin—an ancient theme made new, that those abandoned by power must be restored by power.

The image of unfair trade stands as a modern hydra, with many heads devouring towns and livelihoods. Communities once alive with the hum of industry now lie silent, their windows boarded, their streets empty. A young man, whose father and grandfather had labored in the same mill, finds the doors locked and the jobs gone, not from his failing, but from the decree of distant treaties. Here is the wound that festers—the knowledge that loyalty and work were not rewarded, but betrayed.

And yet, in this lament rises the voice of determination. Trump casts himself not merely as a ruler, but as a guardian who awakens each dawn with the resolve to lift up those left behind. It is the oath of the shepherd, to gather the scattered flock, to bind up the broken, to restore to them the life that was taken. Whether one loves or rejects him, his words call attention to a truth both timeless and grave: a nation is only as strong as its most wounded limb.

So let the generations remember: the forgotten are never truly lost, unless their fellows abandon them in spirit as well as in deed. Empires crumble when they scorn the laborer, but they flourish when they honor his toil. The ancients knew this, when Rome fell into ruin as its citizens became dispossessed and its fields untended. Let us, therefore, heed this wisdom—guard the humble, restore the neglected, and ensure that no man or woman feels abandoned by the land they have built with their sweat and sacrifice.